The very merry month of May

We had returned from London the week before, but we felt we were still there that first Saturday morning (May 5). Eerie fog draped the docks as we peered up the companion way.  In two hours, the sun broke through to give us a perfect California day.  We put our backs into opening Forte Vento for its second season on the Bay.  The chores broke into its natural assignments -- John went off to West Marine for small parts and back up cleaning supplies.  Dorine got out the scrub brush, rags and bucket and began to wash away the winter's sooty scum on the deck.  Soon we started waxing the gel coat.  Six hours later we collapsed having only accomplished half of what we expected. 

Sunday brought perfect breezes and brilliant sun, we hoped to be sailing by noon.  We missed that goal, but did complete our work by two.  The foresail (jib) was hoisted on the self-furler, the navy canvas Bimini was reconstructed, and the interior below was ship shape.  The only problem was that we were once again exhausted.  If we sailed we'd be an accident waiting to happen.  Somehow, when you're in your sixties, the stamina of ten years ago has evaporated.  Safety ruled so we stayed in dock, went to the Tiki Bar at the Calypso to savor the evening.

During May you haven't heard from us because we sailed every weekend, sleeping overnight on the hook in the Wye River and Broad Creek off the Choptank River. We go the way the wind let's us sail. Sometimes it's to the northeast and sometimes to the southeast.  You can't fight the wind.

It's been a sailor's orgasm -- the month of May.  Rain during the week clears to reveal a sailor's delight for the weekend.  We've tacked and jibed in light and strong winds.  We've heeled at 10 degrees, gritted our teeth and reefed the main.  It doesn't get better than this!  We look forward to a season that more than meets our expectations.

So what's the big purchase this year for our baby, Forte Vento?  It was a tough decision, but we passed on a glass-tiled kitchen back splash for an electric outboard motor for the dinghy. No more gasoline, agonizing pulls on the starter, lifting 38 pounds over the aft into the dinghy and yelling over a noisy engine.  The new outboard divides into two ten pound parts that are easily passed down to the dingy and up again.  A push of a button starts the quiet motor that is just as powerful as its gasoline cousin.  It plugs into any 110 outlet to recharge.  We can dinghy again!

A boat, like a house, has its issues -- John is greasing the winches and learning  auto pilot maintenance.  As June opens we discovered as leak in the the waste system (yes, that system!) and our self-furler has unfurled (so we're stuck at the dock). The good news is that all of this is under warranty.  The bad news is that it couldn't be fixed by today.

Bridget walks!

The laughing young girl on the left is very pleased with herself.  It's pure joy -- the walking is.   At 10 months, she started pushing toys and trotting along furniture all on her own.  Now, she's stepping out into the middle of the room with some regularity.  Of course, her legs aren't quite strong enough to stand tall.  She walks like Grandpa John -- those short Italian legs are a bit bowled.  Luckily, Bridget doesn't have baggy shorts like her grandpa.  Mom keeps her diapers trim and tight. 

Unexpected vacation reaction

 It's not that we didn't enjoy the time off to visit with our dear friend who lives in the burbs just north of London.  He took great pains to arrange an event filled week.  Nothing was left to chance.  We "tubed" our way around London, ate at posh restaurants, pulled a pint at pubs, attended the theatre and opera and enjoyed the company of his friends and family.  I rode the eye and was a guest at Lord's, the most famous and prestigious cricket club in the world, I dare say. We even had a day to shop by ourselves in London's Oxford, Picadilly and Regent Street shops. It's all on my face book page.

So what was my problem? Was it the weather --the incessant grayness of London's springtime raindid keep us damp and chilly.  Before the end, I caught a head cold and cough. What is staying outside of the city -- maybe, but our friend was delightfully accommodating, provided comfy lodgings and was pleased that we visitedhim as we were pleased with seeing hime again.  We've couldn't have planned such a trip ourselves.

So what is it?   I'm a savvy traveler --but I think that's the problem. Unlike people who spend their careers in one place and yearn to explore in "their older years", I spent most of my career traveling.  I've been east and west, in Asia, Australia, Europe, South America and now, most recently, in Africa. I respect and wonder at the different cultures, conditions and styles of living. 

