2009: The Year of Good Enough

I've been trying to decide what my inaugural post for 2009 should be about and I decided that I should begin by returning to one of my goals for 2008: my personal reading challenge. When I reviewed my post from last year describing my challenge (to read 10 books in the course of the year from my own library), I saw that the bulk of that post was dedicated to being grateful for the time we have with our loved ones because we will not always have them with us. There seems to be some sad coincidence in that.

I have fallen way behind on reading people's blogs and obviously on writing this blog. So far behind that I only learned yesterday that Mommanator's husband passed suddenly in the interim. Something that struck me was that she stated she was happy to have him 10 years longer than she thought she might. Again, I'm reminded that we need to love each other fully and seek delight in our loved ones as much as possible. We lose more than the person if we don't attempt it. I know I'm not the only one to express it, but just wanted to publicly convey my most heartfelt condolences to her and her family in their time of grief. I definitely keep you and yours in my prayers right now, Mommanator. Many hugs, doll.

Some good news about this new year for me, is that something in me switched when the clock struck midnight on January 1. I've been decidedly angry and emotionally stubborn about some health concerns of mine, lately. Though I'm progressing with more investigation and possible treatment, I'd been furious that this was something I even had to deal with. I was furious at my body for betraying me. Then at the beginning of the year the emotional stubbornness and the fury just dropped. I'm still angry, I still feel betrayed, but I'm not wrapping myself in it like a self-pitying blanket anymore. I have resigned myself to the probable. I'm still not happy about it, but I'm no longer emotionally resistant. I'm actually more accepting of it. Unless something changes: it is what it is.

That shift also freed me to review other things in my life. It's a new year. New choices? Maybe. I don't do "resolutions," but I do set personal goals. Among my goals this year are:

• Write more, of course. I've got at least one piece lined up. I work best with deadlines, so maybe I should look for more deadline-driven writing opportunities. But in the meantime, I should just keep tapping at the keyboard. I wrote more in 2008 than in 2007, so let's keep up the momentum.
• Become more craftily self-sufficient. Re-teach myself to sew on the machine that I've been ignoring for years and make something wearable.
• Make the house look more grown-up. Replace craptastic college-era plastic shelving with real stuff; paint at least 2 rooms in the house this year; buy a few furniture pieces (new sofa-set for basement, maybe?).
• Put stuff on the walls. Frame photos I like and hang them. Maybe buy some art. That costs money and spending money scares me shitless, but our walls are scandalously bare.
• Exercise more. Specifically, start running again! I never felt better about my life than when I ran a marathon 6 years ago. I don't know that I want to do a full 26.2 again yet (maybe in a few years), but I can easily do a 5 or 10K. There's no reason I shouldn't. Plus, I should really buy a friggin' bike. It's stupid that I don't have one.
• See more live theater. There's so much that's good out there and I don't take enough advantage of it. I had the pleasure of seeing some Shakespeare with Darla D and her girls this past week and I really enjoyed it. Why don't I do it more? I dunno. Routine lifestyle, I suppose. Honey and I go on jags every few years. This should be one of them and it should really increase to a regular habit.
• Re-up my reading challenge of 2008. Same deal. So many books in my collection that I've not gotten around to reading or only half-read. 10 more to read and/or finish for 2009. Just finished Born to Buy (pictured above), which was actually book 9 or 10 from 2008 - that's right, I fell short; sue me. I'm moving on next to God in the Machine: What Robots Can Teach Us About Humanity and God. I think I heard that author on Speaking of Faith a few years ago. Honey began reading it, but said it didn't teach him anything new. But he's a techie-guy. I hope that it'll illuminate something for me.
• Ditch the high-fructose corn syrup (and hopefully later the partially hydrogenated oils). I've known since sophomore nutrition class (thanks, alma mater, for making that part of our core requisite curriculum) that corn syrup is no good for me, and neither are partially hydrogenated soybean or corn oil. But damn, that stuff is addictive. So far, I've gone a week without the corn syrup. I've managed to gain weight, but that's mostly because I have no sense of portion control and I've not been exercising as much. Still, it's as much about being mindful about what I put into my body as it is about weight loss. Temptations may surround me, but if I can ward off just one of them, then the battle is not yet lost.
• Spend more time with Honey. Evenings, weekends, whatever.
  
