CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY EIGHT: HANDICAPPED

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY EIGHT: HANDICAPPED

“Handicapped”: What the heck does that mean? In golf, it’s a good thing, because you can play and beat better golfers if your handicap is high (artificially or actually). So playing golf with a handicap is good. On the other hand, living with a handicap is not so beneficial, except for the premium parking spaces you can legitimately use. Oh, and yes, there is a sympathy factor, not so prevalent in these days of selfies and an overall sense of personal entitlement. A few older women try to make up for what the rest of the population chooses to ignore: “Move this handicapped person to the head of the line!” “Let this handicapped person sit down and rest!” “Open the door for this handicapped person!” “Let’s get some breakfast for this handicapped person!” All of those acts of kindness are greatly appreciated, as they underscore my “handicapped” status.

My handicapped status is still relatively new and very strange. My right leg was amputated below the knee on March 24, and this is now July 12. As I sit in a wheelchair to write this Blog, I feel the constant nerve pain in the end of my right leg, not phantom pain which also occurs, but real needling, piercing nerve pain, with an occasional electric jolt through the entire body. Hmmm. If you had asked me last year what I would be doing this year, I don’t think I would have mentioned learning to walk using a prosthesis. But as I bounce from bed to bed and chair to counter in my apartment at Marina del Mar, trying to walk again – and feeling like a ball in an old pinball machine – that is my primary goal, nay my only goal, these days. I lurch around on my prosthesis, not quite putting all my weight on it (it hurts!), and I feel a lot like Frankenstein’s monster. Maybe I should try that wide open gait, with the stiff knees, which the monster used. I am assured by Terri, the super-patient maker of my prosthesis that I will walk again without using parallel bars or walkers. Also, Hector, the double amputee, who works with Terri, tells me I am making great progress. But for me, great progress would be driving again and hiking and walking at a faster pace than a snail.

Being “handicapped”, for me, means restricting my social actions. I can’t drive myself anywhere. Period. How’s that for isolation? Oh yes, the darling Admiral drives me to all our doctor’s appointments and to stores and to restaurants, but you know, how about a quick trip to Starbucks? Or a visit to the Wild Bird Refuge? Or return to my tai chi classes? And how about doing this driving, while the Admiral is busy working on a database? That way, the Admiral would have his life back too. Now he does most of the heavy lifting for both of us – grocery shopping, pharmacy visits, laundry, post office – even if I am a passenger in the car sometimes. Driving, my friend, is freedom, pure and simple. And I want to get back to driving as much as walking.

Being “handicapped” means watching television more hours of the day than ever before. Thank God for Wimbledon and the women’s World Cup and the Warriors NBA championship run. I would have watched all those programs without being handicapped. But I have watched far too many hours of CNN and MSNBC for any healthy individual. True, I can talk about all the “breaking news” (give me a break!), particularly that news that “breaks” over three or four straight days, with the same videotape in the background (example: New York prison escapees). I don’t regret becoming addicted to Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, because I love games, and I have won so much virtual money on those shows. Well, maybe, I have a touch of regret about this addiction. But I have found that C Span is my favorite network – what a constant variety of talking heads. C Span is at its best when it is repeating verbatim the oral arguments before the U.S. Supreme Court justices. You can hear for yourself how parochial (in every sense of the word) Justice Alito is or how risible Justice Scalia’s comments are. And you can bask in the glow of the wise words of Justice Ginsburg or the sensible questions of Justice Breyer.

With all this television watching, however, I have neglected my reading, except for Dear Life (Munro), The Girl on the Train (from Louisa), Euphoria (King), and Pat Duval’s bio of his transition from a de jure segregated neighborhood in Florida to a de facto segregated neighborhood in California. My friends have been so thoughtful to send me Great Books to read, and I will read them, but I am a much slower reader these days. I attribute it to the recurring pain, which makes it hard to concentrate. But I think that’s an excuse which lets me play stupid card games on my IPad and IPhone. As you, dear Blog readers, are my witness, I hereby disavow card games for reading books!  Of the books I have read, I recommend Euphoria wholeheartedly – short and oh so sweetly written. It’s a fictional account of one part of the life of Margaret Mead in the South Pacific. I’m sure the real account of this time in her life is just as exciting. How would you like to submerge yourself in another culture for years? I submerged myself in the German culture for a year, and it was hard to stop dreaming in German once I returned to the USA. However, I did not have to give up any of my creature comforts to do that. I can’t imagine living among very primitive (in our eyes) people in an environment with no amenities, lots of bugs and snakes and terrible diseases, all the time not knowing if they are planning to have me for dinner, literally.