At the root, I think I'm just tired of being other places. I'm tired of long airline flights.  I want the familiar, the local scene, the settled life.  A big trip now is a drive up to New York City .  But, I like it there.  We can visit family and friends and we know the city.  We don't tire being there.  It energizes us.   It is familiar, it is part of our local scene.

Is this surprising?  I thought I would never tire of the travel adventure -- of seeing new places, meeting new people and doing new things.  Will I grow out of this crummy attitude?  I don't know.  I'm just going to live with it for now.  It fits. 

Maybe it's my itch to be on the water.  It's almost sailing season -- next week we reassemble the bimini canvas and hoist the jib.  Forte Vento has been recommissioned for the season and we're looking foward to taking her sailing again.  That's the kind of travel adventure I look forward to -- the wind in my face and the sun on my back.

Jersey nails

Several weeks ago, we trekked North.  I was to receive the Women's Leadership Exchange award engineered by my daughter.  It was the highest complement a daughter bestow on her mother and I was thrilled to receive the award. 

To prepare, I dutifully reviewed the questions that might be posed in the panel discussion following the award ceremonies and I learned all I could about the WLE so I would not appear ignorant nor arrogant.  However, my real obsession was to get my three week old manicure replaced --- my nails resembled well worn bear claws. My daughter agreed, so off we tromped in the rain to the local New Jersey salon.  I asked for what I always asked for-- a french manicure. It's a nice, conservative look -- a pale nail with a narrow white tip.  That is what I expected but that is not what I got.

Oh, my goodness.  I walked out of the salon with thick white tips. My claws had been turned into paws. Sympathetically, my daughter mused, "At least they'll be able to see your manicure from the back row of the room, Mom."  We had a good laugh about my nails "Jersey nails" because in New Jersey most everything is "in the your face" and boy, these nails were in your face.

Stubborn walker reigns!

Sprint burst upon us last Sunday so I took up outside running again.  I ran from the condo to Ballston Station and back (about 4 miles).  However, in all my gracefulness I took a header on the sidewalk about a  half mile into the run.  As I always am like to do, "I picked myself up, dusted myself off and started out all over again."  I finished the run, but came home with a bloodly knee, concrete scrapped hands and sore shoulders from catching myself in the the fall. John admonished me for my foolishness, poured hydrogenperoxide over the wounds all and insisted on a bandaid here and there. 

This Sunday, promising to be careful, I took off again and completed the run without a single stumble, much less a fall.  However, somehow the neon green toy key chain holding our door keys had  slipped out of my sweat shirt pocket somewhere along the way.

"Drats," I mumbled to myself as I phoned up John from the building entrance to let me in after my run. 
"Lost keys?" he groaned as he opened the front door. 
"Yes,"  I moaned with some sheepishness, "It somehow came out of my pocket and I didn't hear it."
"We're going to go find it!" he declared with mannly authority.  He bolted to the bedroom to retrieve his walking shoes.  I reminded him that it could be anywhere between home and Ballston. "Won't that be too long walk for you?  There was no identification on it.  Why worry?  We'll just pay for another fob."

The man was unconsolable.  He was determined.  He was bullheaded.  He grabbed his cane, told me to tie his shoes, and off we loped.  In the end, although we examined ever foot of my 4 mile run, we did not find the keys.  We did have a fine pizza place about half way through the walk though and John did make it home--barely.  His thigh muscles were all worn out.  My sruborn hero is now snoring pleasantly on the couch -- taking  the afternoon nap he wanted in the first place.

We made it to Forte Vento!

We were desperate to get back to the water once again so we took advantage of the surprisingly warm early spring day yesterday.  John is getting stronger and more agile every day so don't let this picture fool you.  John's much more comfortable on the boat than he looks.  He still has to sit high as his hip doesn't bend all the way to 90 degrees easily.  For several hours we just sat in the cockpit, took in the panoramic view out into the bay and soaked up the sun.  Next weekend, we'll pull the bubbler (it's too heavy for me to do by myself and John wants to wait one more week before putting that kind of pressure on his leg).  The darn thing weighs 15 pounds easily and it will be covered in mud.

