A Sort of Eulogy

(Things are better since I wrote what follows in my journal on the plane flying back from Seattle to New York last week. Things are almost always better when I get back to New York.)

Sitting on the plane back to New York, feeling somewhat normal, feeling pretty much tired, and feeling very, very bereft. I still haven't shed a tear and I wonder what that is about. We've looked at many pictures over the past few days. I've read letters from Dad to Mom when she was just pregnant with me and they were not very eloquent, but they were very in love and how long ago that is. It was terrible weather in Seattle, beginning with the day of Mom's remembrance service and ending last night when the temperature rose steadily through the night and melted all the snow. Thanksgiving Day, yesterday, we made it up Cougar Mountain to Mom's old house, and because Bianca wanted to, we walked the loop. I really didn't enjoy it all that much remembering how the car had fishtailed a couple times on the way up. Needn't have worried, no problem at all going down -- at an average speed probably of about ten miles an hour. We are promised a 4 hr. 32 minute flight to New York once we are airborne. I'm not sure I want to get to New York; I'm not sure I want to get anywhere, but if I want to get anywhere, it is probably back to New York. This is my sort of eulogy for Mom from the remembrance service, as I reconstruct it from my notes.

I have about five or six things to say. First, when I had just started in the Foreign Service I was a vice consul in the Dominican Republic, a country filled with people desperate to get out and go to the United States. We enforced immigration law; often three questions were enough to determine whether an individual was eligible for a visitor's visa -- do you have a job? do you have property? do you have a bank account? If the answers to those questions were No, No, and No, the person probably was not qualified. But there was a section on the application form where an applicant could cite his or her special circumstances, and so it was that one day I looked up to see a man in his forties who had just written "soy huerfano de padre y madre," and I looked at him and thought, "You're not an orphan; you're an adult man." Now my brothers, sister and I know different. We know that no matter what your age, when a parent dies you are truly an orphan.

Second, a few years ago at the Met in New York there was a special exhibition on the reign of Hatshepsut, one of the few female pharaohs and one of the artifacts was a funerary urn on which was inscribed, "Your heart will guide you and your limbs will obey you. You will prevail over the flood waters and the north wind that issues from the marshlands. You will eat bread whenever you desire, as you did when you were alive. You will see God every day and you face will behold the sun when it rises."

Third, Dana Dee told me recently of a conversation she had with Mom where Mom said she did not want us to be sad at her death because she is now where she wants to be.

Four, when I had recovered enough from my own very serious illness this year and could travel by air again, she, crying, told me one night during the visit, "I never thought I'd see you again," and that of course started me weeping as well because she'd already lost one child and couldn't stand the thought of a second going before her.

Fifth, and that lost child was of course our dear Annie and at her remembrance service here at St. Luke's I read this poem by Jane Kenyon. It is just as appropriate today. It's called Notes from the Other Side and it goes like this:

"I divested myself of despair
and fear when I came here.

Now there is no more catching
one's own eye in the mirror,

there are no bad books, no plastic,
no insurance premiums, and of course

no illness. Contrition
does not exist, nor gnashing

of teeth. No one howls as the first
clod of earth hits the casket.

The poor we no longer have with us.
Our calm hearts strike only the hour,

and God, as promised, proves
to be mercy clothed in light."

And sixth, and last, the concluding words are from Mom, in her Christmas letter from 2006, the year Annie died -- and what she wrote here applies equally to her over the last years since her stroke, "she was so brave and didn't complain. We miss her terribly. She loved life and had many, many friends. We don't understand why she was taken from us, but someday we'll be together again."

Recovery and Broadway

The two are not connected, except maybe in one way. I am physically and in some ways mentally feeling almost all healed. That means not exhausted every waking moment. That means that when I ride my bicycle it's no longer just 80 year old women and 6 year olds with training wheels that I pass. That means, might have written this before, instead of considering all the exercises central to getting better, I hate doing them again. That means tapering off the anti-seizure medication and ending it December 11. That means, most fundamentally, that when I go to sleep at night, I expect to wake up in the morning.

And not being exhausted every waking moment means interest in doing things, like Broadway shows. More than a year since we had gone and specifically triggered by reading that In the Heights would be closing in January after a two year plus run. So twice in the lovely warm latter part of last week, I made it down to South Street Seaport and got in the TKTS line there. Wednesday it was Fela! and Friday it was In the Heights, our two top choices. Both are excellent, filled with believable characters imbued with good and bad qualities; and energetic, talented young casts, although one of the leads in Heights had voice cracking issues in his songs during the performance we saw. But Heights, while set in the immediate present, feels like a period piece while Fela!, although set in 1970's Nigeria, feels completely of the moment and of any moment. Add to that its amazing multi-person choreography and Fela may be the best thing I've ever seen on Broadway.

The Glow Continues

Well, it has been eight days or so now since the Giants won the World Series and I'm still floating. Also thinking about the other years since moving to SF that they made the Series and lost, and the people, events, and person I was that went with all of them.

1962, high school, smuggling transistor radios into class to follow the games, my parents only 40 and 41 years old, Chuck Hiller (an even more improbable personage than Edgar Renteria) hitting a grand slam to win game 4 in New York, the deluge that postponed game six for three days, scarcely aware of the Cuban missile crisis building, so intent was I on the Giants, and then the heartbreak of game seven captured best in the Peanuts strip where Charlie Brown laments, "Why couldn't McCovey have hit the ball just three feet higher?", or to the right or left of Bobby Richardson.

1989, after two games in which the offense produced all of 1 run in Oakland, I was watching the start of game 3 in our den in VA when the earthquake hit, the kids were 14, 11 and 4, we'd been back from Argentina for just over a year. The Giants never had a chance. Everyone else remembers it as the Earthquake Series, for Dana Dee it was the Series when I tried to kill her. Game 1 was on her birthday and instead of watching, my priorities right at least, I took her to dinner to a Thai place that came highly reviewed by the Washington Post and she ordered lemon grass chicken, which turned out to be the most fiery dish of her life (and hotter than any lemon grass chicken since).

1993, doesn't really count since they lost the pennant to the Braves by one game on the final game of the season, but still, the heartbreak element was huge. I watched in San Salvador as Salomon Torres put them in an immediate early hole from which they never came close to recovering, 12-1 final. I turned it off and jumped in the swimming pool. They'd swept the first three games of a four game season finale in LA. But would it have been too much to ask for the newly minted Colorado Rockies to win one, one, one frigging game from the Braves in the course of the whole season. Apparently so, you can look it up. The last true pennant race, the last season before wild card.

2002, the real killer. I flew to Brazil on the night of game 4 and asked the Embassy to have the result for me as soon as I arrived. 4-3 Giants tie the series and then I ended my working dinner early the next night to go back to the hotel room in Brasilia to revel in the 16-5 rout. Day off, flew home, dear Annie calls in the midst of the 7th inning of game 6, saying, "They're finally going to do it." I parried, feeling jinxed, Dusty gave Ortiz the game ball in removing him and minutes later Scott Spiezio hits the 3 run shot and the Angles are off. Larry M. invites me to watch game 7 with him, but Livan is pitching so the result is preordained. I tell him I have no intention of watching. 4-1 Angels. Livan is still around, thankfully not with the Giants.

All that is gone now in the sweet November of 2010.

I See A Coelacanth

More than one, in fact. And, it turned out, in more than one place. Not quite as rare as "I see dead people," in The Sixth Sense, but it probably would have felt that way on Christmas Eve in Port Elizabeth, South Africa seventy-two years ago when a fisherman showed a drawing of a fish his ship had netted earlier that day to the curator of a small natural history museum. She knew it was something special because she had never seen such a fish before, so she did a free-hand drawing of it and sent the drawing to a fellow curator of a larger museum. He confirmed that what she had drawn and the ship had caught was a fish that until that moment scientists had believed had gone extinct around 75 million years ago, or about the time of the fifth great extinction on the planet which also killed -- among many other species -- all the non-avian dinosaurs.

And then after that narration, the curator at the American Museum of Natural History who was conducting this "Behind the Scenes" tour unfastened a couple latches on what looked to be the sort of container that a hunter would use to deep-freeze his moose meat and opened it to show us two coelacanths preserved in alcohol that the museum had obtained some years before. Their color had gone and they were a darkish gray rather than blue, but there they were, with four lobed fins that made them, as ancestors to tetrapods, more closely related to us than to all other fish alive today. Every once in a while the word "awestruck" really does apply.

Not even three weeks later, we stopped for a couple of very rainy days in San Francisco on our way back from Hawaii and went on a Sunday afternoon -- one day after the Giants won the NL pennant from the Phillies -- to the aquarium of the California Academy of Sciences. They have a Staff Favorites section in the aquarium and there I found yet another preserved coelacanth.

Populations have now been found off the Comoros, Mozambique, Madagascar, Indonesia and, most recently, in relatively shallow water off South Africa. How they managed to elude extinction remains unknown.

The Giants are Always the Giants....

until one year, 56 years after the last time, 52 years after they first moved to San Francisco, they aren't. What they are is World Series winners -- what a sweet thing it is!

Ellie, Sept 8, 1921 - Oct 23, 2010

No matter how old you are, how old she or he is and how expected the loss is, you are still a child, and it's still your mother or your father. It leaves an aching void. And it is so hard to believe that I will never again walk into her house and see her sitting in "her" chair.

Trace Joseph

Grandchild #4, grandson #3. It never gets old. You just do. 9:01 PM Friday night. He's a fine-looking boy and his conehead is already almost gone.

Did the usual Sunday walk this morning with Sam to Absolute Bagels. After a year of much above average warmth, it was cool enough to wear three layers today, 52 at 7 AM when I got up. Just in front of Absolute, an older woman bent to admire Sam, stroking the top of his head and cooing. He loved it, of course, always does. Then she walked behind him and bent over again. For an instant I thought, "What? Now she's going to check out his butt?" Nope, she plucked a penny off the sidewalk and walked on. A little sad.

No Pinocchio Effect Yet

As my recovery continues very well, I've taken to flat out lying to one of my drs. on one issue. I realize this is not a good thing. I still take some anti-seizure medication (even though we are well past the six month point that was initially indicated) and tapering off it increases the risk of a seizure. So he doesn't want me driving. I drove in CA recently when we were out there and intend to do so again when we go to Hawaii next month. But to him, when asked, I reply, "No, haven't. No won't." I shouldn't do that, but people shouldn't text or talk on their cell phones when driving. I don't do that and my rationalization is that is a whole lot more dangerous than driving when tapering.

