Emergency Department

Thursday night I spent 10 hours in the emergency department of Lowell General Hospital.  Saturday I'd hurt my back, being stupid and taking my historically sturdy and resilient back for granted.  By Wednesday morning standing still was gasp inducing with pain running down through my right knee.  Thursday evening my right leg collapsed dropping me backwards down some stone steps.  I suffered no injury from the tumble, but it did get through my thick head that I needed to get this checked ASAP.

The place was packed when I walked in around 8.  I was in for a long wait.  I got my x-rays quickly.  Good news, the x-rays showed no horrible problems in spine or hip.  Bad news that meant I went to the bottom of the triage list.  Gotta love reading your results in the portal on your phone as soon as they are ready.  I settled into my wheelchair for the long haul.  I'd brought a book.  Wheelchair because my right leg was not reliable for walking.

There were families cradling sick children, a young girl who hurt her ankle playing basketball, many others sitting waiting for help.  Everyone here because something was wrong, someone was sick, something was injured.  The staff was endlessly kind and thorough working through the crowd, hour after hour.  No one is happy in the ER.

Then around 1AM a man appeared pushing a woman in a wheelchair, with a nurse running behind.  The woman was in labor, NOW.  A flurry of activity as they rushed the couple upstairs.  Some time later the man reappeared with bag of supplies.  A nurse asked if the baby had come.  Yes, within 15 minutes of them getting to the delivery room.  A girl, dad smiled.  As he walked back up the aisle someone clapped, then another, then we all joined in. That little family brought joy to all of us.  In all our momentarily sick, worried, or painful lives we paused for joy. You could see the room brighten. 

I did not get out of there till after 6AM.  Drugs and instructions for follow up appointments.  Hopefully just aggravated muscles wreaking havoc with the sciatic nerve.  I'm feeling somewhat optimistic.  I will not take my back for granted again.

Only in October

What a night. The sun was setting when I got to the barn. Red and gold trees glowed, moon flashing bits of white through breaks in the clouds. I took Bar and Pan to work the two rams across the road. It was like walking into a fairy tale. Sky in shifting colors, trees in silhouette.  The land muted as the sun’s reach withdrew.  Moisture in the cooling air gave it a texture like raw silk.

Did you see that?

I put Marcus out at 5:30.  Realizing I needed to add hot water to the outside dog water bucket, I decided to walk out on the porch to retrieve it without getting my robe first.  The porch can be seen from the road and by my neighbors, but it was dark, predawn on a holiday.  I stepped out the door and the motion sensor lights on the garage immediately lit up.  Suddenly I was on stage.  The same damn lights I regularly wave my arms in front of to no avail when I actually need light.  And, of course, a car shows up on the road.  I complete my trip, a few seconds of exposing my fish belly white glory to the world or at least that lone driver.  I got my robe while the bucket filled and put the bucket back out on the porch.  About 10 minutes later I notice a car slowing in front of the house.  Looking out the window I see a police car just past my house on the side of the road, blue lights flashing.  I go back to bed.  In bed I see the blue lights now right in front of my driveway, and an officer gets out with a flashlight and is looking around in my driveway.  OMFG did someone see and report my naked ass as an intruder (or mad woman since it was below freezing)!  Did the Puritan spirit of the holidays leave them horrified by fully visible boobs?  I start to laugh and stay in bed.  About 30 minutes later I get up and there are still police around, walking up and down the road looking towards my yard and house.  Now I'm really wondering, but seriously if they thought there was an intruder they would likely have knocked.

Turns out someone had come rocketing by the house around 4AM, scraped along the guard rail on the curve before my house, over the curb when the rail ended, then taken out a construction sign, road sign, and my entire mailbox including post.  My mailbox was 50 feet away in my neighbor's yard.  Oy!  It is a 25 mph speed limit.  I called the police and found they'd caught the guy, report written, criminal charges filed, insurance information documented, and I can pickup the report Monday morning to get my mailbox paid for.  Talk about professional and efficient.

