Wednesday, December 02, 2015

Time to 'Fess Up

I haven't been a "good patient" for the past few months.

My heart surgeon wants me to exercise for an hour or more, 7 days a week. I am nowhere near that goal. Have only done 2 or 3 days a week, a half hour or so, for a while now. I blame my feet. "Plantar Fasciaitis" - severe foot and heel pain, and also the usual joint problems in my knees and hips. Not a young woman anymore. I am now wearing tight elastic bands on my arches, to help repair the damage. Bought new arch supports for the inside of my shoes and boots and ordered new boots that should arrive next week. I have a dog now, and he loves to go for hikes into the back wilderness with me. I know I have to get my act together but lack motivation.

I hear weekly reports about my mother's slide into sedentary feebleness. She has only taken 5 steps, since her second hip replacement. The rest home uses a convoluted piece of equipment to get her out of a chair and into the bathroom. My sister calls it The Jaws of Life. Sounds like a small fork lift with a claw attachment. I don't want to become like that. Mother exercised a lot when she was younger. She was always biking, swimming or walking. Then she got her knees replaced - and the operation failed. Thus ended her physically active life. According to her doctor, her bones are now literally dissolving from lack of use.

Outside of walking (or hiking), physical activity in public is not something I ever gravitated towards. When I was a kid, I endured plenty of cruel taunts from classmates about my prematurely developed body (and especially my breasts). It made me want to hide. I mustered up all of my courage in 9th grade and won a coveted slot on the Junior High cheerleading squad. My bouncing breasts during "stomp cheer" in an assembly elicited deafening laughter from the crowd. After that year, I never went out for cheerleading, again.

I know I'm erecting mental barriers to movement. Once the new boots arrive, I hope to motivate myself to walk at least one more day a week. I'm tired of my tightening jeans.




Monday, October 12, 2015

First Rehearsal

Started singing again, yesterday. I lasted nearly 2 hours in a rehearsal with a couple of musicians, as we tried out five songs. Had a mic and small PA set up so that I didn't have to push my voice. Even so, I felt a bit weak and raspy by the end - in fact, I called it quits because I didn't want to do any damage.

I'm encouraged. And the others were very complimentary of my progress. I haven't been practicing much. I sometimes sing along with the car radio - but get scared if my voice drops out all of a sudden.  I like this keyboard player. A former lead guitarist, he took up the piano a couple of years ago. While he's not the most dexterous on the keys (yet), he is a solid musician with a vast knowledge of theory and a great sense of humor - and patience. I'll take that over a guy with killer chops and an over-sized ego, right now. I love getting scat ideas from musicians but these days, I'm happy to stay on pitch and sing the melody.

We're preparing for an open mic, some Monday in the not-too-distant future.  My sister brought me the microphone I used in the early to mid 1980's when I was with the "Jason Moore Show". It still works - and the polished silver of the AKG looks pretty. The pinkish-reddish lipstick stains are still on the windscreen. Don't think I'll wipe them off. I like the memories. Damn I wore a lot of lipstick back then.

We're working on some blues cover tunes: Moondance (of course), Lean on Me, Summertime, and a song called "Woman On Top" by Gino Vannelli. That one's kinda saucy and my musicians were blushing a bit when I sang it. I've always gotten a kick out of "double-entendre" songs. Those that can, do, those that can't, sing about it, I guess. 

Last time I rehearsed was about a year ago. And a couple of weeks later, I got my scary diagnoses. It is a small miracle that the voice (and the rest of me) is back in business. I am thankful.





Thursday, September 24, 2015

Puppy Mama

Baxter is his name and he is a brindle-colored German Shepherd mix pup. And he's smart and very well behaved, for the most part. On August 16th, quite unexpectedly, I became his mama, after he wandered onto a friend's property from the Indian Pueblo next door.

So tiny! I couldn't put him down and since my friend already had a dog-filled home, I volunteered to bring him to mine. The vet thought he was 6 to 8 weeks old and we don't know how big he'll get, but he's already tripled in size since he's called mi casa his home.