We've made a commitment to ourselves to retire as soon as the boat is paid off.  Our retirement trip will be a year on the water -- down the intercoastal water with, hopefully, a couple of day  trips out onto the ocean, and a lazy time in Florida.  Given the boat loan --- that's still about two years away. The good news is that gives us two years to prepare -- me to get my "six pack" license and John to learn all the boat systems and be able to do his own maintenance. 

John's got a spring in his step!

Warm weather and flowering trees may just be a coincidence, but John enjoyed walking today and he came home refreshed instead of exhausted. His goal is Fireworks, a local pizza restaurant. He's upgraded his reward from Starbucks coffee to real food. He only got half way there today. He expects success in reaching the goal tomorrow.

Life is good!

Type A faces off to Type B

I must confess -- as a Type A I find my Type B husband with his achy recovery a testiment to our relationship. Luckily for him, after 20 years, I've got too many "sunk costs" to abandon him until he gets through his recovery and stops moaning like a wounded bear.

It's not his fault. He's doing the best he can. He's a guy so he sensitive to pain. Men just can't hack pain like women can (unless, of course, you are a movie hero that can dodge bullets and feel no pain). I think most men would just rather take the drugs and be done with it (Dr. House is that stunning role model). If it's not, "Oh, I have this new pain in this hamstring, could you get me an ice pack?" it's "I'm so tired, I'm going t sleep here on the couch." After his nap yesterday, he stayed up until 2AM reading the Steve Jobs biography. So this morning, he was all curled up in his comforter grunting a good-bye as I left the house. I do believe he was asleep again before the door closed.

A Percoset now and then would help him keep up with his walking every day. He did take one or two over the weekend, but he's a stubborn boy so he's off them again. His remedy for pain -- old movies on the movie channel. He watched three today. However, he did get bored enough tonight to fix the repeater for the wi-fi so I can use the Ipad in bed. Just when I think he's impossible, he does something wonderful like that!

Traditions!

Every year for at least 12 years, my friend Carol and I meet in early morning the first week in March, usually on a Thursday, at the 30th Street station.  We can't exactly remember how it all started either because our memories are gone or because its actually become so ingrained in our psyches.

Carol buses in from NYC and I train up from DC.  We fortify ourselves with a quick breakfast then head east on foot to the convention center for the most fabulous Philadelphia flower show.  This year, like last year, our NYC friend Joanna joined us.

Last year the weather was so frightfully cold and rainy that we had to cab it to the show.  However, this year the weather gods were most kind -  sunny, unusually warm and breezy so we walked the mile.  Hawaiian tropical flora and fauna greeted us.  For two hours we moved among palms, ferns and orchids, thousands of orchids, enjoying the green luxury of the displays.  There was a most magnificent 60 foot water fall surrounded by hundreds of orchids and ferns.  To its side was a light and  music show on an over sized thatched hutch screen.  The crowds were mesmerized as were we. 

The weather was so fine that we left the show walking toward the Phili Art Museum.  We were beckoned into a side street deli where we ate the owner's favorite --chicken cheese steak sandwiches.  The owner kept bringing us food, Carol kept protesting we couldn't eat it all, and he refused to take no for an answer saying in a true Phili accent, "Don't worry, the food won't go to waste.  I feed the homeless." 

Sated and rested, we walked on to the Rodin Museum only to find it under renovation.  We sat in the still brown garden and talked and talked and talked until the wind picked up as clouds began to roll-in announcing a weather change.  Picture three short women braced against the wind, still talking and laughing while walking all the way back to the station.  If this is retirement, I could get used to this.  Let's see.....how many more years might that be?

Celebration!