For those of you who are reading about my handicap, my amputated right leg, for the first time in this Blog, I know each of you has your own physical challenges, maybe a fear of flying or fear of heights, or a bad knee or back, whatever. Until the amputation, I led a charmed life, physically. I was able to run and hike and bike with reckless abandon, any time day or night. I treasure those years, and I plan to return to them. I know that the path back to normalcy or independence is kind of twisted, sometimes uphill and often obscured, but I will stay on it until I achieve my goal. I am told it is a realistic goal for me to walk and hike again, unaided by walkers or crutches. With those assurances, I will proceed to bounce from bed to bed until I can put my full weight on my prosthesis and walk like a “normal” person. It’s time for baby steps, even as I dream of running through Toro Park. And in the meantime, the Admiral and I will continue to avail ourselves of the choice “handicapped” parking spaces, because we will have to go back to regular spaces soon enough.

If you are not “handicapped”, enjoy your independence to the max. If you are “handicapped”, be grateful to all the people who help you to be as independent as possible. I am very grateful to the Admiral, who has had to think about my needs as well as his own – every single day. I am also very grateful to those of you (Barbara and Brenda, you’re the best!) who have visited me and raised my spirits. When I’m walking, I will return those visits and try to raise your spirits, if they need raising.

I feel a political rant coming on, what with the entry by Scott Walker into the clownish race for Republican presidential nominee on Monday, July 12. But I’ll withhold further comment until his next colossal blunder, like comparing Union-busting to the destruction of Isis or calling Ronald Reagan’s firing of air controllers his greatest foreign policy action. And what is your view on evolution, Governor Walker? By now, you should have a programmed answer fed to you by your army of consultants. No more spontaneity for you! Every day I feel more and more like I’m living in a banana republic, a third world country, whenever I contemplate the Republican candidates for President. Thankfully, I don’t think about them often. Just focus on the good things: the creation of a new national monument, the increase in the number of people eligible for overtime pay, the millions who now receive health insurance, the sacrosanct right to marry extended to all, the saving of the Fair Housing Act’s anti-discrimination clauses, the removal of the Confederate flag – and the indefatigable Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Live long and fight for justice every day of your life.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SEVEN: CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SEVEN: CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP

This is one of the possible titles for my murder mystery, still in early stages, with my co-author, Jake. Some of you will recognize it as a popular motto for norteno gang members in California, so popular that it is often found tattooed on their bodies. For that reason, I probably will not use this title. For me, it means to persevere through whatever hardship befalls you. For the gang members, it means to continue to rob, sell drugs, assault and kill until they’re dead. Tenacity is the key for both meanings – but mine is tenacity in the service of good and theirs is tenacity in the service of evil.

I’m still a work in progress with my prosthesis, wearing it more hours of the day and trying to walk by holding on to countertops or banisters, when I’m not using the walker. Baby steps. Yes, I know, that conjures up “What About Bob?” and Richard Dreyfuss’s philosophy so fully adopted by Bill Murray’s fear-riddled character. Well, forget about them and think of actual small steps, like the first steps taken by your child or grandchild. That’s my stage of development. And I teeter totter just like that child. This is hard work, but I’m going to learn to do it better and better until I can independently leap tall bushes with a single bound. When I think of all the amputees competing in sports and dancing with the stars and just walking around freely, I know this can be done. It’s just a matter of time – and tenacity.

