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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Thursday, May 26, 2011

bedstemor

may 25th. 03:50 am. los angeles, california.

oh, that ominous sound. shrieking vibrations startling us awake...

but for me, nothing was more startling than the news that travelled through the wires; thousands of miles away...

expected. painful. surreal.

every now and then, you meet someone who exceeds your expectations. someone who lives life like a child; experiences everything as if it were for the first time. and surprises and inspires with their positivity, determination and utter joy...

someone who teaches you how to live; without preaching, but rather through the grace and power of example...

even at age 91.

bedstemor.

jeg elsker dig...

Saturday, May 14, 2011

lucky 13

i am not superstitious.

i think it's a bunch of hooey. black cats crossing your path, walking under ladders, shattered mirrors and friday the 13th...

you manifest your beliefs. period.

yet today was a doozy. still, i refuse to concede that it had anything to do with the date that has spawned a gazillion horror flicks...

["friday the 13th"]

rolling out of bed before 10 am for me, is akin to toothpicks jammed under my fungi-infected nails... i am genetically, through and through, a nocturnal nightingale...

eyes rubbed raw and ass dragged over to my laptop, i scanned, bleary-eyed, my inbox. there it was. a message from my danish cousin, christina. my informative angel; slapping me with cold hard facts like the frigid facial i needed for full awakening...

i wrote about my mother's mother, bedstemor, in a blog entry entitled "around the world in 73 days with bedstemor" way back on september 12th. bedstemor is now permanently hospitalized, riddled with cancer, in agony, and all options have exceeded their expiration date.

christina wanted to know if i could call during the three hours she would be visiting; but i had a post-transplant clinic at cedars and a renal ultrasound scheduled afterwards.

[deep sigh...]

excessive pain has overwhelmed my incision since last sunday. as we piloted the jolting nooks and crannies of the los angeles roadways, my pain intensified concurrently with my plummeting mood; and the deepening silence between these certified night owls made for a hushed and moody, spousal ride...

[not to mention, we had just hit up cedars on wednesday for kmac's follow up tests...]
so jaded by those shiny structures...more tired than lindsay lohan's omnipresent mugshots...

but, upon arrival, my team instantly empathized with my obvious discomfort. instantaneously, an ice pack here. thoughtful, probing questions there. and swiftly, not one, but two, hypodermic attempts to withdraw fluid from the literally, untouchable portion of my renal graft.

"don't worry. we will take care of you"...

"hey, i'm tougher than i look..., but my pain is at a 6"...

[sorry. but how funny can one be under duress?...]

and as the needles thrust in and out of my graft, dr. martinez concurred. "that's for sure. this is no 6. this is a full on 10"...

[validated viking!...]

potential causes: infection, fluid collection and the dreaded proclamation, "you may have to be admitted"...

[no, no, no, no, no....]

after the poking and prodding and needles that i disregarded like trash on the freeway, the doctors swaddled me like a babe in arms and insisted i stay and rest until my renal ultrasound @ 1:30 pm.

and somehow, throughout it all, uberhubby knew how to stand back. permitting me the space i needed to process all this news. quivering, aching organs. an oscillating stream of consciousness...(is there any other kind?). bedstemor...kidney...bedstemor...kidney....
he knew i would cry from the pain.

he knew i would cry because of bedstemor.

and he knew i would cry at the prospect of being admitted.

[this reluctant technophobe, so resistant to admit the following; ah, sometimes smart phones are unintended saviors...]

so, as kmac jabbed and stabbed away at his high-tech, calculable chum, i curled fetal, reminiscing about my powerfully positive, flirtatious, giggly, precious grandmother who was suffering thousands of miles away in a danish hospital...
bedstemor. my single greatest female role model. ever.

despite feeling like a slab of frozen meat in a deep freezer, (what is it with hospital thermostats, anyway?) i was able to briefly drift off, as kmac grabbed a quick snack at the ray charles cafeteria; as opposed to the more upscale clark gable "plaza cafe"...

