Last night, the Bride delivered a baby. I found out on Facebook this morning and felt my throat tighten. Birth elicits such visceral responses, even the birth of a total stranger. But to somehow know that my daughter was there - as a guide, a facilitator, a supremely well educated ER baby catcher - had me near tears. You see, last night when I curled up next to my husband in bed and he asked if I wanted to hear about his day, I didn't know what his bedtime story would be; I didn't know it would be a nightmare before sleep.
Last night, he presided over the failed resuscitation of a home birth gone horribly wrong. He would never tell me names, or in any way breach doctor/patient privacy, but I sensed he had to rid his mind of this image before sleep. And so he talked. The baby was over eleven pounds and was stuck in the birth canal. The midwife had tried but failed to deliver, and the baby's heart rate was weak. It seems midwives can monitor a baby's heartbeat at home now. The mother arrived by ambulance and went straight to the OR. The Pediatrician and the OB were there, waiting, but to no avail. An emergency C-section delivered a stillborn, but the Emergency PA was running a code on the baby. By the time my husband arrived from the very busy ER, there was not much left to do but check that all measures had been tried, and of course lend his gentle words to all those professionals involved. There was nothing more to do. This is never an answer an Emergency Physician is easy with, as they will do just about everything to save a life.
It is strange how my daughter's work life is now mirroring my husband's. She is, of course, in a very busy trauma center, and he is in a somewhat sleepy community hospital. But they have recently submitted a paper together, about palliative care. About how to speak and deal with those hard cases that show up, much more frequently than newborns in distress, in a very busy ER. The way to navigate the best treatment protocol for a terminal patient. This requires a doctor who has time to listen to family members, and maybe even more importantly, one who is not afraid to broach the subject of death. Too often, endo-tubes are shoved down someone's neck only to prolong the pain and agony of everyone, including the patient. I read about hospitals now adding adjoining buildings purely to house these semi- comatose, dying patients for the last 6 months of their lives. The cynic in me sees this as a way to bill medicare until the last possible moment. And I so want to stop being cynical.
And so, my husband slept peacefully, while I lay awake. My old dog has become a heavy breather, and the small mechanical sounds of the house lulled me into some pitiful sleep before dawn. Next month we'll be traveling to the dreaded Seder, my people will be coloring eggs while his will be hiding egg matzoh; everyone celebrating renewed birth. The universe is unfolding as it should, and some things are in God's hands.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Alone at Last
Since we returned from St Barth's, my house has been full up with the in-Laws, my BFF from MA, her husband and dog, Jovie, who (or whom if it's a dog?) we washed at a self-serve doggy wash and cooked fresh liver for, even though he seemed determined not to eat it. Luckily he was happy to chase Miss Bean around the yard; having two tongue-dragging tired dogs in the house along with old man Buddha (part Samoyed/Shepherd) was a slight reprieve. And whenever we went out to enjoy the VA Festival of the Book, which was awesome as ever btw, we met up with the Richmond cousins, thankfully staying at the Omni, for many a fine dining experience as well. I'm exhausted! What does it say about me that an 87 year old woman can run me ragged?
But this morning I was able to luxuriate in a long shower, floss ALL my teeth, and have two cups of coffee. Not having to make breakfast every morning is a freeing experience; like not having to actually talk with people before consuming one cup of coffee. When the in-Laws left yesterday - taking with them the pansies she had bought and wanted to plant, and a big piece of the oak tree he wanted to carve when they got home - I was able to sit on the porch and have that Sunday-morning quarterback conversation with my good husband. What exactly is it about my MIL that leaves me so emotionally drained? It's not just that she is like an energizer bunny, waking every morning and eager to take on a day full of action and adventure. It's the things she says...like the filter in her brain is failing and whatever pops into her head comes right out the mouth.
For instance, my cousin wanted to know more about her mother, who is my MIL's BFF and comrade in arms; together they coordinate the multiple illnesses and deaths and general gossip of their contemporaries in northern NJ. Instead we learned about my MIL's mother, and her cousin, who they buried in the back yard (her ashes) next to her best friend's poodle. Always entertaining, we took a trip to Wallmart for planting soil, and learned the intricate details of a salesperson named Steve's life. When my MIL is not talking, she's singing, or she's talking on her cell to: a) a NYC cousin who checks with her every day; b) her 55 year old son who lives with her; or c) the above-mentioned mother of our Richmond cousin who is functioning as The Oracle of Dover while my MIL is away. But I did put my foot down on occasion.
