Sara works for me; she’s a really neat woman, amazing at her job, smart etc. etc. A single mom, she’s also had her mother living with her for nearly two years because her mom was diagnosed with a form of fatty liver disease that’s genetic. So Sara may have to face this for herself someday.
Anyway, Sara’s mother went downhill slowly at first, and then as often happens with organ failure, that sped up. She originally needed a liver transplant but then her kidneys also started failing (which apparently is not at all unusual to happen). In early October, she crashed hard and honestly I didn’t think she’d make it--she was in ICU for two weeks, on a vent and on dialysis.
But she rallied enough to move to rehab and then we got great news that the VA had a donor for her for both organs. So Sara and her mom were flown to Madison WI for the surgeries.
On Thursday, October 21 she had the liver transplant. That surgery was rough, so her surgeons waited until Saturday, October 23 to transplant the kidney. And she did GREAT. The next day she was off the vent, talking with her family, making urine etc.
And then she died that afternoon. The preliminary autopsy ruled out a blood clot, which is what her medical team suspected killed her. But no. She just died.
What feels so cruel is that she came through both surgeries, she was alert etc. Sara and her sister were so excited, heck all of us who work with her were too.
Rhonda’s funeral is Wednesday at Fort Leavenworth. She was an Air Force veteran and wanted a military service. I will be there.
So hello. No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth although I wouldn’t be surprised if you thought I had.
This kind of hiatus strikes me every year around late summer and early fall. Normally I return after a couple of weeks. This time it’s been a couple of months.
During these times, I tend to question why I continue to write blog posts that are rarely read, and almost never commented on.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no ambition to be some wildly popular blogger whose every post generates a ton of comments. But getting next to no comments, even from a couple of family members who tell me they read my blog, yet never comment--well that’s like talking into an empty room with sound deadening properties. What’s the point? Or to paraphrase the cliche, if a blog post generates no interactions, did it even get posted?
Adding to that, Mary’s death was quickly followed by my gym closing for good. This was the gym I had just found and where I felt so comfortable and as though I would be able to achieve my fitness goals. The owners are fairly young and decided to retire early. I can’t blame them for that, not at all. But I was devastated, more than I thought I would be or even possibly should be, so much so that I cried at that loss.
And then all the losses, especially since 2017, just overwhelmed me.
I am told all the time how strong I am, how they admire me, etc. etc. etc. Well nuts to that.
I’m tired, I’m sad, I’m mourning what for sure is gone (like my music career from damage to my right thumb that has never resolved even after nearly 30 years), or the sense of where my potential health issues might be (which never not once included melanoma or breast cancer or osteoporosis or this fucking Meniere’s Disease--oh no, I anticipated and who knows may still get a blood cancer given that my mother has leukemia, her sister has multiple myeloma and my aunt’s identical twin sister died of acute leukemia at age 7--THAT’S what I expected).
And yes, I’m doing all the things to regenerate my joy, my contentment, my sense of peace. I write down things I’m grateful for; the journal I’m using has three spots and if I have three things, then great. But if it’s a day where there’s one or maybe even none, I’m not putting something down just to fill the line. I’m keeping it real.
Right at the most bleak time, my parish held a healing mass. I felt like I got thrown a lifeline and reader (if you’re there LOL), I went. I find the liturgy to be so comforting. The words themselves aren’t holy, but the intent is and the relief I felt at being anointed and then prayed for comforted me.
The two areas I continue to struggle with are these:
Can I successfully train and run just one marathon? Can my body handle the load (because the mental part is not a problem) without more bones breaking?
Meniere’s Disease. This has been a terrible few months for me, with severe vertigo pretty much every week which means I can’t walk, heck I can’t even stand up, and I throw up violently for hours (no exaggeration). In fact, I write in my gratitude list when I have just minor vertigo or go a full week without throwing up.
Last week, I saw my regular ENT again, and asked for the referral he’s offered in the past for a more specialized ENT. I will see that doctor on November 8. In the meantime, my regular ENT prescribed Valium and a drug to stop me from throwing up. I am very, very sparing with that Valium as while I stay conscious I’m not at my sharpest. But when the world starts gyrating and spinning, you better believe I’ve taken it. I hope with all my heart this new doctor has a different solution as I really do not want to be on something like Valium. For now, though, it sure beats puking for hours while the world heaves and spins.
I'll leave you with a song that I have always loved, one that's brought me much comfort over the years.
On Friday, the window closes to submit marathon results for the Grandma’s Marathon this year (which is all virtual).
What to do with this?
I, of course, will have nothing to submit thanks to my broken right foot.
This is the first race I’ve not started, let alone not finished and this is hard for me.
I had a lot of meaning and significance invested in this race: the end of active cancer treatment, finally healed up from the fractured pelvis, also I’m 60 this year and that sort of seemed appropriate, to run my first marathon the year I turned 60.
Well that’s not happening. It’s hard to stay with the feelings, because they mostly suck and are centered on loss, failure, and fear that I will never be able to get back to the running I love so much.
So here I am, seven months after paying the fee to run that marathon, looking at a jacket I will never wear. I didn’t earn it and I would always feel like a fraud. Honestly, I'm not sure what to do with it.
