Part 100 Trains and metaphors


Bree’s first softball game is rained out (a disappointment as great for me as it is for her) on Saturday. The Sea Monkeys will have to wait a week until they can show what they have learned. I have finished a book called “The Traveler’s Gift” and start “Wherever You Go, There You Are”, back on my nonfiction, philosophy readings.

Becah struggles the next morning with bad allergies, a factor that probably contributes to another of our verbal uproars. A beautiful day evolves outside, though, one so glorious that it will quell even our bad behavior. After watching everyone eat lunch at a restaurant and a quick stop at the bookstore, we go to enjoy some moments at nearby Cypress Creek park. Leaving, we stop at a railroad crossing as a train whizzes by. This is a first for the kids. Bree is excited, but Brooke is fearful. A rolling metaphor for how one can react to the uncontrollable forces in life. After a long wait, we continue to the store and buy some softballs, which we throw and hit at the school park after we get home.

I come home from work next day for lunch, but am unsuccessful with the yoghurt. My food selection choices are now whittled down to milk and smooth ice cream. I try to cope with this. In the evening I nonetheless have a mellow feeling as I turn to a book for distraction (probably the pain pill I took for my hernia, again acting up, doesn’t hurt either). I am reading Thoreau’s “Walden”, which everyone in college read but I have never opened. Worthwhile sentiments but rather dry reading. I am still listening to Yes music and related bands, like Chris Squire’s “Conspiracy” CD. I have discovered the joys of downloading iTunes when Amazon occasionally lets me down.

The following evening I am reading to Bree before bedtime. She introduces me to a library book about Harriet Tubman, a female slave from Civil War times who escaped and rescued many people via the Underground Railroad. She made a new home in Philadelphia but returned multiple times, risking her life on each occasion, to the dangerous South to free others who were enslaved. After finishing the book a later night I conclude that she was a true hero that should probably have her own holiday. Undoubtedly fearful, she jumped on the train anyway.

Another train metaphor and another life lesson.



Part 101 Lost gems and tsunamis


One morning for the first time I cannot get hot chocolate down. I regret instantly the mornings I took for granted that it would always be on hand, tasty and helping warm me from the early chill. It is a gorgeous day, bracing initially, warming by noon. I drive to the south end school to work. Coming back I enjoy listening to Eric Clapton’s “Layla” CD, and realize that I have never really listened to the entire album. I have been an avid fan of music all my life and find that it is easy to put aside one album as you listen to another that has just been released. If the progression of tunes is rapid enough, over time some pieces get overlooked or forgotten.

For that matter, this is true of other life events. Gems abound, present but not attended to. Life is too abundant to capture and hold it all.

On the eleventh of March a huge tsunami - 8.9 on the scale – strikes Japan. Thirty feet tall waves blast the shoreline, which will gradually taper to six feet high off the beaches in California, upon which surfers will ride. An abundance of destruction, the devastation is hard to comprehend, even with the photos spread across TV screens.

Here in Houston it is another cool morning followed by warm afternoon. I am able to drink the hot chocolate today and eat ice cream tonight. I am trying to hold on to these simple pleasures and not let them escape.



Part 102 Peace is every step


March 12, Saturday begins the first day of spring break holidays, and the weather has the pleasant variety of temperatures as have most of the days this month. Bree’s first softball outing results in an 11-7 loss, but they play well and everyone has fun. I pitch the entire game. Bree hit the ball twice when at bat, getting tagged out once and being safe at first another time. Our games are at the high school girls’ softball field, but after our practices on the bumpy elementary grounds, we might as well be at a manicured major league stadium.

After the game, Becah drives everyone but me for a few days in Nederland to visit the relatives. I watch the “Yes: Live at the House of Blues” DVD, as usual overwhelmed at their greatness. After this, I wash the pollen off my car that builds in layers daily. I manage to eat with no problems several Hershey kisses and two bowls of cream of mushroom soup. I am amazed, and celebrate with my dog Brett as we go on a walk to the school.

