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Archive for the ‘health’ Category

Installment 5: Meet Me by the Gate

Posted in art, family, Fiction, health, life, Personal, snow, Writing, tagged on February 22, 2016| 21 Comments »


May

Illness

May 17

Gardening day had arrived. The day my sister and her husband, Gordon came to help me prep my garden. Allie brought Grandma’s old tiller. It’s a wonder it still worked, but it did.

Charlie and Gordon unloaded the tiller and started strategizing the best way to till the soil. Leave it to men to turn a garden into a military campaign.

I could hear my phone, playing a lively tune in the house and ran to catch it.

I recognized the voice on the other end. It was Margo. My childhood friend turned doctor.

“Jo, I need to see you right away,” her voice cracked.

“I can’t get away from the office for at least a week,” I told her.

I couldn’t just drop everything.

“It has to be Monday,” her voice rose in desperation.

“I can’t,” mine rose in irritation.

There was a loud crash outside.

“Just tell me.”

“Stop, stop,” everyone was yelling in unison.

“Margo Lynn Johnson, tell me now or I’m hanging up and you won’t see me for a month,” I demanded.

The smell of smoke hit me. Grandma’s tiller lay on the ground in two pieces.

We’re not going to be able to fix that, I thought.

“It’s cancer,” she broke with a sob. “I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted you to come in on Monday. We’d sit in my office and I’d find a way to tell you that wouldn’t hurt you. But there isn’t really any way.”

Stunned, I watched Gordon and Charlie struggling with the tiller. Allie stood nearby shouting orders.

Had she actually said cancer? No, this has to be a dream. I don’t have cancer. Cancer doesn’t run in my family.

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Installment 4: Meet Me by the Gate

Posted in art, family, Fiction, health, Personal, sister, Writing, tagged on February 18, 2016| 29 Comments »


April 27

I went in for a biopsy today. Allie was going to go with me to the hospital until something came up with Ladies Guild. Something seemed to come up pretty frequently, but that was Allie. That was my baby sister.

“I’ll meet you by the gate,” she said, when she called early this morning.

I knew she meant she’d be waiting in my room when they brought me back.

But Charlie was with me. He was there overseeing everything, asking the pertinent questions and taking note of any instructions. In my room, waiting, I had Charlie. As they wheeled me towards a roomful of strangers, panic set in. But by the time I got to the procedure room, I realized I was holding my breath.

I need to remember to breath.

I had heard stories of my Mom, how she joked with the staff and even argued with them. Not me, I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t breathe, barely held back tears. I don’t know how she held it all together.

People were around me preparing, talking to each other, and hooking up equipment. I tried not to think about what they were doing.

I forced myself to concentrate on something other than what was about to happen. I tried to think about Allie, when we were kids. How we walked home together. I tried to recount the path. We’d start by the big oak tree by the gate to the playground.

“I’ll meet you at the gate,” we’d call to each other, parting in the morning.

And there she was waiting every afternoon. Well, almost every afternoon, sitting among the big gnarled roots of the tree.

My back started to tremble. I tried to relax the muscles to make it stop, but couldn’t.

You’re panicking just relax.

We’d walk down the side walk, the few blocks to home. We’d talk about our day and homework.

My teeth were chattering. I tried to keep my breathing even. I was shaking all over.

I needed to think about something else. I remembered Allie’s favorite dress. She wore it almost every day in the third grade. I tried to talk her out of it. It was embarrassing having your little sister wear the same dress every day. Mom washed it every evening. She didn’t care, but I did.

I could hear instruments rattling on a metal tray. My cheeks were moist from tears.

The dress, think about the dress, it was a cotton print with strawberries and a red collar. Grandma made it for her.

Someone slipped a plastic tube in my mouth.

And what about my brother, Bryan? Why had he abandoned us when we needed him most? How had he gotten so far away? How had I let this go on for so long?

I tried to remember to breathe, tried to relax, tried to stop shaking.

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Installment 3: Meet Me by the Gate

Posted in anxiety, Fiction, health, life, Writing, tagged on February 17, 2016| 19 Comments »


NOTE: Someone suggested I try writing in present tense. I tried but just couldn’t do it. Sorry.

April 16

I met Allie for lunch today at a small Italian café halfway between her house and mine, which means about a block from her house and twenty miles from mine. She has a funny way of calculating halfway.

I was still debating about whether to tell her about my latest doctor’s visit. Only Allie was there with me when Mom had cancer. Making her relive that again seems unnecessary, especially since I haven’t even had a biopsy yet. There isn’t any point in worrying her if it turned out to be nothing, is there?

***

Allie was late again, as usual.

“Wait for me by the gate,” she had said.

It was part of our old childhood code.

When she finally arrived, she went on and on about being fat and ugly, as if we hadn’t had this conversation hundreds of times.

“You’re not fat,” I snorted.

I’d always been envious at how this awkward gangly kid had become a glamorous woman. She’d thrown on a black dress, flipped her auburn hair into a clip and added a pair of sunglasses. In fifteen minutes, she walked out of the house, looking like a companion fit for Jackie O.

“People are like shoes, you know. When I was in college; I was a strappy pair of heels. I was cute and sassy. Men were attracted to me. I could have had my pick.”