This 4^th of July weekend the Admiral and I fled Key Largo, which was about to be invaded by very loud, very drunk visitors from Miami, and traveled first to the Giants game at Marlins Park, only to see the Giants give up their slim lead in the later innings for their 3^rd of 4^th straight loss. And by the way, the returning 99 mile per hour fastballer Jose Fernandez, the Marlins darling rookie of the year in 2013, hit a home run – ouch! We flew out of the stadium at the end of the 8^th inning – feeling a little bit like a Dodger fan – and headed to our first quiet stop, PGA Village in Port St. Lucie. When I say we flew out of the stadium, all you have to see just once is the Admiral maneuvering my wheelchair through oncoming crowds at a speed of at least 20 miles an hour – to accept the “flying” term as accurate. Then we headed to the lovely city of Port St. Lucie, very close to the quaint little village of Stuart, where Sunset Bay Marina can be found. We checked into the Hilton Garden Inn at PGA Village, and it was a totally different world. We had silence. Silence. It relaxed the Admiral immediately. There was no outside noise, nothing. We did not turn on the TV the entire time, so our sounds were confined to our conversations (and maybe a little snoring by me, not sure).

We did not awaken until 10 a.m. the next day, July 3. Amazing. Then we went exploring the town of Stuart. The Osceola Café in the Oldtown section was inviting, so we stopped and had a bite to eat. Turns out this place is really, really popular. We got there just before the regular lunch crowd and were able to order and eat without delay. These folks do everything right – their menu is eclectic, the Admiral had a great Reuben sandwich. Their service is spot on. And when they saw me waiting to use the women’s restroom, they offered me the men’s restroom, which “is identical to the women’s”. That’s accommodating! So we were completely refreshed from an amazingly quiet night of uninterrupted sleep and an equally amazing meal at a restaurant that cares about its customers, and it shows. We knew it would be good to get away from Key Largo on the weekend of the 4^th, but we didn’t know it would be this good.

The Admiral decided to take the back roads to Ft Myers from Stuart. Almost the whole way we were on a two lane country highway with trees bowed over our heads, like that short road in Kauai which everyone loves. But this was miles and miles and miles of driving under trees bowing over us. It was very cool. There was little traffic on this road. We were skirting the edge of Lake Okeechobee, north or south, I’m not sure, and we were driving past a lot of sugar cane fields (dammit!). These are the same fields that get burned and send up black smoke which comes down on boats like ours crossing Florida on the Okeechobee canal – I know – this happened to us in 2013, as we headed in Slow Motion to Ft. Myers for a 6 week stay at Legacy Harbor. Big black flakes, like snow from hell. Nevertheless, it was a very peaceful ride through the sugar cane fields, and no burning was being done.

Could anything break up our reverie? We were feeling so fortunate to have left the hustle bustle of Key Largo to head to the land of the Elders – Fort Myers. I think the average age of the Ft Myers resident is about 85. Not so on the 4^th of July. We arrived at the Hilton Garden Inn across from the University in Ft Myers and went to our wheelchair accessible room. Then we clashed with the real world again. Our room was right next to the elevator AND right next to the noisiest ice machine on the planet. I went down to the manager at the front desk to change rooms, and she came back with me to pick up the Admiral, who was waiting on the 3^rd floor with our luggage. We looked a suite that she offered – one bed – not wheelchair accessible, and she offered a wheelchair accessible room with one bed. The Admiral needs two beds on the road, and so we reluctantly agreed to stay with our elevator/ice machine challenging unit. The manager, Amy, felt so bad that she gave us free breakfasts for the three days we were staying there. Free breakfasts are good, but they don’t compare with silence. Over the next three days we had our share of late night ice gatherers – like they were filling huge ice chests at 11:30 at night. We also had 4^th of July revelers shouting by the elevator and down the halls. But these were isolated incidents, and for the most part, our room was livable.