Opening night at the Met tonight, Das Rheingold and one of my favorites Stephanie Blythe is in it. We have reserved seats to the free showing in Lincoln Center Plaza, but rain is forecast. It poured earlier this morning, but has virtually stopped except for a little drizzle now. Very dank still, however.

Cuffed

More than five years now in New York and, while I'm sure I have seen it before, I cannot remember passing by anyone in handcuffed custody. Until yesterday, when I saw a man taken out of Central Park past the Imagine mosaic in Strawberry Fields. Must have been some kind of enforcement sweep because just beyond that scene, heading down the pathway on the north side of Strawberry Fields toward West Drive, one of the probably unlicensed vendors was being told by a cop with a tape measure that his table did not meet the requirement for twelve feet of sidewalk clearance to let visitors pass. The vendors numbers have increased several fold (it feels) over the last year or so ever since some enterprising seller found an obscure law dating from the 19th century that allows veterans to sell on the street without a license. The area around Strawberry Fields has become particularly congested with them. So much for the park's Quiet Zone designation.

Anyway, back to the cuffs -- and then today, riding back from the museum about Broadway and 113th, another guy in cuffs being led off to a squad car. Will it be the trifecta tomorrow?

Nine Years On

I went to the New York Historical Society to watch again the HBO video made on the first anniversary of 9/11 with Giuliani and others talking of the horrors of the day and the footage, so seared in everyone's mind, of the planes striking the towers, the bodies falling, the passersby covered in dust, the volunteers combing through debris, the sad flyers of the missing, and the funerals. It was horrible to see. My wife made the right decision not to go and sit through it all again. Afterwards, all I could do was bike for an hour until I finally felt a little less awful.

And out of those few days of unity within the midst of horror, we have now come all too often to this -- a reflex demonization of other cultures and other religions, even within the midst of this country; a minister who threatens to burn copies of the Koran; an uproar over a plan to site a mosque near, but hardly on, the site where the terrorism occurred. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Maybe it ultimately won't, but for now at least things sure look damn ugly sometimes.

The Day I Really Became a New Yorker (of One Type)

Yes, I know what I've titled this blog, but for five or so years now "New Yorker" was more in the resident sense than the "I am a part of it" sense. That changed yesterday at the fish counter in the recently reorganized Harlem Fairway cold room. I had the headphones on, listening to Magnetic Fields, as the woman currently being served completed what seemed to be an unnecessarily complicated purchase of a couple fish fillets. This went on for another minute or so, during which time I took off the headphones, another customer, a smartly dressed woman in her fifties, drifted up to the counter, and the worker completed her sale and while punching up the code said, "Who's next?"

The later arriving customer immediately began to place her order. I, irritated by much of my day thus far and suddenly no longer the tolerant patsy, said, "Excuse me, I was here first." The woman reacted with that classic New Yorker exaggerated and exasperated sigh, the one that means "oh, all right, if you're going to trample on my right to jump ahead of you in the line, please go ahead," (some Parisians do the same thing when caught out, only the fashion there is pursing the lips and blowing an audible puff of air through them) to which I replied, "I'm sorry, but I was" and gave my order, a couple of tilapia filets for a nice recipe I do with cherries and toasted almonds. It took all of thirty seconds and when done, I resisted the temptation to say to Ms. Annoyed, "See that wasn't so bad, was it?" I'm a big boy after all.

J.'s Gourmet Health Food Deli

Two of the delis in our couple of block area are undergoing makeovers. Based on previous experience, this means they close for a while, you walk by and sometimes see work going on inside, more often see the windows papered over and the door closed, and after several weeks they reopen, perhaps under a new name, perhaps with new ownership, almost always with a brand new awning (BNA), but with exactly the same cluttered layout, the same slightly (or not so slightly) dingy interiors and the same idlers out front. In other words, why bother? Just buy and install the new awning.

So one of the two getting a current makeover is, as it proclaims itself on its BNA, J.'s Gourmet Health Food Deli. And here, as Sam and I walked the other day, in smaller print on the BNA are the first five items you can buy at the health food deli -- coffee, candy, cigarettes, soda, and lotto. Everything you need for body and financial well-being, except later in the day, in larger print, a sixth had been added -- beer.

Back Home in NYC

We arrived late last night and tonight did one of our favorite summer things, the free HD opera screenings in Lincoln Center Plaza, in tonight's case, Franco Zeffirelli's production of Puccini's last opera, Turandot. Dating from 1987, it was over the top and, thanks to the performers, tremendous. I really dislike Zeffirelli productions because the sets are so gaudy, full and huge in scale that they can dwarf the music. In this one, for example, Turandot spends much of the third act wearing what appears to be a chandelier on her head. In another life, Zeffirelli designed cars for Detroit in the 1950s, where no fin could ever be too gaudy. Turandot gets off to a slow start, dominated by opera's version of the Three Stooges, Ping, Pang, and Pong. She doesn't even make an appearance except in short silence until after the Three P's interminable Act II opening as they long to be back in their small home towns or basically anywhere other than the Peking palace where Turandot condemns to death any suitor who cannot solve her three riddles. However, the vocal fireworks arrived shortly thereafter with Maria Guleghina singing Turandot, Marcello Giordani doing Calaf, and Marina Poplavskaya performing Liu, the sacrificial servant girl. All had wonderful voices and great arias to sing. Calaf, who basically lets Liu die rather than reveal his name, which would cost him his life, and Turandot deserve one another and get each other in the end when she says his name is Love. Ridiculous plot as in so many operas, but oh, the music and the warm night and appreciative crowd in the plaza. It is great to be back.

My wife had two nice NYC moments in her first day back. Discussing the lack of flowers and sick trees along our block of Broadway with the woman who cares for the plants in the building next door (she blames Japanese beetles which, in addition to attacking the trees, also get into the soil and feast on plants), she saw a homeless man go up to a streetlight, open the access door, plug in his television and sit down on the sidewalk to watch. The gardener next door called 311 to report, saying it was a very dangerous thing to do. This was either just before or just after DD had seen a young man snatch the chair the the deli guys use to sit on outside the deli during their breaks. Two of them came tearing out after him as he beat it down the street toward 125th, caught him and, after some debate, reclaimed their chair.

Yes, indeed, it's great to be back.

Truest Movie Ever Made

Quentin Tarantino? I don't think so. Michael Moore? Puh-leeze. Oliver Stone? Yeah, right. Pretenders to the claim all of them, and in the case of the latter two, propagandists. Nope, truest movie ever made -- Best in Show. I know this because yesterday we went to the Sammamish AKC dog show outdoors at Marymoor Park in Redmond on a very cool morning. And it was all there, the fifties outfits on the people showing the dogs, the little trots around the ring, the hand signs from the judges, the posing of the dogs on platforms for judges's evaluations, the doggie grooming tables, the rivalries disguised with cordial chit-chat, and many, many gorgeous dogs. We saw several beautiful Westies and learned from walking up and down past rows of wire cages that show dogs are just like every other dog -- they bark, yowl, jump on you in greeting, sniff each others rears, tangle leashes around your legs as they walk where they want to go rather than where you want to take them. So how is it that they behave themselves in the ring or as they are posed for official winning photographs. Two words: choke collars. My sister was kicking herself for not being able to get her new basset entered. All in all, a very fun, but little cold morning for Coumadin Guy.

Lights (High and Otherwise) of a Long Trip, 3

July 7

Now suddenly, on Mykonos, I feel again like I’m just holding it together rather than progressing. Or maybe it is just waking up from nap grogginess. Surprisingly cool here on this island, cool enough last night to put on the long-sleeve “Berkeley” T. Call it the return of Coumadin Guy. I’m liking the cruise, although not Royal Caribbean the last couple of days. Mykonos is the way one imagines Greek islands, whitewashed houses and shops lined up gentle hills. Both here and on Corfu two days ago I had the feeling that this was where Leonard Cohen lived for a time writing Beautiful Losers. Skipped today’s tour and walked into town, a deceptively long walk. I bought D. some earrings. The two days of tours before this, though, were excellent. First, Corfu where we bussed around the island, climbing up close to a couple thousand feet and winding along very narrow roads and then yesterday Athens, docked at the port of Piraeus, where we saw the location of the first Olympics and the Acropolis. So I have liked everything but Split, but haven’t taken a single good photo. No waiting at the Acropolis and not much heat either, although the iced fruit drinks we had before we headed back to the buses certainly tasted good. Were we younger, spending a chunk of time either at Corfu or Mykonos would be a fine thing to do. The narrow streets of Mykonos are very easy to get lost in and for a few minutes I was, but then found my way back to the sight of water. Both here and in Corfu I was struck by how much you don’t see the water, despite being on an island. Our daily ship news said that Mykonos is one of the smallest Greek Islands, with a full-time population of only five thousand, but total visitors of over900K. That must be on an annual basis for it’s hard to imagine how the area visible from the ship could ever hold that many people at the same time. There is an airport about four kilometers from the village center (passed the sign for it walking into town) and the incongruous sound of planes taking off periodically interrupts the peace, as is happening right now.


July 10

On the balcony of our hotel in Venice, where the ship docked this morning and where we made our way without to much ado. It is very hot here, just as it was last Saturday when we got on the cruise. Hydra was the island in Greece where Cohen wrote Beautiful Losers. I’ve given up trying to speak any Italian, although studying it might not be a bad idea, for I’d like to come back to Florence and – I can see already – here. I’ve also found some of the locations where Don’t Look Now was shot. It’s a crowded patchwork of roof tiles from the balcony here, and voices of the various neighbors. Yesterday we cruised all day, which is not at all a bad thing to do on the last day of a cruise. I finally went to a show because I wanted to compare the magician that performed the last night with SC. It was laughable – he did his sleight of hand on a darkened stage to the ridiculous accompanying sound of disco music. Even I might be able to pass for a magician under such circumstances. The last day’s excursion was to ancient Olympia and it was a lot of fun. We knelt on the still-existing marble starting blocks and had our pictures taken there. Then D. walked the length of the track, about 400 yards, while I sat on a hill in the shade. That was a day when I was feeling very unrecovered again. Today has been OK. It’s kind of amazing how weak I continue to be, can scarcely do 10 pushups. I think I will put an end to all the new follow-ups when I get back to NYC, and I would love to get off the anti-seizure medication. We came to the hotel in one of the vaporettos, practically all along the length of the Grand Canal. On my second try, for 2.50 Euro, I finally got a decent map of the city, so will be able to get around in explorations. With enough walking we might discover a Sam-type here in Venice for dogs seem to be a popular household addition. D. and I agreed a couple days ago that we were ready to get back to NYC. But I worry that when we get back there I will feel as if I sleepwalked through the vacation. We are right off Piazza San Marco and the pealing of the bells is frequent and long.