[sometimes l.a. just makes me laugh...]
[kinda like this...]

bring on the mark taper imaging center. 13:30 pm.

fortunately, this treasured technician was the man who had championed kevin's follow up two days prior; and he probed my body with feather-like gentleness...
and there she lay...in all her robustness...my baby...
and as we drove home, i couldn't help but marvel at the medical miracle i am. i am alive because of someone else's organ. end of story. and that organ used to be inside my husband's body. and we were a match. despite love and loathing, respect and rebuttal, admiration and aggravation....we have love. and my devotion to him runs "river deep, mountain high"...

arriving home, the gun-metal gray, "hamlet-ien" cloud that had hovered over cedars, swiftly evaporated once we arrived home. and then we remembered it was our one year anniversary with one ms. maggie may mcintyre...profound pal, constant companion and heartfelt hound...

no, i am not a mother of the genetic persuasion, but this "you ain't nothin' but a hound dog" has filled my insular, bedridden days and nights with friendship, devotion and unconditional love.

and that was worth celebrating...



numbers, immaterial...13 is just a number. like my creatinine that holds fort at 1.0 (normal range 0.5-1.4) and 12 which is the age of my canine comrade. and 90 which is the age of my magnificent bedstemor; who today wrote me a facebook note (via christina) articulating how all her "girls" were there, except for me. and how much she missed me. and how much she loved me...

so i sobbed. and i sobbed. and i sobbed.
it's not often we are gifted with someone we hold in such high esteem and total admiration. dare i suggest, upon a pedestal?

but, when you do, disregard semantics and hold tight to the vibrations of your heart...

Monday, May 9, 2011

totally tubular

TGIF.

and not because i hate my job. i have no job. technically. right now this "disabled" damsel is officially unemployed and purely focused on loving her "no-longer-troubled-kidney". (ureter tubes crossed!). although driving as often as we do to cedars, tolerating appointments, tests and medication fluctuations; and pondering pontificating physicians feels like a surreal, part-time job. i feel more at home slogging along those sterile halls, than zipping up my own driveway. traipsing the hallways of cedars has become more frequent than holding court upon my ceramic throne...

[and i am one co-dependent queen of that commode...]

but, friday was the day i'd been coveting since march 14th. blogger back to a post entitled "the kid stays in the picture" (march 16th) and relive the day i was administered propofol (michael jackson's "milk"), had a permacath surgically implanted above my right breast, and henceforth could no longer shower, bathe or luxuriate in anything grander than a sponge bath...

[although, 'tis not the worst thing to have uberhubby loofah your back...]

i awaken every morning in one drowsy, discombobulated state. for so long my life was identified by illness; pigeonholed as inept, incapable and validation as elusive as osama bin laden (was?)....but, steadily, as the day unfolds, my hypothetically hunched backbone unfurls in tandem with my heart... i shake off the morning's gloomy fog and find fortitude within life's tiniest treasures...celebrating nothing more complicated than exiting the granny-smith-apple-green walls of my bedroom after 5 months. like a flag flapping in the majestic, morning breeze, not burning in protest on the ground...progression, not transgression...

["pleasure, little treasure..."]

this depeche mode lyric has been running through my head all weekend. trending upwards, these tiny treasures ground, excite and inspire me to prevail and hoist these mud-slathered limbs from my quicksand of limbo...