This Tuesday John reached the three week mark. He'd been off the drugs for 34 hours so we thought it opportune to celebrate with a glass of his favorite - red wine.  "Ah," he whispered, "It's not even the good stuff, but it smells so fine." He hoisted his glass and savored the sip.  He had reason to celebrate -- he'd walked up the hill to Starbucks that afternoon.  Four blocks up, a cappacino and pumpkin bread with the NYT, then four blocks back to home.

On Wednesday he did the same distance with a bit of a different route.  Still feeling fine, if but a bit achy.  Then ThursdayKaboom. He hit the wall! His body rebelled. "Hold on there, Dude," it yelled.  "We don't have the stamina to keep this up."  John apologized to his body, popped a Percoset, and proceeded to sleep most of the day. 

Lesson learned -- recovery has ups and downs.  Steady the pace. Live and let live.  He's got new exercises to improve his balance.  We'll walk on Sunday when we visit the boat.  Standby for more adventures.



Coming off the drugs

Three days ago John was taking two Perocet every four hours. Now he's taking one every 10-12 hours. When John goes without a Percoset for 48 hours he gets his first glass of red wine since he underwent surgery almost three weeks ago. Now, that's motivation for an ol' Italian guy! But seriously, he's making great progress; his goal is to be off all drugs except Tylenol by the end of the week. The down side is that he tires easily. Having been unable to walk or exercise for months, he stamina is about 15 on a scale of 100.

Sky cleared after some rain on Saturday morning to give us repreave from that edgy unpredictable winter weather. It felt like spring. John and I walked up the hill to the park. A good two blocks. It's amazing how well he can walk, even though he is using a cane to steady his motion. His goal for mid week? The Starbucks another two blocks beyond the park. Sometimes the simple accomplishments in life are the sweetest!

Nurse resigns!

Yesterday my sweet husband graduated from walker to a cane. I even caught him lusting at the refrigerator. The guy is definitely on the mend. Not exactly cooking Moroccan meatloaf yet, but he does well toasting and scrambling. He's even emptied and filled the dishwasher several times. He promises meatloaf before the end of the week. All in all -- he walks, he talks, but he doesn't bend down and touch he toes yet.  What does that mean?  He can't pick up his pony tail band off the floor when he drops it.  He can't wash the bottoms of his feet in the shower and he can't put on his compression knee socks himself.  Guess I can still be helpful to the guy.   However, my last "official" act as the good nurse Ratchet was to take John to the doc this morning for his two week checkup.  As we talked, the doc plucked the staples out of John's thigh as if he were simply plucking an eyebrow.  Quick, easy and painless -- if you have the right tool.  My office staple remover would not have produced the same bloodless results, I'm afraid.  Doc told him to back-off the Percocet, stop the Aleve and move to Tylenol.  John, with a bit of a sigh, thought that was all doable; however, like most men, he is reluctant to endure plain ol' aches and pains.  Not enough to martyr yourself like the bone-on-bone hip pain from before the surgery.  With that kind of pain you can solicit grand sympathy from friends and family.  And, this he did.

His days for the next month will be highlighted with continuing physical therapy, short outings, daily walking and extra exercises (he will have to touch his toes one day), and restful naps.  He's totally enjoying the naps part.

Party time?

John greeted the day after a good night's sleep, feeling different -- like normal, like perky, like "Oh, my god" I'm coming out of the fog of the surgery. His voice over the phone today was John's old voice -- a cheerful, happy to be alive voice. The sunshine was peeking through once again.

I arrived home after work bearing prespcription refills and new bandages to protect the slice in this thigh to find him still in good spirits with only low grade, not high grade pain in that swollen thight. Our friends Piotr and Liz came over and we proceeded to party with Chinese food, berr and white wine (except for John) and much conversation and laughing. Even Toby, their sweet Beagle, came over for a good sniff about and an many pats on the head.

By 9:30 I was cleaning up and Liz, Piotr and Toby had gone back across the hall with left overs in hand. Within five minutes, John was once again stretched on the couch, leg elevated above his heart and snoring. His left leg is covered in frozen peas and ice packs. He's been asleep for almost an hour now -- TV blaring, lights on and me making noises while loading the diswasher. He's totally out to the world...so much for my party guy. Night all. Sleep tight!