July 13

Somewhere over the Atlantic, arcing down from the Canadian maritime provinces and into New York. The flight attendants are handing out the second meal of the trip, some kind of snack. It’s a little bumpy. Dana Dee and I got up a bit before seven, one AM in NYC, and went for a last walk around St. Mark’s Square – we’ve now made landfall – and she fed the pigeons. Then we took an excellent fast water taxi ride out to the airport, where we found that mechanical problems had delayed the incoming flight out of New York and it would be more than three hours late. So we cooled our heels at the airport for just about seven hours. Scheduled to land at 6:13PM, only some 18 hours after we began the day. We are definitely ready to be home and see our kids, our apartment and our dog – though not necessarily in that order, at least as far as the apartment and the dog are concerned. The last two days in Venice were highlighted by a gondola ride, totally touristy, totally expensive and worth every euro, and a trip to the lace-making island of Burano where all the houses are pained in bright colors, a la La Boca in Buenos Aires

Lights (High and Otherwise) of a Long Trip, 2

June 30

I have a bit more sympathy for the protagonists of Ian McEwen’s Black Dogs now that I have confronted my own black dog in the hills of Tuscany. But he was small and more startled of me, in my wonderful outfit (sorry, DBT) of khaki shorts and “medical legwear” (every time I put them on, though, my legs do feel better) than I was of him. I love doing nothing; it is what I am best at. Yesterday I traveled in the van, first to Pisa and then to Lucca, a walled town since who knows when that has never been bombed, almost certainly because it was never strategically necessary to do so. Pisa – it’s a towar; it’s leaning and apparently has been since its first construction in – if I remember – the 13th century. If the Times had been around then there would have been some investigative journalism into the letting of the contracts for its construction. Some early day Tony Soprano may have been involved. There is also a cathedral, a museum or two, and a couple of other buildings on the location. Lucca was much more entertaining. We got a map to keep us oriented in the narrow and switchbacking streets. Bicycles are kings in those streets for they are too crowded to allow cars to drive with any speed and the extent of the walls, the area enclosed by them, is greater than can be easily navigated on foot. The walk, in fact, kind of exhausted me. I constantly overlook how weak I am and how tired I get. We had a decent lunch in a little restaurant on the square near where Puccini was born in 1858. One building has a plaque announcing it as his birthplace, but if there is a museum, as also announced, it must have been closed. The ride back to the villa could scarcely have taken an hour, but it seemed like forever. Still, I enjoyed the day and, as I feel about most of Italy so far, I would happily go back to Lucca. This morning after the gang left, I went for a walk and found myself channeling TML-era G.F. – and perhaps still G. F. – thinking of wildflower photos and framing them in my mind.

July 1

Right leg appears to have gone down!

July 4

Down a little, I think, but not a lot and certainly not as much as I thought a couple days ago. Aboard The Splendour of the Seas and going south in the Adriatic, heading to Corfu after a first stop today at Split. The tour there was bad so I split – in a manner of speaking – and walked back to the ship. We are now two weeks away from New York and with just over a week to go. It was chaotic once we got to Venice, trying to follow directions on how to get to the ship, but get here we did. So far I like Holland American better than Royal Caribbean. HA was a little more subtle about trying to put some distance between you and your money. The Adriatic is as flat as a tabletop so far. Not a Trace of seasickness. I’m feeling like maybe I don’t need to see new places anymore. The familiar feels good. Despite being in an impaired condition, I can’t stop trying to be a problem-solver. There was a pretty funny moment when our train pulled into Venice yesterday only about five minutes late – after a trip that certainly included speeds well over 100 mph – and our group wrestled all the luggage out of the car and got past the people who wanted to transport our bags, but not us, to the ship for 5 Euro a bag. They were probably legit, but I was in the decisive “no” group, so we took our luggage and wheeled it out to the front of the station, along the Grand Canal, where the group en masse stood in the 90 degree sunshine and tried to figure out what to do next. It wasn’t graceful, but at least I got them in the shade.

Lights (High and Otherwise) of a Long Trip

June 22

This was the first full day at E. and T.'s. They have given over their brand new apartment to us while they go sleep at M. and M.'s place. We drove through some of the West Bank on the way to Jerusalem today. And the wire fences reminded me of apartheid in South Africa. And then, sitting later on the balcony, it reminded me of what was done to the Jews themselves in the ghettos and in the concentration camps. We wandered the corridors of the souks in the old city where three great religions’s icons can be found next to – or at least in the next stalls to – Montreal Canadiens T-shirts with Hebrew lettering. I continue to feel better, although jet lag last night had me wondering if that was so. I have learned some things I didn’t know – the difference between Yiddish and Hebrew, the precise locations of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Not feeling at all religious these days, the old city of Jerusalem, the Western Wall, the Church of the Sepulchure, the Dome of the Rock gave me no sense of the presence of God. Instead, it left me bemused at the centuries of fervor, and mostly feeling slightly depressed, hugely jet lagged, and very happy that I had not chosen to be a Middle East specialist in the FS. Tonight, walking down to the Mediterranean, Tel Aviv felt like Miami and Havana.

June 28

At the villa outside Florence. Doing nothing this afternoon but lying around or sitting around and listening to the birds chirp. In the rest of the time in Tel Aviv, we went to Caesaria, a city built by King Herod to please the Romans, and to make a deep water port. This he did very well and the city flourished for some time. Then the old story – attacked, destroyed, rebuilt, another period of prosperity, and then finally overthrown by the Muslims and then abandoned for 700 years until Baron de Rothchild purchased it, I think, and set about – with help of Balkan refugees – to excavate and restore the ruins. So it was never quite clear to me from which period the ruins we saw dated or whether – in fact – we were seeing in parts a partial re-creation. In any event, there was a good movie, and an interesting little museum where you could pick a figure from Caesaria’s history, press a few buttons of questions and a hologram of the person, complete with movements, would answer the questions in a normal speaking voice. I picked Herod, who gets a very bad rap in the stories of Christ and John the Baptist, of course, and probably undeservedly. But history in Israel gets written by the winners there and so his portrayal was an impressive one. Our last full day we returned to Jerusalem to have lunch at a very good restaurant near the souk after visiting the Jewish museum, which was under reconstruction. You could visit the outdoor areas, which included a miniturized reconstruction of Jerusalem as it was in – I think – 66 AD (or CE), just before another destruction. It of course included the Western Wall, but also reminded us a lot of the museum in Queens with low-flying birds eye view of every building in New York at the time of the 1964 Worlds Fair. Jerusalem then was already riven by different camps within the Jews, Christians, and Romans. This drove an all-male group to abandon the city and go live along the shores of the Dead Sea (were they called the Edenites?) and it is from there that the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered and begun to be deciphered.

On to Florence, a connection through Frankfurt that went flawlessly. Here I am very happy to be back, can envision us spending more time here, contemplating taking up studying Italian because I feel like I should do a much better job than I do of understanding and communicating in it. Nice to be back at “our” old hotel and definitely nice to eat gelato again. Tuscany, near Florence, is being transformed but a farmer plowed his fields right below the villa this morning and the construction crane that symbolizes the transformation is well-hidden by a perfectly placed tree when you are sitting outside for dinner at the Podere Torricella. Couple final thoughts on Tel Aviv – I was surprised once I learned the difference between Yiddish and Hebrew that among my generation W. and L. families only E. seems to speak it at all well. And again, not being of the religious persuasion at this time in my life, maybe all those miracles, Messiahs, and prophets are nothing more than the collective effects of sunstroke induced by the searing heat and powerful sunlight of summer.

Two Things

I was running my hand through my hair the other day, as we all do, and found the soft spot in my skull where the doctors had gone in to close off the aneurysm in January. Maybe I'd found it before and forgotten -- I don't know. Instantly I was vulnerable again, balanced between life and no life, and I thought, "Wow, I was close." And now I'm beyond it and it feels mighty good.

Second thing -- time before last up at hospice, one of the residents was hungry and said he wanted to go to the kitchen. I asked, "Which kitchen, yours or the big one?" He said, "The big one." So I got down on my knees and helped him get his toes properly aligned in his clogs, boosted him up under his arms and then took him by the hand out into the hallway and walked down the hall that way, me holding his right hand, him holding on to the wall rail with his left hand and a similar thought -- "five months ago ago I was him, halting down a hallway, supporting myself on a rail and with a companion's hand." I felt at that moment like I was giving something back, paying down a debt.

Shakespeare in the Park

The play turns on a dime from tragedy through farce to comedy, and its end is visible for Acts and Acts, but this Winter's Tale at Shakespeare in the Park is very well performed and, mostly, it's grand just to sit in Central Park on a NYC summer night with your love and experience anew one of the great reasons for living here.

Monet's Water Lilies, II

Water Lilies I -- because of operator error -- is about three posts down. That's what happens when you start drafting and don't come back to a post for awhile. Looking at it is a good reference point for what follows.

A Monet show opened in early May at Gagosian Gallery on 21st St. in Chelsea, where it will remain through June 26. I rode down to see it last Saturday, over two dozen paintings spread across four large rooms, and right next door to another monument of sorts, one of the city's nearly two dozen Manhattan Mini-Storage locations. They're almost everywhere, and only one of several companies, monuments, hardly the right word, to the stuffs of our lives. In Manhattan, he who lives with the most toys gets to store most of them, it seems.

Anyway, Monet -- the Gagosian show helped ease the withdrawal I continue to suffer from the closing of Water Lilies at the MoMA in mid-April after seven wonderful months, starting September 13 last year. In the Gagosian show the best works for me were those of the Japanese footbridge and a rose arcade at Monet's property in Giverny -- they had the same brilliant oranges and browns of the Japanese footbridge painting in the MoMA show, which was either my first or second favorite of all I have seen in NY, rivaled only by the Gerhard Richter retrospective from several years ago, before we moved here.

And it was all the more powerful for being small -- only six paintings -- and away from the main bustle of MoMA. According to accompanying texts or audio, Monet devoted much of the last 25 years of his life to cultivating a Japanese-style pond at Giverny, and to painting his garden, the pond and the water lilies within it. The work centered on the creation of large-scale panels of the water lilies, a group of which he donated for permanent installation in the Orangerie in Paris. (Which we never visited when we lived in Paris, but is now yet another reason to go back there.) In 1955 MoMA became the first museum to acquire one of these compositions. It was lost in a fire, which ironically destroyed very few other works at the museum. But the MomA quickly acquired others – a triptych, one mural-size panel, and two other paintings. The recent exhibition was the first time they’d been shown together in the new MoMA building.