The first night she wanted to stay with our cousins in town for an evening meeting on "Civil Society." This would have meant driving an hour, round trip at night, to pick her up and return her to our home. I said, "No." My husband would have just been returning from work, and I was tired because the sound of Buddha panting was keeping me awake at night. It seems he is like Poe's story of the Tell Tale Heart. Banished to the living room, I could still hear his heavy breathing. Then there is the tale of the pansy, which starts with a Book Festival event on Memoir. A woman wrote a book about her mother, who is a serious hoarder. In her discussion, she mentioned that she and her mother practice "radical honesty." When my MIL showed up mid-way in the week with two flats of pansies and insisted on planting them, even starting to dig (while I was in the shower?) in my perennial bed, I said, "Please, thank you, but no!"
In retrospect, perhaps practicing radical honesty on an 87 year old is not such a good idea. I told her that I view the pansy like a mum, one of those intermediary flowering annuals that would look very nice if I had my own gardener to take care of the property. Then I felt bad...oh Catholic guilt, I thought I'd seen the last of you! Next month my MIL will put on yet another stupendous Seder, for 30 - 40 people. My husband, being the eldest son, will lead it. My FIL told me as they were leaving that she is really tired of the Seder, and she knows that I'd be more than happy to take it on. My Richmond cousin and I would alternate celebrating the Passover festival of Exodus..."once we were slaves." But that NYC cousin, the single daughter of my MIL's older sister long gone, is pushing her to continue the tradition. And so we tiptoe around her. I can only hope to be so active and engaged at that age, and in a very good continuing care facility!
But this morning I was able to luxuriate in a long shower, floss ALL my teeth, and have two cups of coffee. Not having to make breakfast every morning is a freeing experience; like not having to actually talk with people before consuming one cup of coffee. When the in-Laws left yesterday - taking with them the pansies she had bought and wanted to plant, and a big piece of the oak tree he wanted to carve when they got home - I was able to sit on the porch and have that Sunday-morning quarterback conversation with my good husband. What exactly is it about my MIL that leaves me so emotionally drained? It's not just that she is like an energizer bunny, waking every morning and eager to take on a day full of action and adventure. It's the things she says...like the filter in her brain is failing and whatever pops into her head comes right out the mouth.
For instance, my cousin wanted to know more about her mother, who is my MIL's BFF and comrade in arms; together they coordinate the multiple illnesses and deaths and general gossip of their contemporaries in northern NJ. Instead we learned about my MIL's mother, and her cousin, who they buried in the back yard (her ashes) next to her best friend's poodle. Always entertaining, we took a trip to Wallmart for planting soil, and learned the intricate details of a salesperson named Steve's life. When my MIL is not talking, she's singing, or she's talking on her cell to: a) a NYC cousin who checks with her every day; b) her 55 year old son who lives with her; or c) the above-mentioned mother of our Richmond cousin who is functioning as The Oracle of Dover while my MIL is away. But I did put my foot down on occasion.
The first night she wanted to stay with our cousins in town for an evening meeting on "Civil Society." This would have meant driving an hour, round trip at night, to pick her up and return her to our home. I said, "No." My husband would have just been returning from work, and I was tired because the sound of Buddha panting was keeping me awake at night. It seems he is like Poe's story of the Tell Tale Heart. Banished to the living room, I could still hear his heavy breathing. Then there is the tale of the pansy, which starts with a Book Festival event on Memoir. A woman wrote a book about her mother, who is a serious hoarder. In her discussion, she mentioned that she and her mother practice "radical honesty." When my MIL showed up mid-way in the week with two flats of pansies and insisted on planting them, even starting to dig (while I was in the shower?) in my perennial bed, I said, "Please, thank you, but no!"
In retrospect, perhaps practicing radical honesty on an 87 year old is not such a good idea. I told her that I view the pansy like a mum, one of those intermediary flowering annuals that would look very nice if I had my own gardener to take care of the property. Then I felt bad...oh Catholic guilt, I thought I'd seen the last of you! Next month my MIL will put on yet another stupendous Seder, for 30 - 40 people. My husband, being the eldest son, will lead it. My FIL told me as they were leaving that she is really tired of the Seder, and she knows that I'd be more than happy to take it on. My Richmond cousin and I would alternate celebrating the Passover festival of Exodus..."once we were slaves." But that NYC cousin, the single daughter of my MIL's older sister long gone, is pushing her to continue the tradition. And so we tiptoe around her. I can only hope to be so active and engaged at that age, and in a very good continuing care facility!