Still chuckling, but thinking I'll try to remember to grab the robe on the way out of the bedroom.

Good Hands

The doctor showed me the x-rays,
not arthritis, maybe a sprain, 
when my hands caught a fall
We can start with physical therapy, and a brace
I like that, tools to take care of my hands

These are good hands, broad and strong
When I was young I wished for long slender hands,
not knowing the worth of strength
These hands have caught many falls,
held firm the reins of galloping horses,
powered hammers, lifted heavy loads,
crimped tiny ridges of rock to take me up cliffs,
managed the paddle that powered me through rapids,
caressed loved ones, lifted my elderly mother, 
and written the words of my life.

These are good hands

©Maria Amodei  2022

Perfectly Wonderful

 Wonderful – inspiring delight, pleasure, or admiration; extremely good; marvelous.

I was in my shop last week, noticing a multitude of flaws in the construction of my wonderful new doors.  None of the flaws compromises their functionality, and few can be seen at any distance.  The doors are part of a post and beam building made in the 1800s, a simple building that is lovely to look at.  The doors join delightfully into the façade.

Nature is a vast harmony of imperfections, the bones of dead trees and curves of crooked trunks as much a part of the beauty of the forest as the members who stand straight.  Within every image that takes your breath away there are a myriad of the imperfect blending into something wonderful.  It is this celebration of diversity that makes wild places beautiful in a way that man cannot match.

Perfectionism – refusing to accept any standard short of perfection.

Perfectionism robs us of wonderful.  Perfectionism demands we search for flaws and dwell on details out of context of the whole.  It tells us only perfect is of value, misassigning importance and misaligning our efforts.  Perfectionism distracts from deciding what matters to us and finding balance in our lives.  It can mar relationships with friends, family, coworkers, animal partners, and ourselves.  

I’ve gotten better at these decisions.  Not so much better at deciding to let imperfections remain.  Time has often intervened on my behalf there.  I’m getting better at letting the flaws blend into the wonderful whole.  I know they are there, but they don’t bother me as they once did.

May the varied details of your life blend together in a wonderful way.  May you maintain perspective on what brings you joy and celebrate your efforts to those ends.  Peace. 

©2021 Maria Amodei

Thoughts on Confidence

 14 year old Song ran up the ramp to my bed this morning. She has done this several times in the last few days. I built the ramp so the old dogs could get safely on and off the bed, but my first attempt at a secure surface did not provide the traction needed for an old dog to ascend and descend safely. Song slipped a few times and learned to mistrust it. I bought a kit to put a rubberized surface on the ramp. There is no slip on this surface at all, but Song’s risk assessment included many young years of jumping on and off the bed and a short time using a ramp where she slipped. She kept jumping. It did not always go well. She mostly only gets on the bed for our morning play sessions, so I’d close her out of the bedroom until I was ready to take her collar and escort her up the ramp safely. It worked, and I was good with continuing with this plan for as long as I’m able to enjoy her company. I had no expectations of her being able to do the ramp on her own. Then after two months of my helping her, she just started doing it on her own. Up and down, joyfully and confidently.

Confidence in life has a huge genetic component along with the impact of life experiences. Often we blame a dog’s lack of confidence on some incident in their past. Yet, in the words of Beverly Lambert, “another dog might have gotten over that.” Life brings adversities and challenges, in particular the working life of stock dogs. Things go wrong, dogs get frightened or hurt. Many dogs come through strong, some need work to rebuild their confidence, and some never really recover. We should work to always build the confidence of our dogs. We should also value the dogs that are resilient to adversity.

Song has always been confident in life. Given her early earned mistrust of the ramp I did not expect her to use it voluntarily again. But she did. Because I did not expect her to use it again on her own, I did not work towards that goal. I simply prevented her from jumping and helped her on the ramp. I suspect that attitude provided patience that was more useful than a goal to overcome her fear.

Whatever the reasons, it is hard not to smile when my old girl bounces up that ramp happily and barks at me until I deliver the special morning squeak toy.