I must have gone half a dozen times, including an early day after my release from the hospital and on the last day of the show. My favorite times and when I'd usually go was during the MoMA's occasional early openings for members, when I would often have the large room almost entirely to myself.

But on the last day, there were great crowds, including groups of little pre-school kids, all of us gathered one last time to immerse ourselves in the blues, greens, white-pinks, and in that one stunning smaller work the brilliant oranges, greens and ochres of a version of The Japanese Footbridge.

The show-stoppers though, and what kept drawing me back over and over again, were the two massive works that faced each other on opposite walls of the narrow room. Monet worked on both from 1914-26, reworking them constantly and on one particularly, the pastel-toned one of the two, applying enough thick layers that standing close to the painting, and looking at it from the side you could actually see the piled-on paint.

Both the NYT review at the opening of the show and the exhibition audio note that these paintings were considered mediocre by some until after WW2 when the abstract expressionists came along. Some were actually quick sketches, drawn in the garden itself, but the largest two were worked in his studio and each involved hours and then years of layering of color, building up texture.

It was important for the show to isolate these paintings, separating them from other displays in the museum and, especially, keeping them together and few in number. The NYT review wrote of the “meditative, immersive quality of these works,” and “the challenge of looking and painting, painting and looking”

MoMA bought its first waterlily painting – 18 ft. across – in 1955 for $11.5K. Three years later, after the fire, it spent $150K for the replacement. Even the latter price is almost laughable now.

Here is what the two large paintings, both called "Water Lilies, 1914-26", did for me. The first and larger, a triptych with curved walls giving an angled display meant to draw the viewer in, to, as the exhibition audio said, force the viewer to "pay attention." It worked with me: I felt as if I were in the pond, no border in sight and looking at eternity. Its facing pendant, lighter in color, thicker in layering, was all about time of day and seasons. Depending on where one looked, it was fall, spring, summer or winter in Giverny, dawn or late afternoon.

I paid a lot of attention and I'm the better for it. It was a good, psychic shaking as grabbing visually as, in a completely different context, "hot chile peppers in the blistering sun" throws you instantly into Dylan's aural world of the fugitive couple in Romance in Durango.

Last post at least for some time. Recovery continues to take all my energy.

Enough...and a New York Story

It's going to be 84 on this Saturday. Perfect weather for a bike ride for Coumadin Guy. Enough -- that's where you come to at some point. You realize that while, as Bob says, "everybody is busy dying," unless you are like grandchild number four, currently "busy being born" and due in mid-September, you at this time are no more busy dying than most everyone else. I reached that point yesterday when Dr. Y. started talking about "absolute circumstantial evidence..." of something or other in my blood. "Absolute circumstantial??" So let's just go on, wind down these doctor visits and see what happens next.

What happened next this morning, as Sam and I turned left out of the building to avoid the first NYC wacko of the day who was heading south talking to himself and berating others out early, was a perfect lovely NY story, a couple with young son in backpack carrier, she talking a picture of him in front of International House. I asked if they wanted a picture together and they said, "Sure." The English was excellent, but accented, so I asked after snapping the shutter where they were from and she replied, "Holland, but we met here," motioning toward IHouse. And I said, "Homecoming," with the handsome outcome of that chance meeting on Dad's back.

Another Milestone

I took a long flight this week, out to Seattle to see Mom, who is on hospice care at home. The trip seemed to take forever, but that's the way I experience time. I traveled well-stocked with iPod and reading material, drank only water, and, starting with chicken soup bought in the terminal, ate constantly, strolling back to the galley several times to restock on chocolate chip cookies and counter the possibility of deep vein thrombosis developing because of sitting too long.

It has been wonderful to see her and there have been two very touching moments with her. The first night I was here she choked up while we were talking in her bedroom and began to cry a little as she said, "I wasn't sure I'd see you again." And then yesterday she asked me to take my afternoon rest -- a daily nap is becoming a wonderful restorative -- on the couch instead of the bedroom just so she could watch me. You'd have to be a stone not to melt. It seems that even if you are 89, in your own long, slow decline, you always stay first a Mom.

Fleet Week and A&L Cesspools

It is the 23rd annual Fleet Week, origins unclear to me, but each year midtown gets flooded with crisp Navy whites. Many of the events, I gather, take place on or around the Intrepid. I did a bike ride a couple days ago, in warm early evening weather, down past the ship. The night must have included some kind of reception for as I biked south an officer, in his whites, got out of car accompanied by a young woman in a long dress. Together they made their way to a tent where invitations were being checked. A few blocks further down, at 43rd, with thunder in the air, I turned around and on the return trip saw that a truck with "A&L Cesspools" printed on each side had completely blocked the Intrepid entrance. Apparently it had missed its proper turn and security was in the process of turning it around with some mild traffic blockage. No one seemed particularly perturbed that, say, al Qaeda might have had hijacked a cesspool truck, but I enjoyed the mild juxtaposition -- arrive dressed to the nines for an Intrepid event and have your way blocked by a company truck loaded, or about to be loaded, with human waste.

Monet's Water Lilies, I

At A Certain Point in Recovery,

and I can do it now, you realize that it is going to be a recovery, not -- for me, for now at least -- the ending that awaits us all. I reached that point this afternoon while lying on my stomach with Dr. K. applying electrodes to my legs, giving me an EMG to test for neuropathy because of the tingling in both my feet. The sensation was like having sleet or light hail hit against your bare skin, mildly unpleasant from time to time, not at all painful. And it turns out, not surprisingly, that I do have some degree of sensory neuropathy, no motor to speak of, thank goodness. The next step will be to find out the reason why, although in 30 percent of neuropathy cases, according to the website I just read, no cause can be pinpointed. It was an awful day today in NYC, cold, barely 50 degrees, and periods of hard rain. Thursday I see Dr. M. for more blood work and I'll ask then if she will take me off some of these meds. I don't feel invincible anymore, but after the tests I did feel like a pisco sour and said to myself "why the hell not?" and went off to Pio Pio for one and two chicken empanadas. Don't overdo, but don't deny. It all was as good as before my illness. And then I slogged home, through the wet to find the annoyance that the letter I had sent to the address that the insurance company says you are supposed to use to request reconsideration of a claim had been returned marked "Return to Sender, Not Deliverable as Addressed, Unable to Forward". A fake address -- now that's an imaginative way to avoid insurees wanting reconsideration.

Ferrets and Constipation

The hospice work is different after the illness. I think I am better at it because now I've been close and while not languishing, I can see a little better where the hospice residents are and where they are going. It was strange, but not unexpected, to go back and find all the people I'd visited had died. One young woman I knew of, but had never stopped to see because she didn't particularly care for visitors, was still there, so I decided to go in and say hello. And for about six straight visits that was it, hello, I'll see you next week, until it got so I wondered if I was interfering rather than supporting. As so often happens, Sam broke the ice. I had him with me one day, walked him in and after hello, how are you, this is Sam, was ready to leave again when she said, "Maybe I'll have my three ferrets here next week." Today, a couple weeks later, we had a pet conversation and, though the ferrets are still not with her, she showed me a couple dozen pictures of them on her computer. Next week it's a video. A ferret breakthrough...yes!

Then down the hall to my easy to talk to guy, J. He told me the laxative he'd been given to help the constipation that his pain patch was causing was doing too good a job. With my recent experience including both of those extremes, I counseled Philips Milk of Magnesia, if his dr. approved.

Now too I'll sit by a sleeping patient. All is quiet, but up on the 12th floor on a windy day, the windows whistle. Then the bridges and the city look more remote somehow, but that only makes me more all the more grateful to still be among them. I may be tired and I may be fuzzy, but I am.

Next Moves?

I am now sunk in the morass of the U.S. health care system, the little matter of the $21K bill from the doctor who worked on the aneurysm. She is an "out of network" provider, even though the hospital that employs her is in network. I wonder if the new legislation requires that if a hospital is in network, all doctors who work out of that hospital must also be in network. Anyway, in talking to the doctor's billing arm today, and following the guidance of the recent NYT article on unexpected or uncovered hospital bills and my health care provider, here is where I got -- nowhere. At one point the exasperated New Yorker with whom I was speaking asked, "What do you want from me?" I said, "I want to pay less than this bill." She said, "Have you filed an appeal with your insurance company?" Well, no, I haven't since the company's basic approach was we paid, the dr is out of network, you try to get them to accept what we did pay as payment in full. So, to sum up, the insurance company points to the dr -- at least the dr's billing office (and that's fair enough. As the dr was working my aneurysm, the last thing I would have wanted was her mind wandering to billing issues of her patients.)-- and the dr's billing office person, fed up with me, points back to the insurance company. At least she said she would annotate the account so it will not go to collection. Or at least again, it should not go to collection. But I suppose if all appeal fails, the bottom line is this, would I rather be dead or would I rather work out a payment plan for $21K. I think I have the answer to that.

I'm So Vain

After all these years, it's now clear Carly was singing to me. Got to thinking about the leg last night and how the plan was never to show it, to always wear long pants. One day of summer altered that. And it really doesn't look so bad, certainly no worse than what is seen every day of summer and sometimes out of season. But that's on others; it was never -- I was determined -- going to be on me. That and much else has changed as a result of my January nap. One shred of vanity remains -- I draw the line at wearing shorts with my "medical legwear," despite the packaging it came in with the photo of the attractive blonde sitting at her desk, legs stretched out to show hers.

But overall the leg and everything else continues much better. I feel spacey far less often, don't lose my train of thought as much, energy level slowly building up. No call from Dr. F. so I assume that means the CT scan had no significant negative results, although I will call her office again tomorrow. And, in the best news, both Dr. M. and Dr. W., who was in charge of my case in the hospital, have given the thumbs up to the summer travel plans. Just got a call from T. in Luanda, inquiring whether we would be going to see them in Tel Aviv as planned. I assured him it was on. Life is instantaneous if you seek it out. He knew all about the car bomb in Times Square. Since I never watch TV news, I only learned of it this AM when I opened the apt door and saw the Times headline.

The Saunter

First day of May feels like the first day of summer. Supposed to get near ninety. I took the bike out for the ride up to the Little Red Lighthouse, then down to 59th and back up to 125th. Eleven or so miles. Everybody passes me now, even the overweight. I wore shorts; the right leg remains all swollen, though much better. But it still looks foreign. Once on the Hudson bike path, I immediately began seeing walkers with numbers on their backs or chests and "The Great Saunter 2010" printed on them. And so they were omnipresent all up and down my route. Finally, heading back up from 59th I stopped and asked three women what the Great Saunter was. As I suspected, the idea is to walk the perimeter of Manhattan. It's been going on for 25 years; it's 32 miles. I said to them, "The East Side must be much harder to follow the shoreline than the West." One of them replied, "I wouldn't know. I've never made it that far." Probably not this year either since it was close on to noon.