• Find a new job, or a new path. Not necessarily outside my field, but just some path that allows me time to enjoy my family and to pursue my outside interests. My recent down-shift to part-time should help.
  
• Stop thinking I have to define myself by my career or other "achievments." I'd like to say I'm bigger than that, but I'm not. I'm just a regular achiever living in the land of hyper-acheivers. When I really contemplate it, yes career and title are in there, but the lifelong goals I'm most concerned with are more personal in nature: travel, family, language-learning, re-learning piano, etc, etc. I love my work, but I need to stop measuring myself against the hyper-achieving hyper-tense, hyper-paid peers in this town. I'm me. That's good enough.

Maybe that's what I need to carry into this year. Things don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough. I don't have to find the most extraodinary wine bar/buffet for our dining area. I just have to find good enough. I don't have to run a marathon. A 5K will do. I don't have to lose 15 pounds; 6 will be sufficient. I don't have to read all the ancient classics I should've read in college. I'll just read one. I'll do what I can. And that will be good enough.

Update

Thanks to all of you who offered kind thoughts and prayers for my dad's recovery. Mommanator asked for, and it seems only fair that I deliver, an update on Dad's condition.

He had the surgery on the 13th, a Monday, and went home on the 20th, a Monday. I haven't talked to him on the phone since Wednesday, I think, but he sounds better and better every time I talk to him. He got the flowers I ordered him and sounds like he's in good spirits. I don't know how long he'll have to stay home recovering, but I trust all is well.

In general, the folks in ICU were impressed with him and his recovery. For one, they were impressed that a man of his age (62) with his general overall health problems was recovering along at such a good clip, especially for someone who had already had that surgery once before. It's my understanding that we only have 4 or 5 arteries in our heart, but after two triple-bypasses, Dad's heart must now look like it's crawling with worms! Awesome! They were also impressed that his memory was so sharp after all the meds that were being pumped into him and the mega-anesthesia from which he was recovering. One of his nurses, Chris, was stunned that Dad remembered his name. The nurses switched shifts around 7AM/PM. At 7AM, Tuesday, Dad's surgery was only 18 hours old. He should've been foggy on Chris' name by 7PM, but wasn't, nor was he foggy on the other ICU nurse's name. Honey says that's the preacher in him: having to remember the names of strangers after a few casual meetings. Probably, but that skill is also probably helpful in the recovery process - assuming being mentally astute is helpful.

I have to leave in a few minutes for a road trip. The group I perform with is travelling up the coast for a benefit show. Yea! Road trip! But spouses and significant others have to stay home. Grr. Hopefully, Honey will come with me next month when we hit the road again. Anymore, we're having to make time for each other, which seems silly as we sleep next to each other and all! Such is life. Sheesh, what's it gonna be like if we have kids?

Like a Child

Dad had his second open-heart surgery yesterday. For those keeping track at home, his first was in the mid-80s.

We went to church Sunday morning and as the senior minister was out on vacation, Dad was scheduled to preach. It wasn't one of his better or more memorable sermons - it was new, anyway - but I really enjoyed hearing him preach. I always enjoy it, but since I don't live nearby and since he's no longer the senior minister, hearing him preach is always a treat. It was good to see some folks there that I hadn't seen for a few years. People offered their prayers; one of Dad's parishoners stopped by their house yesterday afternoon specifically to pray with us. As I don't know her, I didn't know what to think of it. Her prayer though was really sweet and comforting. She referred to Dad, in her prayer, as a man with a heart as big as all outdoors; and he is one of the very few people I've ever met for whom I think that description is perfect. She also brought my mom a little scarecrow rag doll she picked up at a crafts store. Ultimately, I really appreciated her visit.