The first day the Admiral got a lot of work done. The second day we went to Sanibel Island and toured the Ding Darling Wildlife Refuge. The Admiral used his Golden Pass for all federal parks to get us in gratis. The third day we traveled back to Key Largo through the Cypress Preserve and the Everglades. There was no tree-covered roadway, but Indian villages popped up every few miles with their grass roofs and high fences, indicating a desire for privacy. They were not tourist traps by any means. Leave it to the Miccosukee to attract the tourists with their huge casino and stores full of trinkets. And there was a fair share of entrepreneurs selling boat rides on the Everglades. These places were packed with cars and buses today – Monday. The feds had a two hour tram ride through part of the Everglades -- $20 per person – but we arrived for 12:30 departure, and it was just too darned hot to even consider. How about a dawn tram ride? I would imagine an evening tram ride would be insect-laden. But those critters are often dormant early in the morning. The Everglades are probably best visited in the winter time – only in the 70’s then. But the snowbirds overrun this fragile ecosystem at that time. Pick your poison – teeming tourists or blazing sun? I guess I’ll opt for the blazing sun.

Now we’re back at Key Largo unpacking and reading mail from April. Don’t get me started. The Postal Service – that’s another chapter.

Happy Independence Day! And very happy July 5^th World Cup Finals Day! How about those women soccer players? Thank you, Title IX, for making competitive women’s sports possible. We still have a long way to go – we don’t have the money that Alabama football or Ohio State football or Florida State football has. And we really don’t need that much to field more women in more sports. Just a piece of the pie – will we ever have half of that pie? I’ll answer that after we elect our first woman President. Until then, support your local girls’ and women’s sports associations.

 

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX: UP, UP AND UPBEAT!

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX:  UP, UP AND UPBEAT!

Welcome back, Harper Canyon Runaway readers! You haven’t read a new blog since last February, 2015, and today is the 4^th of July, 2015. Here’s why:

January: Pneumonia – hospitalized in Tucson ( 145^th chapter of the Blog)

February: Horrific headache – confined to bed

March: Blood clot in lower right leg artery and amputation below the knee

April, May, June: Learning to live as amputee.

I have one modest goal for the rest of 2015 – to be able to walk, perhaps jog, on my prosthetic right leg and foot unaided by a walker, crutches or a cane. Now I am still in the walker stage, trying to put more and more weight on my right leg. And it’s still healing, so it hurts to put full weight on it. Patience is a virtue I have never acquired in any great measure. And so, this last month and a half, since I got the prosthesis on May 18, has been one of frustration and self-recrimination: why can’t I do this?  I am a fast walker, and believe me, crawling along with a walker is not my style. On the positive side, I am able to go up and down stairs. And I have taken a few baby steps without the walker. My double amputee mentor is cheering me on – he walks on two prostheses without any aids and he drives a car like a regular person. He says it takes time – and I know it does, but that doesn’t make me any less impatient.

In February I promised you more upbeat blogs than Chapter 145, which was mostly about my horrible hospital experience, so here’s something upbeat: I saw mermaids swimming in a big tank at the Weeki Wachee Springs State Park north of Tampa in early June. They were spectacular. I recommend this Florida tourist attraction to everyone. Thirteen dollars buys you a trip to a wonderful waterworld, with different shows every two hours, in a state park which also features a wildlife show. The crowds were huge the day we were there – this place is not a well-kept secret. The kids were great to me, helping to open doors and walking beside me – I was on my prosthetic leg, so they slowed down to my snail’s pace to chat with me. Kids can make you feel special.

As if that weren’t enough excitement, the Admiral and I went to a Giants ball game on July 2 at the domed Marlins Park in Miami. My Giants were ahead most of the game, but, sadly, they lost, when the Marlins’ pitcher, Jose Fernandez, making his first appearance in 14 months, hit a home run, and shortly thereafter the Marlins’ beefy first baseman, Mr. Bour (pronounced “Bore”), hit his third home run in three games – with two on, of course – and the Giants were mincemeat. The Giants are in a losing streak on the road – swept by the Marlins and now getting drummed by the Nationals. Still, there’s always Buster Posey and his solo home runs at the beginning of an inning – we can count on him for one run a game. And there’s Joe Panik, whose name reminds us Giants fans not to “Panik”. And big headed Bruce Bochy, who maintains his composure, win or lose, keeping the team members on an even keel through the rough times. It would be great to have Hunter Pence in the lineup, but the Marlins could use their superstar, Giancarlo Stanton, too. All teams have injuries to major players, but some of these teams still find a way to win. Jake Peavy came back yesterday from rehab, and we lost 2 to 1 – he pitched great, except for the home run he gave up. Our offense was a tad anemic. This is baseball – it’s a helluva ride through the summer into the fall. It would be really hard to be a Philadelphia Phillies fan this year – or any year. I enjoy my Giants, whatever their record. They usually play great defense, and, by all accounts, they are a cohesive unit on and off the field. There’s no finger pointing, no griping, just playing the game right – and the wins will come.