Loss

I walked to my car along this familiar road, the last time I'll hear my feet on the packed dirt, brook dancing along the base of the field, welcome the shade of these trees. Today I stood for the last time where I've stood at the post so many times, watching my dog cross the brook at the Spring Valley trial, up the hill to bring the sheep across the bridge. With the cars parked along the road, familiar faces among the crowd, you expected to see Steve Wetmore walking along, hat on his head, dog at his side, asking how your run went.  Instead he came in the hearts and memories of the many there to celebrate his life.

I loved the setting for this trial, the relaxed atmosphere, the pot luck in Steve's front yard, walking my dogs up the dirt road, and testing my timing on the difficult course. It was the quintessential New England trial, and it was Steve. 

Remember the time he hired the magician Marko for after the dinner? Oh lord I laughed that night. Marko was there today. He handed me a deck of cards, told me to shuffle, pick one, and write something on the face. I wrote "Thank you," that dreaded trial expression that appreciates a job well done even when your run is over.  Of course Marko found it in the deck, multiple times, and we laughed.

Steve was a good handler, a good dog trainer. His dogs knew the job and trusted him. His runs were worth watching, stock and dogs treated with skill and respect. Steve was a friend to me and many in our community. 

Loss sucks. Thank you Steve. 

Retired

It happens just like that it seems,
No planning, no party or gold watch
Today it is too much to ask,
the hill, the distance, the speed

We’ll find new work together,
small tasks that need doing
And I’ll remember you walking to the post by my side
Sent with a word, like releasing the wind,
up the field, out of sight,
carrying the weight of the work and my trust

 

© 2021 Maria Amodei

Summer Storm

The sky is dark, windblown murmurations on the water,
trees stand braced, and creatures hide.
But the earth receives your chaos.  She asks you to dance.
She twirls with the wind, gulps the rain, then grows again.

Take me.  I will step into your arms,
lean into your power, breathe your life, crave your renewal.
Wash away the dust and grime of life, born fresh.
When you are through, throw me down, broken and new.

©2021 Maria Amodei

Red-tailed Hawks

A pair of Red-tailed Hawks lives on the ridge by the sheep.
I see them often, sailing the currents.
Working outside the quiet cadence of labor blends with the wind, the buzzing, the bird song, and the cry of the hawks.
Dropping the noise of mankind, I slip into their world.

I never saw the hawks while I was sick.
I feared they had died, fallen to accident, age, or poison.
Reason told me it was I who had changed.
Not dwelling in quiet labor, I did the necessities, hurrying home.
Yet I watched the sky and listened.

This year they have returned to my world, or I to theirs.
As their absence ate at my wellbeing, their presence assures me.
No reason, really, just that they are there, magnificent.

©Maria Amodei

Royalty

They are royalty, the plants of my ruby mine. I water them, weed them, and provide support for their bounty. I forgive all but the most egregious acts of imperialism as they fret at confinement, testing the boundaries of their kingdom. Each July I am bedazzled by their thousands of ruby fruits, brilliant in the sun, luscious on the tongue. An annual coronation, the ceremony and surfeit worthy of the richest kingdom.

Happy Anniversary

Today was a good day.  I have a fair percentage of good days recently.  My dose reduction in February tamped down the physical side effects.  More importantly the reduction was enough to calm the raging depression that this drug induces in me.  I’m happy, safe, and reasonable. 

End of April I had the test to determine if this lower dose is keeping me in remission.  The equipment that runs this test can also run COVID tests, so there was quite a delay in getting results.  During which time I fretted, worried I might have to change drugs again.  I can’t go back to the higher dose on this drug, not safely.  Yesterday I got the call.  My numbers have gone up, but not so far as to be clear that the lower dose is not doing the job.  I certainly would have preferred holding steady, or a reduction.  A solid result to assure me that the leukemia will remain in remission at this dose so I can keep this medication long term.  But I’m good till the end of July.  I’ll take it. 