I didn't want a dog - and certainly not a puppy! They're far too much work. Baxter doesn't care. He has claimed me as his mama. So far, I have failed in crate training. Have tried to make his kennel cozy but he just pulls his toys and my smelly old T-shirt out and onto the rug. He chewed up his new collar and squirms out of his harness. Thankful I live in the country with a huge back yard, and that we can go for walks without using a leash.

I don't want to raise an aggressive dog. I don't want a dog that barks a lot. Have been watching Dog Whisperer videos on YouTube and a friend has loaned me a book on puppy training. Cats are so much easier, and frankly I don't think I have the right personality to be a dog owner. I am not authoritative.

But I kinda love him. I'll let you know how things go.

Sunday, August 09, 2015

These Kids Today and Their Music!

Old lady rant:

WHY ARE BANJOS MAKING A COMEBACK WITH THE YOUNG MUSICIANS??????

Where is soul? Where are horns? Why must everything be played in the key of G????

WHAT HAPPENED TO MELODY??? There is no thought to song structure. Crappy hooks, usually auto-tuned to the max.

WHY IS "BITCH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY" STUCK IN MY HEAD??? GET IT OUT!!!

I wonder if my musical journey has reached its end? I am not getting much pleasure, anymore, from listening to music - be it new or old. I am so annoyed by out-of-tune instruments, these days. Does everything suck or is it just me?

My frame of reference is a tiny town's musical offerings, I know. But, Taos is filled with artists and musicians. Many of them trained on the East or West coast.

I'll just say it right here - I am so sick of "Americana" music. Everybody in town wants to play it. UGH. I don't care. It doesn't move me in the slightest. Give me complex chords. Give me stirring vocals. Hire a keyboard player and some horns.

Must be the result of cutting music programs in school. I BLAME RONALD REAGAN!

Old lady rant over.


Wednesday, July 08, 2015

40 Million Dollars

A blue mug with coffee and cream and a small plate of home made gluten-free fig and walnut toast sit to my right as I type this. This morning I am given to fantasy, after being asked the Facebook question, "if money were no object, what would you do"?

So, I daydream about winning 40 million dollars in the lottery. That seems like enough money to dream on. In my fantasies, first thing, I pay off my student loans. Next comes my car payment. Then, I send money to Medicaid - with a thank you note for them paying for my operations this year. If any of the kind people who sent me money this past year need a loan, I will take care of them. Finally, I send the remaining payments on my credit card and cell phone bills. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I turn my attention to my family. Each sister gets a substantial chunk to pay off their own bills and fund some dreams of their own. My mother's upcoming hip replacement surgeries won't be a worry for her, and neither will her rehabilitation and convalescence. The finest caregivers are hired, so my sister, Linda, no longer has to stay in the godforsaken place where we grew up.

Then, I turn my attention to where I currently live. If I had unlimited resources, would I stay isolated, at this high altitude? I don't think so. I would travel. First, I would go back to France - and this time, instead of lodging in dorm rooms or one-star hotels, I would travel first class. And eat in Anthony Bourdain-recommended restaurants.And, finally view the art in the Louvre in Paris. Italy would come next. I want to see the town of my ancestors, Pitigliano, and the rest of Tuscany. Sienna, Rome and Florence. However, I cant fantasize away the mold I imagine covers Venice. Even with 40 million dollars, I skip the city of canals and lovers. 

In my dreams, there is no more political unrest in Egypt and I am able to travel freely throughout Cairo and the Giza Plateau. Also in my mind it is safe and welcoming for a woman to travel alone in North Africa and the Middle East. And, I have unlimited strength and energy to walk as far and for as long as I wish. I no longer suffer from anxiety and panic attacks as I take the Silk Road journey through China. I sample the food in Vietnam and Thailand. Then, I travel to India (in the coolest temperatures they have ever experienced). Without anxiety, the crowds and the noise and smells do not affect me. I find them exotic and enticing. The colors and tastes intoxicate my senses. 