Two highlights of the past few months were visits by Barbara Shipnuck in May and by Sonja and Sabina, two of the Admiral’s daughters, on Father’s Day weekend. Barbara came loaded with gifts, some of which I had requested. She was a virtual retail outlet for watches and shorts. I had to choose 1 watch from 4 watches and 2 shorts from about 10 pairs of shorts. It is fantastic to have a personal shopper. I knew if anyone could do this, it would be supershopper Barbara. She came through --- aces high. And she also brought some of our favorite snacks – M and M’s and chocolate covered raisins, pretzels and popcorn. We had a snack orgy for the week she was here, broken up at meal times by some very healthy food prepared by the Admiral. It’s great to have my appetite back. No, I’m not going to bring you down with my tale of withdrawing from the opiates I was force fed in the hospital. Suffice it to say, opiate withdrawal is the worst way in the world to lose weight.

Barbara is a bundle of energy. Whatever errand I wanted to run, we did it while she was here. And we still had time to stop for milk shakes along the way. We sent off my tax materials, after she made complete copies of the documents for me. And she arranged for me to get my hair colored and cut. That was an incredible treat! Thank you, Barbara and Sondra. I know I got a bit tiresome the next day, when I kept telling the Admiral and Barbara that I looked “cute as a button”, but I did. And I felt so much better! Every day Barbara and I went to the pool, as she swam her laps and I paced up and down the side of the pool with my walker and my new prosthesis. The weather was perfect, and there were few people at the pool. The ones who were there were very supportive. Barbara brought me cereal and Danishes from the continental breakfast offered at the motel office. And we watched the Warriors in their playoff games that week – what a hoot! We shared our point to point worries with Alan, her son the sports writer. It was like old times, when I was a season ticket holder and drove Alan to the home games in Oakland. We usually stopped at the ribs restaurant a mile or so away from the stadium – the only white patrons – Alan and I had barbecued chicken made so moist and mouth wateringly good. Then we got to the stadium during shootarounds and cheered our mediocre team as though they were champions. And now, many years later, they are! Add Steve Kerr and Stephan Curry to Alvin Attles and Rick Barry as Warrior all-time greats. Iggy can join that pantheon too, along with Klay and Draymond and, oh yes, Harrison and all the role players off the bench.  

But I digress from Barbara’s visit – it was the best! I’m almost out of the snacks she brought, so it’s almost time for another visit. We’ll see. I’ll always be grateful to Barbara for being the first one to come see me post-amputation. She’s a trooper. And I love having her as my friend.

Speaking of troopers and friends, meet the all-time best trooper a friend a girl can have – the Admiral. He drove 100 miles every day for six weeks to visit me at South Miami Hospital and Healthsouth Rehab Hospital, both in Miami. He wore himself out, physically and mentally, running errands for me and keeping up with the medical decisions we had to make. While I was in my opiate stupor, he was my lifeline to reality, and he kept track of what the doctors and nurses were or were not doing. He kept my alive, I’m sure, on many occasions, as he watched over the treatment I was being given and made sure I wasn’t been given the wrong meds or too many of the right ones. He developed an encyclopedic knowledge of all things related to blood clots, amputation and post-amputation treatment. Half the people who met him in the hospital thought he was a doctor. Three cheers for Doctor Admiral! As my friend, Cathy B knows, being the caretaker is every bit as hard, if not harder, than being the patient. It really wears you down – I saw the Admiral totally exhausted after one of his daily trips, as I was just lying around in bed, so to speak. And the caretaking did not stop when I left the hospital and settled down in a wheelchair accessible motel unit at Marina del Mar. It continues to this day. I’m still dependent on the Admiral for the basics – food, meds, laundry. And he’s still thinking for two – which gets to be severely taxing over the months. When we signed up for our two year boating adventure in 2012, neither one of us – in our wildest nightmares – anticipated a life-changing amputation. To our credit – most of the credit belongs to the Admiral – we are meeting every challenge while maintaining a certain normalcy in our lives.