A CT and PT

I went to my first session of outpatient physical therapy yesterday after getting a CT (pronounced "cat" of course) Intravenous Contrast scan of my head on Monday. Today is more blood work. The pricks in my veins are never-ending, apparently. No reading on the CT, which I take as a good sign. Here, according to the technician or nurse who prepped me and the discharge sheet, is what I could have felt as a result of the x-ray dye in the intravenous contrast: a warmness as the dye enters your vein (nope), a metallic taste in your mouth that some describe as tasting like cheap whiskey (check, though I wasn't lucky enough to have it taste like whiskey), the sense of peeing on yourself ("don't worry you're not," check and I wasn't), and -- the really serious ones -- hives, difficulty breathing, shortness of breath (nope, those would have involved a trip to the emergency room.) Sliding on the moving bed in and out of the tube and watching the lights in the tube turn red, green or orange dredged up another memory from the lost days of January -- I was in one of those and seeing those lights at least one other time. The PT was fine, first of eight or so. I always like PT -- it's just hard enough to make you work, and effective enough to make you feel progress. There's already progress of course from the work at home and just time since my discharge (now over two months). My therapist, J., said I was in the best shape of any of his patients all day, i.e. the least problems. Of course, he is going on vacation next week, but he plans to hand me off to one of the other therapists who specializes in exercises for leg edema. I got to drop a few exercises from the regimen, but added a slide stepping one that took me right back in an instant to high school basketball drills.

Weather Vanes

I was walking well after dark to see Bonjour Tristesse at the David Niven Centennial Festival at MoMA on Friday night (no need to put it on your Netflix list) and walked by two tourists, one wearing sunglasses and the other holding an open umbrella. It was neither sunny nor raining. Raining hard at the end of the movie, though, and sunny today, so hang in there long enough with your outfit and you'll be right.

Annie Was Amazing

Sunday I got on the bike for the first time and rode, on another of the beautiful spring days we have pretty consistently been having, up to the GW Bridge, then back down to 102nd and then back to the apartment. The Hudson River bike path was closed off at 125th, so I had to head inland and ride up Broadway to 116th before swinging back over to Riverside. It's a stretch on Broadway that before the illness I could do in the highest of the 21 gears on the bike, but this time I had to downshift twice and still struggled with the mild, but blocks-long incline. By the time I finished and hung the bike back up I'd probably gone 7 or 8 miles and was completely trashed, as tired and overdone as the first weekend after getting out of rehab when my son and I walked back to the apartment from Absolute Bagels on a Sunday morning after a Saturday night snowstorm. There was nothing to do but flop on the couch and watch the Masters for an hour or so. All I could do while watching Phil Mickelson hold everybody off was think about Annie and her biking to Grimaldi's in Brooklyn in our group. More than twice the distance I did, on a similarly gorgeous April day, must have been almost exactly three years ago, scarcely three months before her death. How hard must that have been? How determined, brave, she had to have been to tough it out and do it.

"New York Has Bedbugs"

Like this is news? The Times did a big article in the Homes or Real Estate section a couple weeks back and the bottom line was the critters can work their way through walls from adjoining apartments, are hell to get rid of, and are increasing throughout the city. But still, is Broadway on the way to the Ed Sullivan Theater where David Letterman does his show the best place for a large, public service billboard with the title of this post in huge print? We've seen it half a dozen times because we've been going to the MoMA a lot lately -- most recently, for me, today for the last day of Monet's Waterlilies show -- but at a rough guess probably 80 percent of those who see that ugly billboard with its ugly message are tourists. Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry, your huddled masses yearning to be free...of bedbugs. That's the new welcome to New York.

"Wow, You're Tall"

If I had ten bucks for every time someone said that or a variation to me at St. Luke's Roosevelt or Mt. Sinai, I'd come close to paying Dr. F's bill. Hey, I'm 6'3", above average yes, but it's not like I'm Manute Bol or Yao Ming. I don't even stand out in the subway. Maybe everybody who goes to the hospital is 5'9" or less. I learned this -- each time you become less critical, the beds get more uncomfortable. My last one at SLR was the one Lincoln died in (somebody actually believed this when I said it to them face to face) -- it was clean, but straight out of the 50's.

Fog Lifting

More blood drawn today, more procedures planned, but nothing negative, in fact, a steady, building sense of returning, crossing back from where I spent the first two plus months of 2010 to where I inhabited before then. Not quite there yet; as Dr. G. said yesterday in as insightful a comment to describe the current condition as I've heard or had myself, "Anyone looking at you on the street would think you're normal, but you know you're not normal yet." Yet. But getting there.

Today I was in an elevator at St. Luke's Roosevelt, and recognized from some precinct of my brain, the clergyman who had come to visit me at least once while I was a patient. I think it was in the few days between emerging from the ICU Rip Van Winkle state and moving to Mt. Sinai for rehab, but I can't pin that down. All I know is that it was him and I remember liking him. Then he got off and went on his way. I'm guessing it will be my last glimpse of him.

One effect is still have is I usually can't remember if I've said things, written them, or just thought them. So repetition may leap up here.

A (Very) Big Shoe Drops

As best I can piece together from the various insurance company statements and doctor billings, the total sticker price to keep me on, as someone once said or wrote, "the top side of the planet," is somewhere north of $600K. We've been spared the huge majority of that, but a couple days ago a bill arrived from Dr. F. -- probably the person most key to my treatment -- for nearly $22,000. She is, in the terminology of my health insurance company, a "non-participating provider," meaning using her costs more. Not that I had a choice, being unconscious at the time, not that I would have insisted -- had I been conscious -- on a "participating provider" to save money. Dr. F.'s billing department and I and my health insurance and I will have conversations about this at some point, but for now, the bill is just gently marinating in my to-do box.

The Attila Driving School and the Modern Flower Stall

All you need to do sometimes for fun in the city is just get yourself to the corner. The other day I was there and waiting for the light to change. I happened to look at one of the cars also waiting and the driver side door said "Attila Driving School". Does it attract a certain clientele? Perhaps those who wish to take no prisoners of pedestrians. And then, several months ago but my illness intervened before I could write about it, the flower stand on the corner changed hands and for several days all the green boards of shelving were taken down, cut up, reassembled in various layouts, then finally reassembled exactly as they were and painted a darker shade of green. While all the sawing and assembling was happening, my wife asked why. He was, the new owner/operator said, making a "modern" flower stand. It has been joined, on the other stand, by a modern cheap toys bazaar, which features a blonde doll the proprietor keeps wound up so the doll is waving her arms and legs as she lies on her stomach. Must work. The original one sold and today he had two more. For a few days there was also an outdoor fruit stand, but that -- despite me spending a dollar once for three good bananas -- seems to have folded.

Undergrounds

Every city of any size has its underground music scene. London has its Underground; we have the MTA in New York. But fall out of health and you find a whole new underground -- medical supply stores, places that when fully healthy and walking along the street, I never noticed or, if I did, gave them a glance and passed, losing the memory of them less than half a block on. Since getting the prescription from Dr. B., however, for what are delicately called "medical legwear," I got to enter a whole new underground with shelves stacked with items to restore health or cope with managing every kind of sickness. Who knew? Waiting to be fitted for my medical legwear, I sat in front of a display of inhalers, and the picture on the side of one box looked a dead ringer for our first grandchild, who for a couple of years had to use an inhaler frequently. In this array of newness I couldn't keep from wondering just how many more undergrounds exist for specialized segments of NYC's population

Enough of Recovery (for Now), Let's Talk Weather

The fourth straight day of miserable and surprisingly cold-feeling weather lingers here today. A tree got blown over Saturday night in Sakura Park, up toward Grant's Tomb, where I walk Sam in the morning. The evidence of the strength of the wind and rain, especially on Saturday, is everywhere in trash receptacles along the streets -- broken up umbrellas tossed away. Or sometimes just thrown down on the street -- in the small street corner park at 125th and St. Nicholas, whose main attraction is a sculpture which looks like nothing so much as a woman's platform high-heeled shoe, D. counted eight abandoned umbrellas, their cloth ripped, their spines turned inside out, just thrown down along the fence or by the pedestrian bench. We are promised an end to it all tomorrow; we shall see.

Well, OooooooK....

I forgot to ask the very impressive Dr. B a couple things at the appointment so, at his nurse's suggestion, sent him an e-mail with these three questions: 1) How long do I wear the stockings? All day except when sleeping? 2) Based on what you saw from the ultrasounds, what is the status of the clots in my legs? 3) How long would you recommend I wait before taking a short (2 hrs) and long (5 plus hours) plane trip?

He replied: "stockings during day, not at nite. i would avoid airplanes, they tend to make clots. clots are improved and flow better but still present." So I'll be wearing the stockings the rest of my life and never fly again? Hmmm...one question answered out of three. Will have to pursue with Dr. M., who will get the results of this referral.

I Don't Want No Stinkin Self-Injection Regimen

Dr. M. is not happy with the coumadin levels and so I am going in for twice weekly testing of them. The last -- from yesterday -- is higher, but not high enough. She had increased the nightly intake to 10 mg over the weekend and offered the prospect of self-injecting (or having DD or B inject) heparin as a supplement to bring them up enough. I balked at the prospect of sticking myself in the stomach (presumably) with a needle and we compromised on upping the daily amount of coumadin. It is now 8 mg and to be tested again on Friday. I intend to continue bargaining intensely against pointing and using a syringe on myself. We will see.

Yesterday was the vascular surgeon, Dr. B., who also -- from the newspaper articles on his consulting room walls -- does kidney transplants and is active in international dr. organizations. He had seen me in the hospital, but I had no recollection of him. From his tech my legs got a full ultrasound scan and the only outcomes were 1) a prescription for compression stockings on both legs -- as DD says, good thing I'm in relatively good shape because otherwise I'd be completely worn down from seeing drs. nearly every day. Anyway, that's down on E. 72nd. And 2) word that he doesn't have to see me for any further followup. These are good things.

Spring is in the air in NYC -- temps nearly 60 the last two days. Today I'm feeling great, far less spacey in the brain.