Part of my 40 million dollars is invested in green businesses and innovative organic agriculture, with a portion helping women and girls in countries steeped in Sharia law. 

Once my obligations are handled and my wanderlust satisfied, I don't think I would stay in the United States. The future of this country is unsettling and not liberal enough for my tastes. I believe I would go back to Europe to live. I would employ a tutor to help me with my waning French and possibly, live near Nice or Lyon (although I do love Paris, I need a slightly drier climate to call home). 

Time for a second cup of coffee. And more daydreaming.


Monday, June 15, 2015

No GPS For Me.

Why use GPS? Don't you enjoy getting lost? The feeling of discovering a new place and really seeing it, instead of driving like a robot, awaiting the next instruction from  a disembodied voice?

One of the saddest things I ever saw was a dear friend - used to think he was one of the smartest people I ever met - become panicked when his GPS stopped working and he had to find his way to the highway without the wisdom of a satellite telling him when to turn.

I was a traffic reporter for over a decade, for God's sake. I had a road map of Seattle in my head 24/7. I no longer live there, but I like to think I still have a magnet in my brain pointing towards North. But, I get lost a lot when I'm in a new city. And, I know the momentary fear of being out of my depth. But, I also know the triumph of finding my way out of the woods and the confidence of telling others which way to turn.




Thursday, May 28, 2015

Up and Down

Yesterday morning, I awoke with vigor and hunger. I felt ready to take on the world and wanted to eat exotic (for Taos) food. Decided to head to a tiny lunch place hidden from the main drag and have a Japanese-type salad, called a Maki Bowl. Raw ahi tuna, sticky rice with sesame seeds, a big handful of field greens and avocado, tossed with a wasabi/ginger sauce. Exquisite - makes my mouth water just thinking of it.

Decided to work on my high-altitude legs and lungs by walking around the plaza and surrounding shops. Then, I headed out to visit the kitties at the animal shelter - a much-missed activity. Surprised to find only 11 cats that needed my loving attention. So much has changed at the shelter since I last volunteered. New procedures and the like. But, some new feline residents have stolen my heart - Simon, Tiffany, Lucas, Shawn and Mike. And Mike was adopted while I was there. Very happy about the success of the shelter's new management program. Afterwards, I stopped at the grocery store and headed home.

Today felt totally different. Upon arising, I couldn't slap the sleep from my face. 2 glasses of iced coffee and some toast and banana couldn't do it either. Felt like I was swimming upstream when I strapped on my light ankle weights to do some leg lifts. I managed to saute up some fried rice with onions, peas and ham, but eating a bowl did not increase my energy any. After an afternoon nap, I am a bit more refreshed. But I could still sleep some more.

Since my surgery, it seems I need 2 recovery days for every 1 day of activity. It frustrates me and I can easily fall back into self-reproach, telling myself that I am lazy. Gotta be nicer to myself and know that healing is happening. I wish every day could be "up", but that is not the way life goes.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Gratitude and Platitudes

This morning I woke up feeling so very grateful.

Grateful for all of the help my sister, Linda, has given me through this journey. Grateful that my sister, Lisa, set up a "Go Fund Me" page (against my initial wishes) that helped me financially these past several months. Amazed that Lisa found a place for us to stay during this time. So thankful that the young woman, Margaret, who had an "extra furnished house" near Albuquerque is a very cool young lady. Have enjoyed getting to know her and her partner, Paul.

I can't forget about all of the kind and generous people who have contributed to the "Go Fund Me" page. I am flabbergasted by their generosity. Some of them even gave multiple times! How have I been so fortunate?

I have been so lucky to have Medicaid during this medical crisis. Because of it, I had the best surgeons in the state (according to Albuquerque magazine) operate on me. I am so thankful I am able to go to cardiac rehab in a facility that is well-staffed.