Not sweatie balls -- just fuzzy balls

Our last day together as patient and care giver was fairly bright. John took his meds on schedule, drank his prune juice, and tackled his thigh inflammation with 20 minute rounds of frozen peas. Discussions with insurance companies and "heath care givers" continued. Prepare yourself for old age and infirmity -- you'll spend most of your time on the phone with agents, nurses and clerks trying to untangle the mesh of confused information and communications. John must have repeated the same information about who he is, the surgery he had done, and the prespcription drugs he is taking a dozen times. Our advice -- get organized before old age sets in. People very nicely don't answer your questions or answer then differently. Everyone - docs, hospital, insurance companies and visiting nurse and physical therapist live in their own unconnected silos most of the time. Don't get me wrong -- everyone means well and is trying to help John. It's just overwhelmingly complicated to get it all untangled.

On a sillier note, it's shower time for the first time in a week. We're going to have a couple of hold bars installed in the master shower, but until then John is on his own to balance while he washes his hair.  He got the walker into the shower (after I removed the fuzzy ball -- see next paragraph for details).  It all went every well.  As sous nurse, I washed and dried his feet (please, no religious references to men in long hair!).  


Oh, the fuzzy balls...found two practice tennis balls, punched holes in them and popped them onto the back feet of the walker. Makes the little bugger glide over floor and carpets. Lesson learned -- you pay $130 for the walker and 63 cents to make it work right. What's weird about this picture?

First day home -- lesson learned

I brought John home late Friday afternoon. As you can see in the photo, flowers from his FedEx team welcomed him.  The condo was filled with their fragrance.

Panic struck a few hours later when he couldn't get his Celebrex (anti inflammation) drug prescription filled because of insurance company pre-authorization rules.  John had visions of his staples popping out at any minute.  I tried to calm him with  ice packs while he waited to hear from the on call doc.  At 3AM I was standing in the local 24 hour CVS picking out the best version of Aleve that would have to fill in for the Celebrex until Tuesday when the doc could talk with the insurance company.  By morning, the swelling was under control, but we were both at "wits end". 

We figured out the drug schedule (I did a nice spreadsheet). It took an hour for us to figure out what was supposed to be taken, when.  Our brains are still "on" so we can only imagine how difficult it is for really old people to figure it. 

The home health care nurse came to check John out.  She was pleased with his progress and his ability to move around.  Told him to keep at it, took his vitals and checked his drugs.  He passed her inspection with Flying Colors.

Here's was we have learned:

• Care giver should not sleep with the patient if you want a caregiver with enough energy to give care the next day.
• Patient should always open a request with "Please, could you" or "When you have time" and not be cryptic with "order like" tone or language.  This will ensure that the patient lives through the recovery period.
• Care giver should remember that the pain is not your fault.  Chronic pain makes even the nicest dude loose his sense of humor.  The world feels like its caving in on the patient. 
• Patient becomes very self-centered despite himself.  Conversations center on prune juice, Colase and other remedies for the side affects of those "oxi" drugs.  Care giver should smile and endure it for about one hour then shove the New York Times at patient. 
• Patient should not race while using the walker. 

As the day ended, more flowers arrived to cheer John on. Our thanks to Sandy and Al for good thoughts coming our way.

Amazing progress in just two days

John's not exactly running down the halls today, but he's walking without a gimp down the 6th floor hall here, can slowly climb stairs and can swing himself in and out of bed.  As you can see from the picture on the right, he's stunning in a skirt and knee socks.  He'll look even better without the walker.

The only thing stopping him from moving faster is stress on the thigh incision and stiff muscles when he walks.  He'll stay in hospital tonight and tomorrow.  I'm going back to work (I think I'm about to drive him crazy here at the hospital) and will pick him up after work. 

All he needs for his clean bill of health is to poop (gross as it may be, it is important given all the pain killers he's on).  Physical therapy at home starts on Saturday.  My guy is smiling and cheery again!  Yeah!