A year ago today I was setting up to leave for the Nevermoor trial.  I’d been to the doctor earlier as I’d not been feeling well, figured I had Lymes again.  My doctor called me that evening, called home and cell and left messages telling me to go to the emergency room.  I needed to finish chores, feed dogs, and take a shower before I went in.  I expected to be home in a couple hours, instead I ended up in an ambulance bound to Boston.  It was a very long night.

Despite being fortunate to have a leukemia that can be controlled with drugs, I am not one of the folks who tolerate the drugs well.  It has been a long year.  I’d have liked to be further along by now in working out the difficulties with the meds, but last summer I could barely get myself to walk out to the raspberry patch to pick a few for my cereal.  This spring I worked to put the neglected patch back in order.  Last summer I could barely set a couple lines of net fence, stopping to let my heart stop pounding a couple times per roll.  Wednesday I moved 6 rolls to set the ewes on pasture.  Last summer I depended on friends helping with the simplest of tasks.  This year I can do the work, though I’ve cut my stock and dog numbers to adapt. 

Today was a good day.  I did a lot today, which stood in clear contrast to where I was last year.  They say you should not look back.  Looking back today I saw how far I have come.

Season Changes

I’ve noticed that season changes bring reflection on where I am, where I was last year, and where I’m going.  Perhaps I have always done this, but it is a richer experience since my leukemia diagnosis last May.  Each new season changes the physical world, marking the passage of time in a way I cannot deflect.  My difficulty tolerating the medication coupled with my inborn impatience makes these reminders unwelcome.  

Anticipation is powerful, whether for good or bad outcomes.  Optimism grows with anticipation of joy.  My optimism rides on a realistic forecast of when I expect to have side effects under control.  Why have a goal at all?  For me figuring out a reasonable timeline based on what I know gives me something to work towards.   Having an identified schedule gives the process more emotional credibility, carries it past wishful thinking.  I had set a plan for the beginning of winter 2019, very conservative at the outset, giving me room to succeed on a path where I have limited personal control.  I’ve passed that deadline.  I had thought to reschedule to May.  A dose reduction in February made spring seem realistic.  But some persistent problems and delays in access to medical care during the pandemic are pushing that out.  I don’t have enough information right now to come up with a new target for my anticipation.  I’m working on that, always happier with steps I can take.  

I’m not the only one to put plans on hold during the pandemic shut down.  It is so very hard to let go of plans we anticipated, joy and success in the future.  The unknown conclusion of this shut down makes this so much more difficult.  When will we be able to go out? Will we get the virus?  Will we still have jobs?  Will we be okay?  Will our friends and family all be with us still?  How much suffering will we witness even if it stays outside our own circle?   Big problems foisted on us by a powerful natural world and a significant population of ignorant and self-serving people, neither of which we can directly control.

The best I can do with longer term plans this spring is keep thinking on them until such time as they again become relevant.  So I’m making a collection of little plans, from simple preparations for lambing through finishing the front of the shop and bedroom renovations.  I may not complete or even get to the bigger projects, but I’ve learned to serenely relegate unnecessary tasks to the fuck it list.  Meanwhile the work and anticipation of the outcomes provide a welcome distraction, something to point anticipation in the right direction.  I’m working on Drum’s shed and trying to get John Henry trained up.  Should the trial season resume then I’ll pull my trial plans out of the closet.  Given that I sat out most of last year I will not focus on qualifying for nationals.  I plan to put aside my disappointment at having lost the trial season and nationals the only way I know how, replacing them with new plans and goals.  I plan to honor social distancing, playing my part both personally and as an example. 

May we all find new ways to anticipate each morning.

Go with your gut

Your gut is for eating, not thinking.

The “go with your gut” mantra glorifies emotional decisions.  Go with your gut gives you permission to be delightfully frivolous.  It also gives you permission to be selfish, fearful, and bigoted.  It allows you to blame everyone but yourself.  Go with your gut adds imagined credibility to arguments only because they reinforce your current view of the world.  It leaves you vulnerable to any speaker clever in the use of emotional hooks.  Go with your gut allows you to read past the holes in their argument, then fight to hold onto the conclusion all the more frantically when you are trying to stand on the pitted ground of imagined truths.