Only thirteen more days here, before I move back home. I am a little sad about that. It means that my sister will be flying back East a few days later and I will live alone again. At the same time, I am happy to return to the gentle routine of everyday life, living as a person, and not a patient.

If I haven't said all of this before, I have certainly thought it. I have been blessed. Thank you.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Rehab and Rage

Ah, Cardiac Rehab.

Getting on the exercise machines. Treadmill, stationary bicycle and an evil thing called the "Biodex". My heart rate is raising and my sweat glands are getting a workout, too. The exercise part of rehab is great. Gaining confidence in my body and learning that I won't break, after being told to avoid all stress at risk of death, several months ago. It is all different. While my chest (sternum) still hurts at times, it doesn't hurt all the time. No longer taking prescription pain killers and Tylenol consumption is drastically reduced.

However, the "heart healthy" classes at cardiac rehab are a bit of a pain. So difficult for me to sit through diet and nutrition classes - I have SO MUCH BAGGAGE in that area - being a genetically "big girl", and having been forced to diet when I was 12 years old and then again, throughout my teens and twenties. Living in a family and society that equate bigness, in women, with worthlessness, is very difficult. The five-foot NOTHING, 95 pound nutritionist teaching the class is doing her best - keeping things light and entertaining - but I still feel rage. I attended way too many Weight Watcher and Diet Workshop classes, as well as a semester of nutrition classes in college. None of this information is new to me. I know I don't follow all of the advice. And it still makes me want to scream. I will not avoid something if it has mayonnaise in it. Don't you dare tell me to get rid of egg yolks, and if my body is craving red meat and I can afford it, I WILL eat a steak. I probably need the protein and the vitamin B.

Oh wait - my veins and arteries are perfectly fine - wide open, in fact. No sign of any hardening or blockages. This advice is designed for people who have common heart disease, not aortas that got aneurysms from blood clots passing through them or bad heart valves from birth. But still, I get enraged.

I don't know if there is a therapist in the world who can help with this case of dietary PTSD. Just something I'll have to live with.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Triggers

I guess it wasn't just Prednisone that made me rabidly angry after my last open heart surgery.

I'm getting angry a lot right now. Pissed off at people who don't believe in Obamacare, pissed off at snide comments, More than anything, I am getting white-hot mad at religion.

Religion has ALWAYS been my main anger trigger. Since I was a very small child. At 5 years old, I was calling preachers hypocrites and walking out of services. I was born this way. I came out of the womb hostile towards organized religion.

The shit today - preachers using pulpits to spout hate-speak and control their congregations. There's no love in it. No forgiveness and no open-mindedness. Only fear, shame and control.

Religion is the Anti-Christ. Pure and simple.

Nobody should tell anybody what to believe and this ridiculous praying to a sky god who lords over us all. Ludicrous. Churches are Sky God Clubs with mindless followers, all trying to one-up the other with their snooty ideas and fake piousness.

It is time for churches to go.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

My Voice is Gone

With everything else going on, it never occurred to me I might lose my singing voice due to all of my surgeries. But, it sounds like crap. I am singing like a frog.

Went online and read comments from other patients who had the same surgeries. No one lost their voice, permanently, although several people said that they have lost much of their higher register. Some said their voices didn't return until 8 or 12 months after surgery. On the plus side, one lady said her voice got richer with a more complex vibrato, when it finally came back.

You may imagine how scary this is, for me. Especially with my singer/songwriter twin sister vocalizing around the house all the time. Since childhood, we have easily harmonized with each other. And I usually took the lead singer role. Last night was hard. She was singing up a storm, in a 3-octave range. It was my natural inclination to chime in - but was hurt and horrified by what came out of my mouth.

Patience - that's what all of the online forums said. Give yourself time. Practice breathing exercises. Don't overdo. Don't equate self-worth with how my voice sounds.

My voice has always been an important part of my life, I took it for granted and it was how I made my living - not just as a professional vocalist, but as a radio broadcaster, telephone operator, call-center voice and receptionist. And this doesn't include all of the voiceover and commercial cash I made on the side.