Mom had been tearing and crying a little here and there all Sunday. I had been playing the supportive daughter, there to cheer on Dad and comfort Mom. I was definitely worried, but I wasn't letting myself show it. I had actually convinced myself that I was okay, that I had my worries in check. I suppressed my own emotions so much I almost snowed myself over. Almost. Before I went to sleep Sunday night, it all came out. I cried and cried and let myself be scared and just let it out to God telling him how scared I was and how worried I was. All my doubts and fears. I'm not sure I'd talked that candidly to God in a long, long time. Years maybe. In crying and reaching out, I discovered I suppress a lot of my negative emotions. Or I have been in recent years. It felt genuinely good to weep and genuinely good to just get candid with God.

This was different from his first triple by-pass. I didn't go with him to the hospital on the day of the surgery the first time. I was eight. My brother and I stayed the night with my mom's baby brother and his wife. They were so cool when we were kids, simply because they were young. I remember my uncle gave me an Apple computer t-shirt with the colored apple logo on it. It was sized for an adult male, so it swallowed me up, but I wore as a night shirt. We didn't get to see Dad for a day or two after the surgery. When we finally went to the hospital, my mom warned us to be gentle and not too loud because he was trying to recover. I remember walking into his room and him standing up from the edge of his bed, wearing a green bathrobe, and seeing the stitches on his left shin. That's where the doctor had removed his leg veins, which were transplanted to his heart to replace (or by-pass?) the old clogged arteries. But to my eight-year-old eyes, the stitching was sinister. Had the surgeon made a Frankenstein monster out of my dad? It sure looked like it! He opened his arms wide to receive hugs from us, and I delivered, cautiously, in case he was a Frankenstein monster and tried to kill us suddenly. During the nights he was in the hospital, my brother and I slept with mom in their bed. It felt good to all sleep together when we all felt so sad and scared.


Sunday night, as I hunched on my parents' guest bed, crying and clutching a teddy bear mom had bought as a stage prop for a one-act she directed when she taught high school in West Texas, I realized I felt just as scared and vulnerable as I did when I was eight. Not only that, I wish I had the protections provided me when I was eight. When I was eight, I didn't have to wake at some ungodly hour to go with Dad to the hospital for check in and surgery prep. When I was eight, I didn't have to watch as they wheeled Dad away into surgery. When I was eight, I didn't have to wait for hours in a waiting room, anticipating each visit from the nurse. When I was eight, though I've always feared losing my parents, I think I was maybe less afraid of losing my dad than I am now. ... no, I've always been exactly as afraid of losing him as I am now.

We were very fortunate to be surrounded by friends and family yesterday. Dad's boss, the senior minister at his church, arrived at the hospital around 5:50, when we were arriving and stayed throughout the whole procedure until we got the all-clear, around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I didn't know him well, but got to know him better; he's a nice guy and I can see why my family likes him. My uncle who lives in the Dallas area was down for a 6-month check up from his oncologist at a nearby hospital. (He's been cancer-free for years now, but still has to get the official thumbs up every 6 months.) He stopped in for a while, between appointments, to sit with us. We made waiting-room friends with a Muslim family who were awaiting news about their brother. One of his sisters - the one who wore a scarf and traditional clothes - had a chain of prayer beads that reminded me of a rosary. Though I cherish the iconoclasm of the strain of protestantism in which I was raised, sometimes I wish we had retained traditions like that from our Catholic forebears. We're 3-D beings, having something tactile to cling to doesn't have to be idolatry. But I digress. Other friends from my parents' church stopped by to check in. A little after 2, about 45 minutes to an hour after surgery, Mom and I were allowed to visit him in the ICU recovery room. Poor guy was so far whacked on anesthesia, he barely opened one eye. Mom held his hand and talked to him for a few minutes and then we both said goodbye.