Coumadin Body

Here's the definition: Coumadin --by 1953, name for human anti-coagulant use of the rat poison warafin sodium, abstracted from the chemical name, 3-(α-acetonylbenzyl)-4-hydroxycoumarin; earlier known as Dicoumarol, it attained publicity when it was used in 1955 to treat U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower after a heart attack.

It's one of the main drugs I'm taking now. My sister A. used to talk about chemo brain to describe her inability to think as sharply after getting chemotherapy for her cancer (I have a little bit of that too, probably due to the combination of drugs. It makes me think I should be like the protagonist of Memento and tattoo clues to what I've done or haven't done, said or haven't said, on my body. Or have I already written that in a previous post ? See, there's the point.)

Anyway, coumadin body is what I now call my tremendous sensitivity to cold, which I've had ever since coming home and now, thanks to DD reading me a list of less dire side effects of the drug, understand better. For a hypersensitivity to cold tops the list of minor coumadin side effects. Although this has been a fairly typical Feb - March for NYC as far as temps go, I have been felt cold ever since coming home now just over two weeks ago. Sleep in my sweat pants and a couple layers of shirts, for example. And now with her reading the effects of the drug I now have an explanation for it. Next three days are supposed to be above 50 degrees. That should be a nice antidote.

I continue with follow-up appts, including with the lead doctor on the case, probably next week. So far all are pleased at the progress and find nothing unexpected in my recovery.

So Long PICC Line

Nurse C. came today and removed my PICC line. PICC, Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter, if you've never the pleasure of having one. It is used to deliver antibiotics, and I had my last dose today. Getting it placed was slightly painful, but my mind may just have been focused on the creey-factor, having plastic tubing threaded into a vein. My first one at the rehab became clogged and had to be removed. I watched. Very high creepy factor, like observing a scrawny worm being pulled from your insides. Today I did not watch. But painless. Tomorrow I go see the cardiologist. A little light-headed today, but otherwise, continuing daily improvement.

Life in the (Very) Slow Lane

J. flew off to Seattle today, so I am alone in the apt. until DD gets home tomorrow. He was a very fine caregiver. We will next see him in May, when he may move to New York. I would like that. All continues to go well, last dose of antibiotic is tomorrow and then I go see the cardiologist on Wednesday. Continue to wake up 2-3 times a night for an hour or so at a time. Still too much edema, despite the lasix medication. When I go out, I walk very, very slowly; I now belong to a group that I scarcely noticed before, but when I saw them, at least I made an effort to get out of their difficult way. Now living in that group, it's kind of amazing how many people moving at roughly 2-3 times the pace I am able to keep expect me to get out of their way and to do it quickly. That is, if they are even looking around themselves. For New Yorkers weave on the sidewalk, or pick their path and hold straight to it, or carry on an active conversation with their companions or can't be bothered to look where they are going because they are too busy texting. So, in the (very) slow lane, it is mighty hard to stay out of harm's way.

My Veins

If you're a trainee as a medical technician (or, one supposes, a vampire) and you turn my arm over and look at the veins lining the underside, you get very excited. There they are, practically bursting to get out of the skin, long, prominent and bulging. So you get the needle ready to -- in the delicate phraseology of the trade -- "stick" me and you push it beneath the skin and, oops, the vein has moved. For the sad reality is that all those beauties are "runners" or, as a minority of techs say, "rollers." I've known this for years and it keeps me from going to the Red Cross and contributing during blood drives because a pint is absolute agony -- I can spend the better part of a morning lying on the pallet as a poorly stuck vein slowly yields its dark red contents. It flows through the plastic tubing like, as my good friend MH once said of wine at a wedding reception, "molasses." I'm feeling nauseous by the time it's done and can scarcely do justice to the post-donation plate of cookies.

This comes up because with J. as my handler, we took a taxi through the continuing snow two days ago to Dr. M's office, where after she also praised my progress, she turned me over to one of her techs -- dressed, I suppose for professional reassurance, in scrubs -- to draw my weekly blood. She too marveled at the veins and then utterly failed to draw blood. Out came the "stick" and off she went in search of E., the practice's master technician. E. stuck me again, drew off four vials quickly and I was freed, ready to walk over to Broadway for lunch with J. We went to Deluxe, a nice soda fountain-type place at Broadway and 113th, but something was different -- its exterior sign had burned, happened -- our waitress later said -- two nights before at 2AM. That must have been a sight -- a neon sign afire in the New York night.

Dr. M is moving in a couple of months. We are staying with her, but E. alas is not going, she says. Here's what she wants me to do: take a bit more coumadin because the levels are a little low in the blood, continue diuretics for another week to reduce leg, ankle and feet swelling. No biking outside or jogging as long as I am taking the coumadin. Go see a cardiologist for an ecocardiogram as soon as the antibiotic is finished. Airplane travel taboo for at least a month (deep vein thrombosis concern.) See a neurologist and rehab doctor for followup appts. Hold off on driving a car for a month at least. No drinking, except a sip of beer or wine with dinner, while on coumadin. Continue PT and OT at home. See her again this coming Friday to check coumadin levels. So yes, another stick. This time let's hope we go straight to Mr. E.

A Snow of Biblical Proportions?

Not sure, given where most of the Bible is set, that analogy is exactly apt, but we are now approaching 24 hours straight of heavy snow in NYC. And here's what The Weather Channel is reporting for the hours ahead:

"Heavy snow and near blizzard conditions will impact the New York City Metropolitan area. At 1211 AM EST, (that is, as I write, about 2 hours ago), National Weather Service Doppler Radar was tracking bands of heavy snow moving SW into the New York City Metropolitan Area. Snowfall rates of 2 to 3 inches per hour (and to judge by the pile on the wall outside our study window we already have over a foot), wind gusts of up to 45 MPH, and visibilities occasionally below 1/4 mile are expected with the snow through 2:15 AM (that is, 15 minutes ago and there is no let up in sight). Motorists should use extreme caution and avoid all non-essential travel."

Broadway is pretty much unplowed in front of the apartment, although a plow just passed a couple minutes ago. Subway seems to be running more or less normally. I was supposed to see my internist at 12:15 today, but I'm not sure that will happen, given the situation. The idea of her scheduler was to see her before my current prescriptions expire on March 1 so I can get new ones if she so deems.

I am feeling great, the swelling continues to go down and I am now only a couple pounds above my historic high weight. When I saw the visiting nurse Wednesday, I asked if there was any reason why I could not go out to a restaurant and she said no, so last night and Wednesday we ventured out. The first to our neighborhood Mexican place and last night way down to the East Village to a place called Motorino, which the (relatively) new NYT food critic this week called "the best pizza in New York." Well, after two $20 cab rides, waiting 15 minutes for a table in the cramped location, I disagree. It was terrific, expecially the crust, but I'll still take Grimaldi's and/or Patsy's. I can't disabuse my son of the idea that the stuff he buys along the street or from storefronts -- the kind you can hold vertically and watch the grease fall off -- is the quintessential NY pizza, but we are making some strides.

Riding at night, in the snow, in a warm cab, recovering -- it may be non-essential travel, it may be a lot of money to get to the East Village, but it is one great feeling.

No More Triassic

For the first time since I rode in the medical transport vehicle from St. Luke's Roosevelt to Mt. Sinai on February 1, I woke up this AM no longer feeling like a gynormosaur, a little known plant-eating dino, whose thighs when measured as a pair covered an area roughly the size of what is now Rhode Island. I still weigh 204, which is about 10 lbs more than I have ever weighed on a regular basis, but down from the nearly 230 I had bloated to by the time I got to Sinai. This should help the rehab, especially in the stretching exercises in my lower trunk and in walking. Moreover, I feel great this AM.

The last two nights we have watched Young Frankenstein and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. One is tempted to be an old fart and say "they don't make movies like that anymore," especially in the case of YF, which remains laugh out loud funny from the moment Gene Wilder reaches Transylvania and Igor tells him to "walk this way," until the end. Butch a cut below, but not far. The "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" bicycle scene looks even more pointless 40 years on and there's way too much horseback chasing, but otherwise it's a droll, prototype bromance and great entertainment.

While I Slept Away January (entries by my wife and two girls)

Friday, January 8, 2010 1:35 AM, EST

I am writing to let you know that my dad was hospitalized today in NY after a brain bleed. He is stable in the Roosevelt Hospital neurological ICU. We are here with Mom; our brother arrives tomorrow morning. While this was a very serious event, we have a lot to feel positive about. Dad is resting, and knows we're with him. He's blown us kisses, moved his hands, and can say his name. The bleed was in the right front of Dad's brain, which is an area that is not responsible for speech or motor functions. The focus of Dad's care is on stabilizing him after the bleed, and then on understanding the root cause of this event. We anticipate Dad will be in the ICU for the next 1-2 weeks. At this early stage, the doctors think Dad may have an Arteriovenous Malformation (AVM). AVM is an abnormal tangle of blood vessels that develops between the arteries and veins. AVMs are fragile structures and prone to swelling and bleeding. AVMs can be treated with medications, surgery, embolization, and radiosurgery. Doctors do not think Dad suffered a stroke. Dad will have an MRI in the morning, which will tell us a lot more. We will keep you informed via daily email, because we know many of you will be thinking about Dad. We're spending as much time as possible with Dad,so please be patient if we don't get right back to you.

Saturday, January 9, 2010 1:36 AM, EST

Thanks so much for your well wishes and emails. Mom and Dad very much appreciate your kind supportive words. Short note tonight, because it was a long day. Dad had periods of waxing and waning, typical of a brain bleed, all day today. He was often lucid and responsive, answering questions with a nod or one word answer. He knew the Yankees won the World Series, and seemed pretty annoyed I'd even ask such a dumb question. Other times he rested, or drummed his fingers, and seemed to know less about where he was. The resident said this was to be expected. The MRI scheduled for the morning took place at 8 p.m. today. That's how things are working...long stretches of wait. The resident reading the MRI saw no obvious mass or lesion, which may rule out the AVM from yesterday's note. The radiation chief will report on the MRI tomorrow, and we may learn more. However, it is much more likely that we'll learn definitively what happened to Dad on Monday, when he has a dye test. Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts.

Sunday, January 10, 2010 1:37 AM, EST

Thanks so much for your continued voicemail messages and emails. It is so nice to hear from all of you.

Today was a waiting day. Tomorrow morning Dad will have an angiogram done, which should provide us with something concrete as the MRI was inconclusive. It's all just speculation at this point. The doctors still suspect AVM, but the nurse thinks hemmoragic stroke. Dad had periods of waxing and waning again all day today. He was his best tonight, when he had five of us crammed in his room, gabbing and laughing across his hospital bed. He continually moved his head back and forth between us and smiled, adding his one word answers or nods. Rachel, our favorite nurse, fed him a full dinner of hamburger, mashed potatoes, veggies, applesauce, and of course, lots of ice chips to wash it down.