["friday, i'm in love"...]

silently, dare i suggest sleepily, we drove the hackneyed highway to cedars, propelled solely by autopilot. but as the hospital infrastructure came into view, a tingling of excitement quickly roused this night owl.

little treasure #1: last day required to wear a mask!
little treasure #2: blooming bloodwork...
little treasure #3: crushing on my pee...
little treasure #4: red carpet photo-op...
little treasure #5: best oatmeal in town...zagat rated...3 star michelin...
little treasure #6: in order to acquit, you must admit...
little treasure #7: "you'll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile..."
little treasure #8: bedside bonding...
little treasure #9: still waiting 4 hours later...at least i'm not in line at the post office...
little treasure #10: hospital "hummerzine"...rolling to surgery in style...
little treasure #11: rip this out of me already! (i can do it; i've got guns...)
little treasure #12: got the hair, the moves...yup. j-lo's got nothin' on me...
little treasure #13: beautiful bodyguard, diana...
little treasure #14: take 2: double the procedure; double the fun...
little treasure #15: one, two, three and my stent is freed...
homecoming...exhausted, but tube free, and fairly frothing at the mouth in anticipation of that hot, bubbly, liquid confection awaiting me. giddy as a teenager in love, i twirled around our bathroom; soon-to-be-sanctuary. candles softly flickering (for b.), jets surging bubbles (for s.) and aromatherapy delicately wafting throughout...notes mozart never hit...

little treasure #16: liquid liberation; freedom in bubbles...
[like, so totally tubular, dude.]

and then i took a moment to look at my body. really scrutinize and soak in the reflection of a 42 year old woman, medical miracle and born again soul.

little treasure #17: (oh, please!) reject stealth...for health is my wealth...
with zero guarantees and no extended warranty; fulfilling my new dreams, goals and aspirations will take time. time to identify. time to finesse. and time to execute.

it keeps me clear. it fills me with fear...but i am fully here. ("the big chill": feb. 13th )

but to inaugurate this odyssey with a bath?...i just can't think of a better way...

[splish, splash, i was taking a bath...]

can you?

p.s. little treasure #18: these two...

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

lost in transition

call it post-transplant(um) depression.

i may not be straddling the hormonal seesaw new mothers often endure, but there can be no underestimating the toxicity of the newfangled medications racing through my veins. the flush for my newborn has paled some...

i am a woman in transition.

transitions are cryptic beasts. with two steps forward, they slyly assure you your feet are planted upon terra firma, and you walk a straight line to recovery. but with every inevitable step backwards, i sigh, then aim to finesse that infamous moonwalk; somehow utterly failing to capture the grace and effortless perfection of one notorious king of pop.

i trip. i fall. and discouragement flattens.

yesterday, i awoke with a headache rammed up my brain. the first one since the transplant. sleepily on auto pilot, i implemented my mastered, modus operandi (m.o.) with the divine swiftness of hermes:

-insert mouth guard to relieve jaw tension.
-affix glasses to twofold effect: eliminate vanity and ease eye pressure.
-blanket cold compress upon forehead.
-pop a couple of excedrin with an icy, lemon-garnished glass of water. gulp down in its entirety.
-slather tiger balm across forehead and massage into temples.
-dig digits deep into acupressure points that lie between thumb and index finger.
-open window wide and increase ceiling fan to top speed.
-engage in yoga breathing; in and out through nose. repeat. endlessly.
-snuggle fetal with fur-baby.
-if at all possible, beg hubby for masterful massage of head, neck and shoulder area.
-attempt to sleep.

a regimented technique, indeed, but despite full commitment, never fool-proof; inconsistent at best...
[the best laid plans...]

more unsettling than the physical pain, was the emotional cold pool i was flinchingly plunged into. limbs symbolically sprawled far and wide, nails clawed resistance, i was emotionally drawn and quartered. the pungent, eucalyptus stink of the topical analgesic (tiger balm) unleashed a cascade of melancholy. after several hours the headache lifted, but those lingering, tingling nasal wafts recalled the endless, bedridden days of my oh, too recent past. days writhing in pain, desperate for comfort and peace and hysterically craving sleep. sense of smell may be the most cultivated of the senses, for that odorous reek skillfully triggered a reflecting hall of mirrored emotion.