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Spring Forward
We're back, but the luggage is delayed. Not to worry, I am on island time. It would take a major catastrophe to throw me off this groove - something like my MIL visiting for the Book Festival in a few days, my cousin coming into town for the Festival, my book club meeting in the middle of the Festival about Cleopatra which I haven't finished since it is in hardcover and not on my Kindle, and maybe my BFF from MA is coming to visit too with her husband and dog in tow - these things will not alter my blissful state and make my skin erupt in psoriasis. But this tsunami in Japan, now that might just do it.
We remain unplugged on our little piece of paradise, although I must admit I did check Facebook from time to time on my husband's Ipad. The poor Japanese people, it is almost unfathomable. While I was swimming in the crystal clear multiple shades of blue and green Caribbean waters, an 8.9 earthquake was forming off the coast of Japan. While I was celebrating Carnevale on Fat Tuesday, Teutonic plates were getting ready to shift under the Pacific Ocean. Pictures of crawling dark water devouring whole cities and airports, were showing on every TV in every airport we ran through yesterday to get home; Gustavia, St Maarten, Charlotte and finally here. It didn't seem real.
And so, to save a little bit of my sanity I, the noteworthy news junkie, am forsaking Anderson and most news programs. Instead, today I walked around the property with my dogs, picking up doggie poo and stray sticks and balls, lamenting the deer ravaged azaleas. I did laundry. I shopped for milk, and for just enough food for tonight's supper, the way the French shop. I'd better start soon; salmon with lemon, green beans with ginger leeks and rice with salad. I miss hearing the sound of French children. I miss my friend who had us to her home for a family-style dinner on the island, "Chin Chin!" I miss waking up to the sound of the waves and the early morning traffic. I miss my daughter, the Bride, who finally relaxed and had her edges smoothed with massage and her Groom, who knows how to soothe her. OTOH, my pet sitter cleaned my refrigerator! It sparkles and I am finally recreated.
Tonight we put the clock ahead one hour, but I will remain on island time. Oh and I think I'll try and watch some real housewife TV....usually I hate reality TV. But our last night on the island we ate dinner next to Alex, the pretentious NY housewife with the vaguely smarmy husband and the two little adorable boys who were quite well behaved. We ignored her and left them to their peace. We all deserve a little peace from time to time, don't you think?
We remain unplugged on our little piece of paradise, although I must admit I did check Facebook from time to time on my husband's Ipad. The poor Japanese people, it is almost unfathomable. While I was swimming in the crystal clear multiple shades of blue and green Caribbean waters, an 8.9 earthquake was forming off the coast of Japan. While I was celebrating Carnevale on Fat Tuesday, Teutonic plates were getting ready to shift under the Pacific Ocean. Pictures of crawling dark water devouring whole cities and airports, were showing on every TV in every airport we ran through yesterday to get home; Gustavia, St Maarten, Charlotte and finally here. It didn't seem real.
And so, to save a little bit of my sanity I, the noteworthy news junkie, am forsaking Anderson and most news programs. Instead, today I walked around the property with my dogs, picking up doggie poo and stray sticks and balls, lamenting the deer ravaged azaleas. I did laundry. I shopped for milk, and for just enough food for tonight's supper, the way the French shop. I'd better start soon; salmon with lemon, green beans with ginger leeks and rice with salad. I miss hearing the sound of French children. I miss my friend who had us to her home for a family-style dinner on the island, "Chin Chin!" I miss waking up to the sound of the waves and the early morning traffic. I miss my daughter, the Bride, who finally relaxed and had her edges smoothed with massage and her Groom, who knows how to soothe her. OTOH, my pet sitter cleaned my refrigerator! It sparkles and I am finally recreated.
Tonight we put the clock ahead one hour, but I will remain on island time. Oh and I think I'll try and watch some real housewife TV....usually I hate reality TV. But our last night on the island we ate dinner next to Alex, the pretentious NY housewife with the vaguely smarmy husband and the two little adorable boys who were quite well behaved. We ignored her and left them to their peace. We all deserve a little peace from time to time, don't you think?
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