As we said yesterday, it is much more likely that we'll learn definitively what happened to Dad tomorrow, when he has a dye (angiogram) test.We'll update you tomorrow evening. Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts.

Monday, January 11, 2010 9:46 PM, EST

We learned today that Dad's bleeding was caused by an aneurysm.

The doctors think it might have been caused by a strep bacteria that grew on the heart. That infection, called endocarditis, made its way to the brain. The endocarditis is also causing the aortic valve in Dad's heart to leak severely.

The treatment at this time is a continued course of antibiotics, in the hopes the infection will clear and Dad's condition (both cardiac and neurological) will improve.

Dad was able to speak prior to the diagnostic procedures today, and said he had an excellent sleep. We're glad he was well rested, because the procedures lasted about 5 hours. He was very tired afterwards. We'll repeat the full process in three weeks, and hopefully see improvement then. Dad will be in the hospital quite awhile and we will learn and share more as we go along.

Thanks for all your calls and well wishes. They really help.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010 8:26 PM, EST

Today was a mixed day.

We learned that Dad has blood clots in his lungs. Doctors put a filter in to prevent additional clots reaching the lungs, but this development complicates Dad's recovery. These blood clots are called pulmonary embolisms, or PEs, as those of us in the unwilling know now call them. The PEs were discovered during a CAT scan of Dad's stomach and intestine to see if we could determine the location of the infection causing the endocarditis. That CAT scan will be followed by a colonoscopy to continue to search for the source of the bacteria.

On the positive side, Dad was quite clear today. He is tired and reserves his energy for this fight, so we didn't talk much, but he spent good time with all of us today. Mom and I were with him in the morning, and B. and J. are at the hospital for the evening shift now. J. read Dad poetry, and B. told him about the auditions she did today. Mom read the paper to him and I told him about his grandbaby's escapades. He was the quietest in the group, but let's face it, he usually is!

At times today Dad's situation seemed overwhelming; it helps to see your cheery messages. We're all focused on the prize: Dad home and healthy. Thanks for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010 10:16 PM, EST

Today was a good day, with no changes or new developments in Dad's condition. That's a great thing!

Dad was lucid for nearly all of the day, and ate a bit of each meal delivered to him. He listened to his iPod, and nodded his head and tapped his toes to the rhythm of his tunes. He told mom that he was planning on leaving soon, but hadn't told the staff. We are glad to hear he doesn't plan on making the hospital his long term residence.

Thursday, January 14, 2010 5:19 PM, EST

Today was another good day; we're glad to have two in a row!

Dad is having some minor seizures affecting his left side and his ability to speak. The doctors changed his medication to alleviate the seizures. A side effect of the medication is drowsiness, so Dad was sleeping most of the morning.

This afternoon, Dad woke up and socialized with us a bit. He talked sports with B. the rest of us tried not to fall asleep during that boringness. He passed the neurologists' exams, calculating how much money 7 quarters was faster than we did. He still has some trouble with where he is, and what year it is (today's answers were VA and 2011) but that is to be expected.

We're reading him your messages. Thank you!

Saturday, January 16, 2010 7:02 PM, EST

Dear Family and Friends,

This is D. (my wife), and I'd love to tell each one of you how much we have appreciated your encouragement and kindness. Today was a good day -- the drs. removed the drain from Jim's head today after "testing" it yesterday and he sat in a chair tonight. They don't like him reclining too long and this is the eighth day in the hospital. D., B., J., B., C., B. and now Jim's sister S. from Redmond joined the Bedside Get Well Soon Team and when he awakes, there is someone he knows in the room. His brother B. comes for a week on Monday. If love cures, he'll be up in no time!

We've printed off messages each day and read them to him. Thank you so much for your support.

Sunday, January 17, 2010 11:54 PM, EST

Dad sat in a chair with Mom and S. from 9:30am-2pm today, and then slept until about 6:30pm when J. and I were able to rouse him for dinner. He is speaking more and his sense of humor is definitely present. His sister tried to slip him a bite of spinach yesterday and he said to her: "Nice try."

S. left today and Dad's brother B. comes in on Tuesday. We continue to spend most of our days at the hospital, so we appreciate all your continued comments--we read them to Dad daily! Thanks to everyone for your thoughts and prayers!

Monday, January 18, 2010 5:59 PM, EST

I am so excited and happy to tell you that Jim was "stepped down" from the intensive care neuroscience unit and is so much clearer today! He sat in his chair and will soon be moved to rehab!! I will talk to the social worker tomorrow to figure out how we proceed but it is such a relief to hear him answer questions like "I can see the Hudson from here -- where are we?" (drs ask those kind of questions). We're all celebrating a great day here, and thank you for your prayers and kind words. I really believe all of your wishes are the best medicine there is!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010 8:26 PM, EST

We're happy that Jim's brother flew in from Sacramento this morning for the week and J. leaves for Seattle tomorrow but plans to return in February. The doctors do their rounds in the mornings and visitors can arrive at 11, so we missed them and haven't learned much new today. He had a few more tests that will be read tomorrow. Jim slept in the morning, then kicked into gear in the afternoon and answered some of the NY Times crossword puzzle and stood with assistance for the first time today. So each day, a little better. We read your notes each day, a few at a time, and he really enjoys them.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010 10:24 PM, EST

Dear Friends,

Jim went in for more tests:

1) the heart valve showed more visible infection than last week so they changed his antibiotic.
2) he is being monitored for seizures as he has a tremor in his left cheek.
3) the blood clot in his knee is breaking up

He was very lethargic today as he'd had anesthesia in the morning. He's on a soft diet and gets the same thing to eat every day, so we've decided to bring soups and food from home as he has lost a lot of weight.

Tomorrow is a CT angiogram.

Wish I had better news tonight but I know this is going to be a rollercoaster for awhile.

J. left today until February 14th, so B., B., Chris and I are here. A friend made us a delicious chicken cacciatore for dinner tonight.

Friday, January 22, 2010 6:47 PM, EST

Dear Friends,

Every day in the hospital is like a year on the outside, so we have been in Roosevelt for 150 years and counting. We spoke with the head of the ICU this evening, trying to get a handle on all the issues that Jim is facing. Here is what he told us: The heart valve looks the same and they will treat the bacteria aggressively for 6 weeks and reassess what they need to do then. It is secondary to the aneurysm and brain bleed. The aneurysm may be larger from the results of the tests today, and they will retest on Monday to verify if that's the case. If it is, on Tuesday Jim will go to brain surgery where they will use a clip or a bypass. He will do cognitive, physical and occupational therapy at Mt. Sinai, a hospital on the Manhattan eastside. I realized only yesterday that our primary care physician is following Jim's progress and I spoke to her after talking with Dr. Williams at the hospital. She said "I know Jim is in critical condition right now, but modern medicine often produces amazing results. Stay positive." So that's our message for the evening. Jim ate well today, and sat in his chair for about five hours, listening the his Ipod. B., B. and I were there during visiting hours and he enjoys our company. His colleague from CCNY stopped by for a quick hello as she was there with another patient.

Great to hear from all of you -- Jim hears the notes everyday.

Thank you so much, D.

Saturday, January 23, 2010 4:30 PM, EST

Such an excellent day today! B and I met with B's parents C and D and brother M (our son's girlfriends parents and brother) at a Starbuck's near the hospital, having a good coffee and sending healing vibes across the street -- no visitors other than family allowed, but it was so nice of them to be there for us. Jim was excellent today -- thought he was in San Francisco but otherwise answered all their orienting questions with flying colors. (Did I tell you one of the nurses asked him to count from 100 backwards by 7s. Okay, you try it....he had no problem). D. sent delicious foods from Fresh Direct, and he had potato and bacon soup and lots of large chocolate chip cookies. Tonight's dinner will be lamb and orzo -- we are under the assumption that eating well kills germs! V. sent a pig mobile that is a favorite and we loaded A.'s TML photos on his IPod and he spent a long time looking at them. And the best yet -- I called and he spoke with D. and J. I gave him a shave and it's a brand new day.

Love, D

Sunday, January 24, 2010 11:03 PM, EST

Dear Family and Friends,

Sunday in the hospital we turned the TV on for the first time. Jim had a good quiet day, still making progress with his memory and sat up for several hours. Tomorrow the Drs. from Mt. Sinai will evaluate Jim for rehab, and he will have a CAT scan to see if the aneurysm has grown and how we will proceed. His brother left today after being a wonderful help and support for several days. B and I had a nice time with Jim today, and once again he called D and J on the phone. We read your notes to him, and he had a good laugh in several places -- thanks! D

Monday, January 25, 2010 10:09 PM, EST

Dear Friends,

A quick note tonight as we are home late from the hospital. Jim had an endovascular embolization, an alternative to surgery, which destroyed the aneurysm. The surgeon inserts a hollow plastic tube to the aneurysm site and releases coils or glue to fill it and block it from circulation. Blood clots around it and destroys the aneurysm. It is the least invasive procedure to deal with aneurysm, a procedural choice comparable to being dealt 4 aces in a card game -- can't get better - or is it a royal flush -- (you know what I mean!)

So the aneurysm is behind us, with blood clots and heart to still to deal with. The aneurysm was the hardest, and so far, everything's coming up roses!

I believe Jim is surviving and will get better because of doctors, prayers, friends, family, in any order. Thank you all for your help!

Love, D

Tuesday, January 26, 2010 9:40 PM, EST

Hi Friends and Family,

Jim had a good day today recuperating from yesterday -- he had another CT scan for the blood clots and mostly rested throughout the day. We watched Jeopardy tonight and a nature film on the Monarch butterfly on the hospital TV. He ate well -- he hadn't eaten since Monday evening because of all the tests, so it tasted especially good. To supplement hospital food, we brought green grapes and a Jamba Juice with booster, and of course, a few chocolate chip cookies to wash it all down. B. read him your notes. Thank you! Love, D

Wednesday, January 27, 2010 9:10 PM, EST

Spoke with the doctor this evening, who said that their concentration now will be on the deep vein thrombosis (blood clots) that have formed in both legs. Normally they would use something like coumadin to thin the blood, but they can't do that now with the recent aneurysm repair -- thinning the blood could result in a brain bleed. So Jim will be in the hospital and they will monitor the clots with the idea that the drs. will delay as long as they can before the next steps.