[images in mirror may be closer than they appear...]

over the last 3 years, i submitted my independence to kevin in its totality. with no reservations. and it never once challenged my ego. potential insecurities lay dormant, trusting his support was unconditional. i embraced his gift in the manner in which it was bestowed; with love.
but, it wasn't always easy.

i have always been an exceptionally independent girl, woman, beast in both thought and deed. so to grudgingly stake claim in limbo had it's unexpected challenges.

the first 365 days post transplant are microscopically monitored. encumbered with appointments, fraught with restrictions and endless adjustments to and eternal reliance on medications. incisional pain and anesthetic exhaustion leave me dependent upon painkillers, no driving and rest.
[oh, and on friday, a pair of procedures play out. double the procedure; double the fun...]

so despite the immense gratitude i feel for every returned ounce of energy that harrowingly eroded away; it is tempered by claustrophobic dependency. and impatience.

[this patient has no patience.]

so post-headache, i indulged in a wee "hen"tal breakdown of sorts. no defibrillator in sight, just a heartache that only independence can expunge.

but impatience can motivate and even foster independence. boundaries should never be perceived as burdens; rather empowering opportunities. baby steps for now, but soon enough this redhead's gams will germinate viking tall again and i'll be smashing every restriction in sight. euphorically stomping that figurative barrel of grapes; then celebrating with the most robust merlot i've ever sipped.
so while others go to work, volunteer, exercise, drive, socialize...my dream life so close, yet so far...i attempt to embrace my temporary new position. this mandatory stop-gap. my job must be this: appointments, medications, bp readings, collecting disability, resting, eating well and loving on my (no longer troubled) robust kidney.
as my yoga instructor once bestowed, "honor your body" and as my therapist simply perfected, "be kind"...

although reluctant to concede, i do see a beauty in dependence when my glasses are buffed to a shimmery sheen.

peering through my lenses, i observe quiet, unsung moments of dependency. the california sun, conversations with kevin, enjoying our cabin in the sky, writing outside with our million dollar view, my ipod on shuffle, the wag of maggie's tail and those oh, so, glorious sunsets.

take for granted, no, but on these gifts, i can depend.
i must believe in the day when i can smash those specs into sparkling slivers of independence, and adorn myself with ray-bans instead.

[blinded by the light]

when i glimpse through that partially cracked curtain that separates first class from the plebs; that peek reveals a world of total independence. "i will enjoy a drink now...i will take dinner in an hour...i will have my warm cookie now". choices honored; unchallenged. while back in economy, our options are pitifully dependent upon the fickle whims of the frequently sassy flight attendants (makes me want to call them stewardesses again; just out of spite). as we wrestle with brick pillows made of styrofoam, are constantly whacked in the head, impossibly fish for more legroom and negotiate plastic cutlery; this struggle for comfort reduces our souls to the vulnerability of a child.

[just don't get me started on the wailing tots...]

but, i am still flying high, soaring above my illness, fueled by this robust organ and gliding towards a yellow-brick tarmac of possibilities.

but, like my beautiful friend, l, recently articulated, "healing is not a linear process" and certainly k's healing continues to be complicated as i manage massive, mercurial mood swings...
but look out, turbulence. i don't like you. but i can handle you.

[so, bring it.]

6th post-tx. clinic: check. creatinine: 1.1 (normal range 0.5-1.4).

now that's something i'd love to become dependent on.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

date night

"chinois" on main...
hungry, hungry hubby...
nonrestricted nosh...
glamorous gargoyle...
 artistic ambiance...
operational opulence...
stylish sanitizing...
wolfgang's welcoming workers...
exuberant eating, eh?
ravenous redhead!
vivacious venice...
super, sexy steady!
magical meeting (our godsons' grandfather!)...
santa monica "pier"ing...
retro revelry...
uh, winning!
ferris wheelies!
kickin' the fey/carell flick ("date night") far and away...
best date night in 3 years!...i love you, k...

[and then we crashed for 12 hours straight. but it was worth every moment...]