Sure there are places to go with your gut.  It is great for picking a puppy, choosing a color for your house, deciding what flavor of ice cream to enjoy. 

If the decision will have a serious impact on your life, the lives of loved ones, or the lives of any other living beings, please take the time to research the facts.  Please take the time to consider whether you may be discounting the validity of data because it you find that data uncomfortable.  Take the time to consider where you may be accepting of data because you want it to be true.

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you all.  Thank you to the governors declaring a state of emergency so their states can better support the efforts to manage this pandemic.  Thank you to the mayors and local governments working hard to provide the necessary leadership and resources to get us through this crisis.  Thank you to the businesses setting up for staff to work from home.  Thank you to the companies offering free software and services to help organizations setup to function remotely.  Thank you to organizations cancelling events, often at great cost.   Thank you to the many individuals who are staying home, either because they understand the importance of slowing the transmission of this virus early, or because despite being unsure they are willing to make some personal sacrifice to save lives of people they have never met.  Thank you, thank you, thank you to the health care workers and scientists who are in overdrive trying to manage this public health crisis.

Every time I hear another closing, cancellation, state of emergency, individual saying they’ve decided to forego events or stay home altogether it reminds me that the human race is mostly comprised of decent people, capable people, and people who care.  In the vacuum of federal leadership there has been a swell of leadership from states, businesses, local governments, schools, churches, clubs, and from individuals who are determined to do the right thing.  People are awesome.  Thank you.

Less

Another dose reduction on my med starting today. I am moving to a dose that does not have the data behind it as far as effectiveness. Not that there is evidence it won't work, but not enough data to show that it will. I got a baseline test today, and will be retested in a couple months to be sure it is continuing to keep me in remission.

My doctor was reluctant, more inclined to move me to another drug to avoid side effects or treat the side effects separately. He is appropriately focused on the best option for keeping my leukemia in remission.

I, on the other hand, am making quality of life decisions. In many ways my current drug is a good match. But there are some remaining side effects that need to be reduced. I'm game to make some data and see if this works. I've taken greater risks for the thrill of living.

Reality

My cancer will not kill me.  This is not because of my optimism, determination or mental strength.  It is not because people prayed for me to a god who apparently makes choices based on popularity.  I will survive because I was fortunate enough to get this particular cancer at a time when science has developed extremely effective treatments.  I will survive because I have sufficient health insurance to pay for the treatment.  I’m not a warrior fighting cancer.  I’m lucky.

We want simple answers.  Life should be merely a matter of optimism, or trying harder, or determination, or being more kind.  We embrace slogans about good outcomes being a matter of decision, as if we're all at the same place.  Instead reality is complex, as much a matter of luck and circumstance as one’s ability to apply whatever virtues they may have.  The mental and emotional squalor of reality is not vulnerable to bumper sticker slogans.  This is not a Hallmark movie. 

Simplistic positivity belittles the magnitude of problems in any one individual's life.  “You’ve got this” in response to a personal crisis is an insult to the complexity of our lives, either naïve or patronizing.  A friend facing disease, a personal loss, or a financial crisis may not be able to overcome. 

Let people have their bad times.  No amount of fluency in feel good slogans or personal experience with your own problems qualifies you to decide when someone else should move on to acceptance or “snap out of it”.  Denying bad times is denying reality.  Some days I just look at reality and let it sink in.  Not a happy place, but that's the best I'm getting out of those days.  And sometimes those dark days help me make decisions that are ultimately helpful (or not).

I can usually conjure up some anger, which helps.  There is a line in Don Quixote, sung by Aldonza:  "Can't you see what your gentle insanities do to me?  Rob me of anger and give me despair."  Anger works for me, but to believe someone else need only summon fury to get them motivated is disrespectful to the individual that they are.

I've had people to rail to as well, precious people who are willing to accept me at my worst.  The word fuck is key to my survival.  As in "Fuck all this happy 'You got this' shit."  And "fuck this situation."  I think a lot of the happy mantras are based on accepting your current situation.  Fuck that.