B. and he spent a good portion of the day together as I went to the American Natural History Museum for our usual Wednesday tour and arrived at the hospital at 5:00. She said he watched "Modern Family" on his IPod and rested. He ate well again and was very sleepy and tired by the time I showed up.

Thursday, January 28, 2010 7:33 PM, EST

Hello Everyone,

Good day today -- Jim says he feels less foggy, is awake more, and the physical therapy team got him up and standing for a little bit. He wants visitors! The nurse checked with the dr. and he said okay, as long as it is 2 persons at a time (maximum) and short stays between 11:00 AM - 5:30 PM (Jim feels best in the morning...). That was excellent news for all of us! He's at Roosevelt Hospital, which is 2 stops from the AMNH heading downtown. Exit on 59th, walk west to 10th avenue, enter the hospital and tell the guard on duty that you're going to see James C. on the 8th floor.

He did start the coumadin (it's a blood thinner for the clots in his legs). The drs. think that the risks of starting a blood thinner outweighed the risks of waiting, so hopefully those legs will stop swelling and start healing.

Jim read your notes on his IPod today, so he is no longer getting printouts as he has entered the technical world again. He cannot get e-mails except if we download them into his IPOD -- go figure they don't have WiFi in the building. Do you think that it's not restful?

Thank you so much for your good thoughts and prayers. They mean so much to us!

D.

Friday, January 29, 2010 10:01 PM, EST

Dear Friends,

Jim had an excellent day and C., our Viriginia friend, came which made it even brighter. The doctors say they would like to see him on coumadin for 5 weeks before they deal with the blood clots. We don't know if that is in the hospital or out, but figure we'll know in the next week. In the meantime, he has spoken on the phone a couple of times and has heard from friends that they will come visit. It means the world to him -- thank you for all your support and kindness!

D

Sunday, January 31, 2010 4:29 PM, EST

Slow brain for me still, but wanted to thank you all for all the lies being posted at this site. In the first truly serious adult health issue of my life, I have learned--like so many before me--that if you are lucky, you have had a life filled with unforgettable family and friends. Skimming through these notes so many of you have left proves how lucky I have been. I'm starting to feel better, but even the eternal optimist that I am, realize there is a long road ahead.

Please keep me in your thoughts, and I will from time to time as my strength and brain power both increase (fingers crossed), continue posting notes on this site with the help of D, B and of course Sam, who has proven to be quite adept with the latest technology. If you live in the NY area and have nothing better to do in the universe, please come by and visit.

Roosevelt Hospital
W. 58th and Amsterdam Ave.
8th floor Neuroscience Ward
Room 30B


Monday, February 1, 2010 9:20 PM, EST

Dear Friends,

Jim moved by ambulance late this afternoon from Roosevelt Hospital Center to Mt. Sinai Medical Center, where he will continue medical treatment and start rehab. Mt Sinai's address is on Madison Avenue, between East 98th & East 101st, and their visiting hours are flexible but they prefer afternoon and early evening visitors because patients adhere to bootcamp-like schedules. He has a big room with one other gentleman, and it looks like a fine place to recuperate. He is very tired and hopes to get some sleep there -- I guess brain trauma messes up one's sleep cycle. Tomorrow they will do a thorough evaluation and set a release target -- his Dr. tonight said maybe 2 weeks, but that is her preliminary guess. The Dr. teams assess their patients' progress every Thursday so the plan can fluctuate. Love, D

Here's Jim's note:
My new home is Mt. Sinai rehab. I moved this PM. My program is laid out for me tomorrow...about 5 days seem right. Love to all, and many thanks, Jim


Tuesday, February 2, 2010 11:37 PM, EST

Good evening,

We had a small fiesta in the rehab tonight for the beginning of the Lost season -- 3 hours worth!! B, C and I brought ice cream, nuts, chocolate and bananas to create sundaes -- this is one of our favorite shows that has been off the air for several months, and so we had to celebrate.

Jim is pleased with the challenges they have laid out: physcial therapy, occupational therapy and work with his memory. He told them he wants to return to guiding at the Museum and Central Park, so they said they would use those materials to work with him.

He's hoping for a good night sleep tonight. He has his cell phone with him now and loves calls -- his number is 202-306-5505. If you don't get him, just leave a message and he'll try to call you back!

The notes are so welcome! Thank you -- he is reading them himself these days! D

Wednesday, February 3, 2010 10:09 PM, EST

Hi Everyone,

Jim's spirits are lifted today as he began his therapy sessions with plenty to do. For his 40 minute physical therapy session, he was up and walking with a walker and a nurse by his side, something he could not do a week ago. There is a gym with a bike that he is going to tackle tomorrow. Cognitively, he improves daily as well. He complains about his enormous legs that are swollen due to the clots. We'll learn more tomorrow what is in store for him, as his team of drs. meet to review his case. He is hoping they will bust him out soon.

He's reading your notes, and enjoying hearing from you. Thank you!! D

Friday, February 5, 2010 1:00 AM, EST

Hi,

Jim was busy with therapy until 4:30 this afternoon and enjoyed your calls and notes -- it is a great reminder that life and friends are waiting! He is tired from the exertion of the day, but happy he can do something to improve and enjoying the challenge. He watched Jeopardy in the evening, the weather channel, etc. We didn't hear more from his doctor today. The next few days will hopefully be the same as today, working at getting better.

I forgot to mention that at the museum yesterday, Danny DiVito and Rhea Perlman sat down on a bench near the Information Desk where I was working. Such is New York.

Thank you,
D

Friday, February 5, 2010 9:38 PM, EST

Good day today -- Jim's doctor team is aiming for discharging him around February 16th. He was alert, happy, and that old smile is back!! Still lots of work to do -- he said that he thought rehab would be a lot easier than it is, but he likes participating in his progress and works hard.

Have a good weekend! D

Sunday, February 7, 2010 5:47 PM, EST

Hello Everybody,

B and C are going to watch the football game in the hospital this evening with Jim and are bringing chips and dips and pizza. This morning I arrived with croissants and Starbucks and we read the Sunday paper, and this afternoon D flew in for a visit. N and C stopped by and brought treats, so Jim is well entertained and well fed. Sunday is a day of rest; tomorrow more therapy.

Love, D

Monday, February 8, 2010 10:11 PM, EST

Enjoyed one of the best superbowls-if not the best ever-with B and C. Especially enjoyable because I had no vested interest in who won, just enjoyed seeing a well played game.

Timing has been all wrong today with therapy because I'm still not sleeping at all at night and wind up falling asleep at just about the time they want to start therapy in the morning. These little annoyances encourage me to think that I'm making progress because, as we all know, I like to get annoyed about some of the little things of life. It looks like some weeks/ months of therapy, one more month of antibiotics, and then the doctors will look again at the leg clots and other issues.

Meanwhile,I'll be working on physical therapy and trying to untether myself from my antibiotic movable dispenser. When I woke up about a week ago, I was thinking that I could be back to museum and Central Park tours by March. April may be more realistic, but resuming those activities is my priority and is certainly a reachable goal. Love, Jim

Tuesday, February 9, 2010 12:02 PM, EST

Hi Everyone,

As things are going along as they should with therapy everyday until the 16th, we'll not update you on CaringBridge unless something is noteworthy. Jim is reading his messages from you and enjoying hearing from you, and thank you thank you thank you for being so supportive!

Love, D

Sunday, February 14, 2010 5:46 PM, EST

For our Valentine's Day activity, Dad and I staged a Sam break-in today! After being turned away by the first guard at Mt. Sinai--saying no dogs, except service dogs allowed, we had a quick ten minute reunion at the hospital entryway. We had a sorrowful goodbye so the guard would feel nice and guilty... but had secretly staged our plan. I loaded Sam in his kennel and surrounded it with two other bags, walked down the block, and slipped past a guard at another entrance, and successfully snuck up to Dad's room! Since Dad is currently roommate free, Sam made himself at home in Dad's room, jumping up on his bed and snuggling in for a nap beside his master. They had a good three hours of bonding!

J came in today, and will be visiting Dad tonight, and sis S comes back for a week starting tomorrow. The gang's all here for Dad's return to the apartment, hopefully on Wednesday!

Happy Valentine's Day to all!! Love, B

The below is from Dad, albeit a few days late:

Feeling much stronger today, much more flexibility in the lower half of my body, where the swelling has decreased. Definitely on track for a breakout next Tuesday or Wednesday. Come visit me during my convalesce which may be shorter than I have thought up till now.

Thursday, February 18, 2010 6:46 PM, EST

Dear Friends and Family,

Jim is home! He says he's never loved the apartment better, and J is cooking us a welcome home dinner. B, C, S, J and B are all here.

Thank you so much for all your support, prayers, and good wishes. Jim is a lucky, lucky man!! D

Friday, February 19, 2010 2:58 AM, EST

Home -- I have loved this apartment every time I have walked into it, starting with the day we looked at it when we were on our first and only apt hunting trip to NYC. But never more than today when I walked in with D from the hospital. Thanks for all of your prayers, karma, good thoughts, whatever. They have worked. Thanks too for your support of D and the kids as they have been burdened with this. I plan to continue writing about my recovery and some hospital things as well on my blog -- A New Yorker Now -- at http:innycnow.blogspot.com/

As Danessa would say, shameless plug.

Your fanastic cards and e-mails will be answered soon.


Saturday, February 20, 2010 1:55 AM, EST

One last entry -- call it our version of "How I Met Your Mother"

A couple of days before I left the hospital, D showed up on Valentine's Day with a pink and white Ears Flapping Puppy, a plush toy about 8 inches high that held a "Be Mine" message in a pink heart in his paws and -- true to his name -- flapped his ears when his left paw was pushed on the "try me" sign, which then played the late Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops singing "Sugar pie, honey bunch, you know that I love you..."

She called it, correctly, our song because 44 years and some months before, I was in my second or third day working as a dishwasher in Tuolumne Meadows Lodge in Yosemite National Park and singing those words, mightily off key but with at least as much enthusiasm as Levi, when a vision walked into the kitchen through the swinging white door from the dining room and front lobby. That would be, of course, the girl who would become my wife. She stopped in front of me, smiled and said, "How do you know that song?" I replied, "I heard it on the radio." Not exactly Hepburn/Bogart banter, but the first words spoken of what have now been millions after 44 years and counting. There were a few turns along the way, but six and a half years later we married and I've been lucky enough to be with her ever since.

Tuolumne was -- and remains -- epoch in my life, for beginning some of the best friendships I've had, but most of all for that kitchen meeting and all that has followed including three great kids, one of whom met her husband as he was working in the kitchen of a summer resort and, for all I know, singing when he first saw her.