Hard day at the hospital

It's 5PM. The sun is setting.  The anesthesiologist just dropped by to see how John is recovering.  He reported that John woke up several times during the surgery.   The spinal anesthetic cut out all the pain; however, the "la la land" sedative didn't keep him completely asleep.  One time John awoke to tell his operating room audience about his "intense intellectual curiosity about what was happening."  another time he declared "I feel the pounding on my side."  The doc quickly upped the medication and sent him off to "la la land" again each time.  We all laughed. John's research got the best of him.

This morning it was painful to stand the first time and he took some morphine; but in the afternoon he was scooting around the room and out the door into the hall using a walker.  No morphine needed. But the other three pain killers are on regular doses.  He's excited about walking the whole hall and trying stairs tomorrow.  After the morning walk, he spent the rest of the day in his chair doing cross word puzzles and reading his beloved New York Times. He also talked with the insurance company and had a great talk with our friend Ginny who had her hip surgery several years ago.  Much comparing went on! 

Don't get too excited about his progress though, he snored his way through most of the afternoon sitting in his chair in a well reclined position.  Before I leave tonight we do leg exercises.

Surgery Day + 1

I left the John smiling and well medicated last night about 7PM.  It's now 9AM and I am back in his room watching him chow down on his "southern" breakfast -- cheese eggs, biscuit and grits. He says the food tastes good.  I can't say it's the most healthy diet.  Oh, well. 

He's due to walk for the first time in about an hour so he's taking another round of Oxycondone and Tylenol cocktail.  Whoopee!  That will be followed by a slow release Oxycontin and a bit of morphine if he needs it.  Doc wants the pain numbed so he can move to sit and walk.  He also gets Chelebrex to reduce the inflammation.  I here to watch the fun! 

He's got a private room with great nurses.  Everyone is very attentive.  Before I arrived, doc stopped by early this morning, but he was asleep. The good news -- he's still smiling this morning.

John is out of surgery

I just talked with the doc at 2:45 PM. Doc said there was no cartilage separately the hip and pelvis bones.  They gave him a spinal epidural and la-la land sedation.  Surgery took about 2.5 hours.  John is groggily, but painlessly, resting in recovery.  He should be in his room within the next two hours and then I'll get to see him.  Happy dance!

Who's anxious?

Valentine's Day and John's surgery day.  An interesting combination, but I was prepared, stalward and ready to go. I had bought a romantic Valentine card and delivered it to him as he woke up this morning.  It must have scared him that it wasn't my normal quirky card, because he didn't smile or say anything, except, "I didn't get you a card."  "Of course you didn't," I laughed.  "You can't walk more than 50 feet and I had the car at work yesterday."  I kissed his cheek, walked into the living room and began to pack up my papers and computer so I could work at the hospital  while he was under the knife. 

I knew he was a bit anxious.  This is his first big surgery.  However, the pain has gotten the best of him and he was more than ready to get if over with.  I, of course, assured myself that I was not anxious nor worried.  John had told me that the doc does 5 or 6 hip replacements a week and Georgetown has a great hospital. When I met his doc in the pre-surgical room I found him to be not handsome -- a good sign of the lack of a big ego-- and patient -- he answered all of John's many last minute questions without a single sigh.  But, as I sat next to him John looked small and fragile in his compression hose, hospital gown, blue hair net and IV dripping a clear solution into his body.

Almost an hour later than scheduled, two men wheeled John down the hall to the OR.  I trailed a bit behind him.  At the elevators that took me to the surgical center waiting room, he gave me a slurpy smile and a kiss.  I smiled back and waved good-bye.  I checked in at the center's front desk, went for a bit of lunch, then came back to settle in a chair to do some needed work.  Only then did I discover that I left my RSA key on my key ring that was with the parking attendent.  "That's ok," I hissed to myself, "I put the documents I need to work on a memory stick yesterday so I won't need to access the work network."  I scavanged my bag only to discover I'd left the stick in my other purse.  I would have to work from scratch or just wait.  Who's anxious now?