For both the Admiral and me, our family and friends have been major sources of comfort and support. The Admiral’s daughters have been very concerned about his well-being. Sonja and Sabina (making a surprise visit) came to be with him on Father’s Day weekend. That meant so much to him. His daughters are so busy with their law careers, and so accomplished in their respective fields, but they took the time to come to Key Largo for a few days to hang out with Daddo. I think he smiles more when they are here, and I know he feels their love and reciprocates in kind. Like Barbara, they pretty much take care of themselves and we get to enjoy their company. The dynamics between sisters is always fascinating to me (as one of three sisters), and Sonja and Sabina do not disappoint in their interactions. I love to listen to them. We all went to Li’l Red’s Barbecue in Ft Lauderdale on Sunday for the Admiral’s Father’s Day dinner. Sonja was especially indulgent of her Daddo with honoring his choice, because she is vegetarian. Fortunately, the menu had a few non-meat items. The Admiral thoroughly enjoyed his ribs, as our many photos of his saucy face demonstrated. Some day we’ll see Sandra, Sabina’s twin, but for now we’re happy to get her emails and texts from the bowels of Tulane Law School or her summer residence in D.C. Meanwhile, Sonja and Sabina – you rule! You are the best antidote for caretaker’s exhaustion syndrome. Keep pestering the Admiral with your love and support. He thrives on it.

My family and the BB’s have been other sources of strength for me. There is always Cathy, my other sister and confidante, and more recently Vivian. Sue and Butch and Rusty and Lois have followed my progress with words of encouragement and some sound advice. Cathy has taken time from her caretaking for her husband Rob to call and write and be there for me spiritually. My BBs – Janie, Pat, Carol, Marlea, Carol G. – have been outstanding cheerleaders. Pat’s weekly cards have ensured that I don’t lose my sense of humor – some of these cards were written for me, I swear.  I must also mention Louisa, who has sent me love and flowers and cookies and books – all while overseeing productions at Fx. Ah, books – Judy and Jake started the flow of books to my bed with an Alice Munro compilation of short stories – Dear Life. It only took me two months to read it, what with the pharmaceutical concoctions coursing through my veins. Then Louisa followed with two books, then Sondra (another source of strength) sent some books, and Vivian weighed in recently with Alistair Cooke. I just finished Euphoria, a short and sweet fictional account of part of the life of Margaret Mead, by Lily King. Two thumbs up.

Judy Stopek – you are phenomenal. You are my key to Miami, particularly Miami medical personnel. Thank you for finding Tamar Ference for me, and thank you for introducing me to Skinny Pop Popcorn. Your visits to Healthsouth were as rehabilitative as all the exercises I was doing there. Thank you for taking the time to write me and ask how I’m doing. Your concern means so much to me. We met for a few days while staying at the Calvert Marina in Solomons, and you have taken me under your wing to help me navigate the waters of Miami and its medical establishment. You are the most energetic, upbeat person I have ever met.

Jake – we’re going to do that book together – maybe the first in a series of mysteries. With each of us pushing one another, we should finish our first story this year or next. I have my own computer, and can now write to my heart’s content. Only my own sloth or lack of motivation would stand in the way – and I’m counting on you to motivate me and combat the natural tendency to be disorganized.

It’s the top of the ninth, the Giants are down 9 to 2, but Susac just got hit by a pitch, and so the rally begins! That’s the way I’m leaving it, and that’s the way I’m leaving this upbeat blog. Imagine an 8 run explosion by the Giants. It could happen. They did that once against the Reds. You could look it up. Until the next Giants win, stay happy, healthy and upbeat!