Monday I go for another periodic PET scan, driving through this morning’s drizzle. In the afternoon I must drive to the medical center to meet with Dr. Bl-’s staff to sign consent for the scope and biopsy that she requires before any surgery is done. Her office is in a hospital, but across the way from the hospital where I have been previously treated. I meet with Allison, the physician’s assistant, after sitting longer than I care to in the waiting room, then get annoyed at having to go to another floor and meet with a nurse to review anesthesiology requirements, have yet again more vital signs taken, and mostly just fill out forms. I wait an additional hour for the honor of doing this. I decide to practice the words of “Thich” (taken from his book that I hold in my hands, “Peace Is Every Step”) and not be upset at any of life’s moments. The nurse who finally arrives is a pleasant Oriental lady who discusses yoga with me, and assures me that she is very qualified and the hospital is an excellent facility.

After I am finished, I drive home at 5:20, usually a guaranteed recipe for a grueling time in a downtown Houston traffic jam. But on this day, where the weather has changed, cooler now and with blue skies overhead, there is no traffic jam. My positive attitude and peaceful demeanor must have worked!

I weigh myself at home, and I am up to 162. This is light for my typical weight, but I am satisfied, especially in light of my eating struggles. I try some cream of mushroom soup again (even with some chunks in it). Everything goes well until I reach the end of the bowl, when I start coughing it back up.



Part 103 Taxes, dentists and more pirates

We must finally complete the annual taxes that loom over our heads, and we drop the papers with good riddance to the CPA’s office. Mind you, if I were expecting a refund they would have been cheerfully handed off as soon as I could dash through the forms.

We take a family drive to the dentist for spring teeth cleaning. Bree has been a motor mouth all the way, enough to prompt Becah to offer her five dollars if Bree can remain quiet for the remainder of the drive. She struggles admirably but is unable to collect the money. After the dentist, I am inundated with questions and comments from the kids related to “Pirates of the Caribbean” (like, “who is Johnny Depp’s real father? Is it Keith Richards?”). Brooke remarks that she would like to meet Jack Sparrow if he were a real person.

Bree and I return to the lumpy practice field for softball the following day. She is not batting as well today, probably fatigued from going swimming earlier in the day. We watch “Pirates” (number three) that night until late in the evening.

Brooke awakes the next morning instantly asking to watch “Pirates” again. I indulge her for a while before we head to the movie theater for “Mars Needs Moms”, a mediocre movie and one of the few we have gone to lately that was less than exciting. After the movie we head to the school park before returning home to watch the only movie anyone seems interested in these days. I sip on chocolate milk while watching, with some success, and raise my cup. “Aye, matey!”



Part 104 Meet the new hospital, and “here’s a cocktail on us”


March 23 begins with a mass of cars crawling on the Beltway as Becah and I try to reach the medical center for my esophageal scope and biopsy. We arrive at the hospital (my first procedure at this facility) at 9:15 as directed. I am quickly admitted, in my gown, seated on the bed, and pricked for a blood specimen. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. A television program is highlighting the life of Elizabeth Taylor, who died this morning. The surgery was set for 11:00, but they are running late. Friends Francis and Izzy drop in – Izzy has been battling medical demons for a few years now and is a regular at hospitals. A lady from church also comes by to offer a prayer.

Between three and four in the afternoon they wheel me into the operating room, where I wait some more in a row of beds with men and women also anticipating operations. A man nearby is given a “margarita cocktail” to relax and prepare him. I ask his doctor for one also as he passes by my bed. He pauses, scribbles in my chart, and walks on. A nurse comes by and injects a little Versed in my tube. I feel a slight buzz. A bit later they flush my tube and inject some more of the drug. By 6:00, when the procedure finally takes place, I am already out.

We come home around 9:00. The kids are entertaining the sitters (CC and GG) with stories and songs. Bree received a gold sticker from school that day for her excellent behavior. This doesn’t surprise me, since she shines in conduct at school while she would have extreme difficulty receiving stickers for home behavior.

Despite the ridiculous wait time at the hospital, I am pleased. The procedure went well, and every staff member, from the first aide Lynn, who wheeled me in, to the last man Mike, who personally guided me to my car, was great.