Leave it to Allie to boil her life down to shoes.

“After we had children, I became sensible, intelligent, hardworking – like nurse’s shoes. Like you,” she continued.

I on the other hand had brown hair that was never tamed by a clip or anything else. My clothes never quite fit right. The shoulders were too big or the sleeves too long. I wasn’t built for glamour, I was built for comfort.

Allie went on and on like that for half an hour and then I did the one thing I wasn’t going to do.

“Margo thinks I have cancer,” I blurted. “Not cancer really, a lymphoma. Not even lymphoma, a tumor. Just a tumor, not cancer.”

And that’s how I said it. No lead in, no softening the blow, I just blurted it out.

“What do you mean cancer?”

Allie’s fork stalled in midair.

“I don’t have anything really.”

I found myself back pedaling. I certainly didn’t mean to say it like that. I just needed to get it out.

“Mom’s cancer was cause by a virus. That’s not hereditary. No one in our family has ever had cancer, not genetically,” Allie reminded me.

“I haven’t even had a biopsy yet.”

“Gosh Jo, you scared me to death.”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything yet. I wasn’t going to worry you.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides, Margo will handle it. You’re so dramatic,” Allie continued, hardly pausing.

She was right. Cancer doesn’t run in our family. I felt foolish and relieved. What had I been so worried about?

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Where’s the Yellow Brick Road?

Posted in alcohol, anxiety, depression, health, life, mental health on May 8, 2015| 13 Comments »


Last night I made myself lie down and close my eyes.

These last few weeks I haven’t thought about sleep until the sun is coming up. I don’t want to stop to think, not even for sleep. Keep your mind busy.

Play another game.

Watch another show.

What’s on YouTube?

Read the news.

Who’s killing who?

Has Greece sunk beneath the sea of it’s debt yet.

Wait for exhaustion.

When the light starts to peek through the trees. I know I won’t have to think when I finally stop to sleep.

Instead, tonight I lay in the dark, my jaw stiff. Listening to my teeth grinding. I dreamed of a debate about an illness sweeping the world. We had the cure. It could be sprayed in the air and we would all be saved. But there was an insane deliberation about harming the environment. We could save everyone but did nothing instead.

I feel better today. I’ll exercise and shower. I’m going to get back to good someday soon. I hope I can find the right road.

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Meeting Your Ex

Posted in anxiety, divorce, family, health, life, love, mental health, tagged , , on March 13, 2015| 24 Comments »


He’s breathing on his own. Thank you for all of your prayers and good thoughts. It’s an amazing turn around. Just a few days ago the doctor was surprised he made it through the night and now he’s sitting up.

I’ve been racked with anxiety since I made the decision to come see him. I’ve been nauseous. Eating makes me sick and not eating makes me sick. We didn’t part on good terms. I still don’t know how his family feels about me. (I’m staying close to the hospital, so I’m able to check in early and late, missing most of my in-laws.)

He’s been married and divorce since I last saw him. What will I say? Thoughts kept rolling through my head. I love him, but I don’t LOVE, love him. I wouldn’t mind being friends, but it might be too late for that.

I checked with one of my nephews and he said I should come and seem him. I don’t want you to think I pushed myself on him without taking his feelings into consideration.

Some of his buddies were in the room when I entered. I barely recognized him. He looks old, perhaps the illness has taken its toll. He’s had some hair loss and what’s left is white. He’s gained a lot of weight, some of that’s probably fluid.

When we were in the middle of our divorce and everything was so ugly, I imagined seeing him again. This wasn’t far from my fantasy. “I’m still looking young and you are old. Was she worth it?” I would say. (Of course she would look old too.) He would fall to the floor and tell me how sorry he was and I wouldn’t care. I would reply with various snide comments. “Should have thought of that before you left me for your mother.” (She looks like his mother.)

So what did I choose to say? Something amazingly insightful? Perhaps even a little biting. No. I said, “Hey what’s up? I thought you were going to dance on my grave. You’ve got to get it together. I’m depending on you.”

He chuckled. His friends chuckled and then the conversation turned back to chasing women. The reason we split up in the first place.

The doctors have scheduled him for open heart surgery tomorrow. He’s still in intensive care, but I’m optimistic. Tomorrow I’ll see his family. But for now, I’m going to go gnaw on some crackers and sip Sprite.

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My Ex is Critically Ill

Posted in divorce, family, health, love, Uncategorized, tagged on March 6, 2015| 61 Comments »


Ex is in the ICU. He’s had two heart attacks, is on a ventilator, is tachycardic, and running a fever amongst other things. They haven’t been able to lower his heart rate. So they can’t do anything more for him until they can get his heart rate down.

We grew up together. We wound up married due to circumstances, not because we were or ever would be friends. Maybe that happens to a lot of people.

I was told this morning that the doctors were surprised he was still holding on. I cried. I wasn’t expecting to have an emotional reaction. I never hated him. In fact, I wished him well. Still, I didn’t expect to feel this bad.

He hasn’t recognized anyone, so I expect he won’t know me. I’m going 3,000 to say goodbye to my first love.

I don’t think there’s anymore to say. The end.

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