I am alive. I don't have cancer. My heart works. I am healing. I will get my voice back. But, I think this is the scariest thing of all.


Thursday, March 12, 2015

Latest Celebrity Crushes and Luxury Comedy



"Squidbillies", a crude, absurd cartoon about a tribe of Northern Georgia land-dwelling octopuses got me through my last open-heart surgery. The show also helped me deal with the prejudices encountered while living in the South for 4 years. I recommend the show to any "Yankees" who find themselves displaced below the Mason-Dixon line for a time.

As my 2015 surgery date approached, I wondered what would get me through the bodily trauma, this time. When my sister, Linda, posted an episode of Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy on my Facebook page prior to my chest-cracking, I had my answer.

For several weeks, I had been developing a crush on the adorable deadpan British comedian, director, writer and intellectual, Richard Ayoade, after watching the TV show "The IT Crowd" on Netflix. My crush solidified, when I began following his work on panel shows and on a tech-savvy news show, Gadget Man on You Tube. I mean, look at him. Caramel skin, impish big brown eyes, cleft chin and a mass of unruly hair. What's not to love?


He has a wacky friend, who also appeared with him on on most of these ventures, Noel Fielding. You must watch Fielding's work portraying the character "Richmond" on "The IT Crowd". Noel created "Luxury Comedy", one of the most bizarre shows I've ever seen and I was hooked. Happily, Ayoade appears on many of Luxury Comedy's episodes.

Anyhow, this theater of the absurd got me through the run-up to surgery, and I finished the last episode of the second season, today, nearly 2 weeks after the operation. I am still laughing.

Luxury Comedy. ooh yeah.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Anxious

Less than a week to go.

Trying not to think of the 4 major repairs my heart needs. Wiping the image out of my mind of me, lying on the operating table, hooked up to a heart-and-lung machine. Trying not to think about the agonizing pain of recovering from my chest being split open. Remembering the deep depression that came over me, last time, about a month after my surgery (due to the dramatic drop of endorphins after a few weeks of recovery). Pissed off at Medicaid, only wanting to pay for 3 days in the hospital. Are they fucking nuts??

Praying I won't be put on Prednisone again. Praying that my lungs don't fill up with fluid this time.

Visualize....visualize....visualize the highest outcome. See myself whole. See myself happy. See myself healthy. Breathe. Calm down. Don't be so scared.

Try and get some sleep.


Friday, February 06, 2015

Good News As We Move Forward.

21 days and counting, until my open-heart surgery.

They replaced just the aortic valve in 2008. This time, they will not only replace the valve again (with a mechanical one that will "tick" - not very happy about that), they will swap out the actual aorta with Dacron, and do the same thing with the connector to the valve, called the aortic 'root', and finally, put something called a button in the wall of my heart. To plug up a leak. I still wonder how my heart got so bad, so fast. Perhaps it was broken, one too many times.

Yesterday, though, I had a lot of good news.

First of all, my sisters and I have been wracking our brains, trying to figure out how we can afford to live in Albuquerque (over 3 hours away), while I am recuperating from surgery. Lisa found a woman, on a nation-wide message board for the radio network where she works, with a house to spare! Details are still coming in, and my sister, Linda, and I will go look at the home on Sunday. But, I am pretty sure we can afford this short-term housing solution.

I read in the paper that my cardiologist will now be seeing patients in Taos. This town was down to only one cardiologist who was really booked up. In order to see mine, I had to travel well over 2 hours. This will save a lot of travel time and gas!

Finally, I got a call from my ENT surgeon about the enormous tumor (aka Gilbert the Goiter) he removed from my neck (along with half of my thyroid). Very intensive scanning was done to it, to make sure there were no cancer cells. Turns out they DID find a small amount - about 7mm - but it was entirely contained within the removed tumor. While I freaked out, a bit, at the big "C" word, this is very positive. All of the offending cells were removed and no other treatment - like chemo or radiation - will be required. In other words, I am cured. PHEW! Both of my sisters wondered if Gilbert was acting as a protective force-field against the cancer? I like that idea. Always had a fondness for him.