Not accepting the role of courageous warrior with a Teflon smile does not mean I’m not coping with my reality.  Indeed accepting that role, while more socially comfortable for people interacting with me, would mean I’m not coping with my situation.  I’d be living a lie, trying to build my future on an imaginary present.  Being frustrated, tired, angry, and depressed are as much a part of my life as hope, courage, and thoroughly appreciating the occasional great day.   

Accepting A New Normal

The fact that I’m alive speaks to my acceptance of the reality of my present condition.  Accepting the reality of now does not mean accepting the inevitability of an unchanged future.

I am quite capable of discerning the changes time has wrought from the changes due to illness, or in my case the concomitant medications.  I know my own body and my own mind.  If you have struggled with low energy or other physical issues those are your challenges and I wish you success in dealing with them.  That does not mean that I should expect or accept the same problems in myself.

You have no idea what this new normal you are advocating for entails.  I have coped with a variety of symptoms that interfered with my ability to function in life.  The worst of these are much reduced now, precisely because I did not accept them as my new normal and instead vigorously pursued solutions.  I am not done yet.  Fuck acceptance.

Treading Water

It began to snow on my daily walk this evening, the first swirling flakes of a big storm.  I’ve traveled this route almost daily since early July trying to regain my strength and fitness.  It has not gone particularly well, almost no gains and plenty of days where I’m worse.  Treading water is better than drowning. 

When the days were hot, I walked early in the morning, including the Sunday morning I barely made it home with a TIA.  In frustration after that day I decided to keep going until I finally get off these damn meds or I break, whichever came first.  In practicality I started to carry my phone on the walks in case I needed to call for help.  As the days cooled my drug was changed.  Instead of my heart pounding I was short of breath.  Frustrated with the lack of progress I added some short running strips to the walk to push harder.  It didn’t kill me, so I kept it up.  September 21st my old body came back for a visit, running was easy and I danced to the music as I went.  Physical euphoria carried me further on the route, adding a half mile.  The next day the visitation was over, but I continued with the extended route as if I’d find that feeling if only I kept going.  The leaves began to turn, the air cooled, the sun receded.  I sometimes had to go out in the dark, just me, the cold, the stars, and the singing coyotes over the swamp.  I steadily became more short of breath and often dizzy, losing ground.  Treading water is better than drowning.  I kept going out daily, same route, same sections run between specific mailboxes or telephone poles.  My dose was reduced, but the change was disruptive.  I was often too weak to finish, but I kept going out.  Treading water is better than drowning.  More med adjustments and I could again reliably complete my route, which has become both literally and figuratively my sanity.  Now the leaves are gone, the world brown and gray, walks often done after dark.  I’ve gotten tips from other people taking these drugs on how to work back to some level of fitness, and realistic timelines for doing so.  I’ve been able to increase my running distances a bit.  My body is slowly realizing the benefit of the medication adjustments.  I’ve traded the shiny glory of September 21st for the very slow improvement in my breathing, speech, and a host of other side effects.

Then today the snow came, my final jog along the white expanse of the pond cathartic.  I watched the flakes coat my regular route.  My life for the past six months covered in a blanket of white, a cocoon within which I will continue moving forward where I can and treading water where I cannot.  The oh so beautiful blanket of white over the earth while it regenerates.  

I will not be sorry to kiss 2019 goodbye.

A Taste of Knowledge

Today I am thankful for the scientists, economists, data analysts, and statisticians.  The world in general, and my life in particular, are better for the people that questioned the assumptions and myths, probed the universe, and carefully tabulated all the results.  I thank those who are willing to form a theory, then grind through the data and accept when their original assumptions are not supported.  I thank those willing to subject their results to review from experts in their field before publishing.  From Galileo to Turing these people have often suffered the backlash when their work or their lives have challenged the myths and dogma that empower organized religion.  I thank those who are willing to take a bite from the proverbial apple.