Mom had to return home around 4 to meet with a repairman about some light fixes to the house. There's still a lot of Ike debris around the city: tarps on roofs, tons of tree branches gathered here and there; signs knocked off. My brother arrived in time for the 5PM visitor period. Before we went in, I warned him that a few hours earlier, Dad looked like a coma patient and he had tubes coming out of him and he was pasty white and cold. He nodded. We're grown ups. We can handle seeing our dad look like that right? HA! Immediately, we both started tearing up. By this time, Dad was more responsive. He couldn't speak with the tube in his mouth, but at least his eyes were open and he could communicate non-verbally. "Blink if you know we're here, Dad," my brother said. He blinked. "Blink twice if you're still going to vote for Obama," I requested. He blinked twice of course. My brother and I did what we always do when we're scared or sad, we cracked wise. I think Dad appreciated it because we could see him sort of turn up the corners of his mouth in an attempted grin. I figured out that he had an itch on his right arm, so my brother scratched it. "There are so many tubes coming out of you, you look like a cow being milked!" my brother told him. Immediately, I SO wanted to say, "Dad! Be careful! Soylent Green! It's made of PEOPLE!" But everyone else in the recovery room was so quiet. We were the only ones really talking aloud. Other family members just hovered over their loved ones. Thankfully, Dad wasn't the worst looking. I actually feel sorry for Dad in that hall. Not just because he's uncomfortable, but because he's having to share space with people who really do look a lot worse off than him, right now.

After our visit yesterday afternoon, my brother broke down in the hall outside ICU recovery. I held him and let him cry on my shoulder and let myself cry on his. Seeing Dad as vulnerable as that exposed all our vulnerabilities. Again, I was grateful that when I was a child, I was protected from that.

Mom visited him this morning. He's still in ICU recovery, but he's sitting up, the tube is out of his mouth, and he's talking. It takes forever for anesthesia to fully wear off, so he'd forgotten that we visited yesterday, but that's fine. The fact that he went from droopy-tongue coma to Diving Bell and the Butterfly messaging within a couple of hours yesterday to sitting up and talking this morning is really, really encouraging to me. Bro will be coming by in about 15 minutes to pick me up to hang out before we visit him at 5. Dad will probably be moved out of recovery and into a room tomorrow. That will be a good thing, as the poor man needs a window, and we won't have as restrictive visiting times. I leave tomorrow morning, so I'll probably say goodbye to him tonight as the 8 o'clock visitation ends. Which sucks. I'd much rather get to say goodbye to him in his own room, or at home, but I'll take what I can get.

I waffled a bit on whether or not to come down for this. They don't "need" me. Technically, there's nothing I can do to help the situation. And, selfishly, I'm scared. But in retrospect, I'm terribly glad I did. A triple by-pass surgery is nothing to be trifled with and a second one, even less so. I think it was heartening for him to see me in his time of need. Maybe I also needed to come down, to expose myself to my own fears and become a little girl again. That wouldn't've happened had I stayed home.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Before I get into this, I wanted to fulfill the meme that lovely Mommanator tagged me for a few weeks ago.

Here are the rules:
Pick up the nearest book
(of at least 123 pages).

Open the book to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences.

The nearest book is what I'm reading, Orson Scott Card's Enchantment. Actually, I just passed page 123 last night.

"His was the only face the water could have shown her, for what other living person was linked to her by blood and love? My Itzak, my Vanya, what is happening to you?
He was dressed in the robe of a medieval monk, and behind him loomed the figure of an old man in priest's garb."

I'll tag, to do the meme next, Darla, Devinoni and if they're still reading my lazy posting-self, Koji's Kitchen, Pearl and Joe. And Virginia Gal, because I'm sure she's onto like her 6th book since reaching Denmark.

I'm still holding out hope that 2008 will be my year. It started out great, but I faced an upsetting hurdle Tuesday afternoon.

I had a minor day surgery scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. It was to last roughly half an hour. In and out, minimal invasion; I can resume my life tomorrow morning with no effects. HA! After I had been under for 45 minutes, Honey began to get suspicious. When the med student who introduced himself to us as the observer came out to retrieve Honey closer to the operation room, he knew something was wrong. Honey met with the doctor. Oops! Clearly, I'm conscious and fine now, but basically, the knock on wood, 2% chance that something would go wrong in this simple day surgery did. And the doctor ended up having to re-open the incision in my belly from my emergency surgery in December. I'm all sewn up and healing now. And my energy level is better than it was two days after my last surgery - maybe because it was just different, even though it's the same incision.