I am pretty tired these days. Not a lot of excess energy to spare. My not-so-comfortable bed and I are well acquainted. (thank God for memory foam).

21 days to go...

Friday, January 23, 2015

Take a Deep Breath

Post operation, I am already breathing deeper than I have in a long, long time. I am not dizzy anymore and I feel like I can think. Not getting enough oxygen to the body and brain takes its toll.

Nobody realized how huge Gilbert the Goiter (RIP) was, until they got me on the operating table. A procedure that normally takes 2 hours took over 6 hours. I had a great surgeon and anesthesiologist! They made sure they took their time and were very careful. The tumor had wrapped itself around my vocal chords, and they are stretched out. I sound like Bonnie Tyler. (It's a heartache....nothin' but a heartache) My voice will improve.

So glad surgery-number-one is over with. Meeting with the heart surgeon on Monday, to schedule the one that comes next.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Just a Few More Days

5 Days to go until the first surgery. Removal of Gilbert the Goiter and half of my thyroid. A cardiac team will be on standby, if my aortic aneurysm ruptures during the procedure.

I tried to meditate a few days ago but couldn't muster much inner peace. I am more worried, this time, than I was in 2008, with my first open-heart operation. There are many complications this time. I don't know why it is so difficult to have faith right now. It just is.

Have been reading a little book, "The Afterlife of Billy Fingers", that describes the death and afterlife of a man, as told from his side of the 'great divide' - to his sister, on our side. The writing is simplistic and a bit irritating, but it does help, knowing that if all fails, what lies ahead will be positive and fulfilling.

If I die and get to see my loved ones, from the other side, I most want to visit my kitty Saturn, and my Aunt Nippy. She came to me after my first heart surgery. A little hole ripped open through the fabric of space, just to the left of my head, and I saw her, looking very happy and healthy. She said "Hey, Kiddo" (she used to call me Kiddo), and told me what to name a fuzzy stuffed dog my sister gave me. "I think he looks like a Scamp, Kiddo" Wisdom from the beyond.

Then, I'd like to blow this Popsicle stand and get on with learning the great mysteries of Creation.

Saturday, January 03, 2015

Then and Now

A year ago, I was restless and couldn't find much to do with myself. It wasn't enough to love the kitties at the animal shelter two or three days a week, read library books and sing now and again with friends on Sunday. I was happy to have my house sitting and errand running duties for my landlord, as well as book research for her son. My brain was over-active and needed stimulation. I went for plenty of walks but felt anxious. I was horribly lonely.

As a new year begins, with health issues that need attention, I am happy to nap for most of the day, watch movies online and scroll through Facebook. Last year's painting phase only lasted a month or so. I was uninspired by acrylic and canvas and became highly critical of my work. Several months later, however, one lovely piece of cardboard inspired a new phase of work, with colored pencils. But, nowadays, with a weakened heart, I can't draw with the pressure and intensity I crave. So, I have had to put a new piece aside, until after my surgery.

Last year, my loneliness was loud. Right now, my sister is living with me and I am not lonely at all. I am embarrassed she is a witness to my morning ineptitude - my inability to translate my thoughts into verbal or written words for several hours. My clumsiness and forgetfulness. I have a hard time laughing at myself because it is so frustrating. She is a morning person and is filled with ideas and words when I awake. I want to respond, but can't, many times. She is understanding but I get aggravated that I can't communicate at the same rate as she can.

This year, I tire after eating - it takes energy to digest food. I get weary if I wash the few dishes in the sink and I need a nap after taking a shower. I enjoy spending the majority of my day asleep. It is hard to remember when it wasn't this way, which is why I'm writing this blog - to remind myself. 

My birthday is on Monday. What will I write this time next year?