But, boy am I mad. I don't really fault the doctor. I understand what happened and why this had to get invasive. But the one thing that I've been looking forward to most has now been delayed from me for a while. When I came to, I remember asking the nurses like three or four times if it was Tuesday. They told me it was. Then one, making sure I knew when I was said, "And George Bush is still president." I groaned. "Can I go back to sleep? Can you just wake me up in January?" The laughed. I give myself mad props for being able to make coherent jokes mere moments out of anesthesia, while still groggy and confused as hell. Then the doctor then entered my line of sight. "Molly, I'm sorry, you're going to have to stay overnight. And you're not going to get to go to rehearsal tomorrow night." I immediately started bawling. The nurses were worried that I was in pain and surrounded me checking on me, asking if I wanted drugs. I didn't care about the pain. Heck, it only felt like world's worst ab workout. I couldn't go to rehearsal!!

When the doctor's office told me when they wanted to schedule this - the day before rehearsals for my show began again - I checked with him that I should be able to go to rehearsal the next night. Like each time I talked to him, I checked. As long as it's not too strenuous - major dancing, etc - I should be fine. And so long as this was a 1/2 hour day surgery, that would've been the case. Luckily, he felt completely awful about it. I think he knows I'm more traumatized by that than by the need for and execution of the surgery itself. So, I missed last night's rehearsal and will probably have to miss the first show next week; maybe also the second. It kind of depends on my doctor's orders and how well and quickly I'm healing.

If possible, I'm going to sit in on next week's rehearsals, and be in the audience for opening night. I'm emailing work to have them send me phone numbers for calls I've been needing to make, but for which work keeps getting in the way. Don't worry, though. I won't spend more than an hour on it. And if it requires me getting out of bed, I probably won't do it at all! This week, I'm basically not going to leave the house, cook, do laundry or anything. I want as full a recovery as I can have in 7 days. I want to win over my body this year. I'm tired of losing!

What a difference a week makes

This time last week, I was strapped to a hospital bed, with an IV drip in my arm. I also had a morphine button to juice me up when I needed. And I was totally loopy from anethesia. Now, my scar is itchy, but the pain is diminishing in noticeable increments.

My mom is coming up to visit this coming week. I'm looking for it. She's going to help us out while I recover from my surgery. By the time she gets here, I'll feel even better than I do, now, but her assistance will still be appreciated immensely. Honey will be working a LOT, and I can't decorate the house with these stitches, so Mom will have her work cut out for her.

Operation recovery has been harder than I thought. The doc said to take one to two weeks off of work. I'm playing it by ear, right now, hoping to return to work by Wednesday. But I find that I'm still pooped. It took me forever to wake up this morning, and it's been a week! My scar is healing up okay, but if I'm up and about too much, I just get malaised and tire quickly. I just made the mistake of checking my office email. There's an irritated customer there. I don't know if my body needs that kind of stress right now. (Yeah, that's the ticket!) But frankly, as I'm paid by the day, I really don't have the luxury of waiting till I'm fully recovered. Eh. I'll probably be okay enough by mid-next week, at least to do half-days.

In the meantime, I am going to count my blessings, like my grandmother told me I should:

1) Everything was caught in time.
2) Everything so far feels like it's healing up alright.
3) I'm catching up on Netflix and TiVo.
4) I'm blogging more.
5) My cousin just had a baby.
6) My dog no longer smells like the dead bird she excitedly nosed around in in our backyard.
7) I'm getting some reading done.
8) I'm take a legitimate breather after a year of hectic activity.
9) Showering is optional, since I'm not going anywhere. (Woohoo!)
10) I'm getting lots of my Christmas cards done.
11) I have discovered how utterly fantastic my friends are.

There are many more, but it's about lunchtime and I'd like to cruise the fridge.