This morning was my seventh day of cardiac rehab. A half hour on the treadmill and two five-minute spots on the bicycle. Sometimes I sweat a bit, but I never feel short of breath nor do I experience chest pain. What does ache are my knees, my calves, and my thighs, but I keep plugging away, too proud to call it quits before my alloted time is up.
Today I increased my treadmill pace to 3.8 miles/hour with a 1.5-percent grade. Each day I increase the pace and/or the grade. I'm really pleased with my progress.
I e-mailed my Kaiser cardiologist, who then e-mailed the UCLA cardiologist. All that the latter needs to see is a good echocardiogram. If I can do that, he'll recommend me to the transplant team. The charge nurse at the cardiac rehab unit said that from all indications she would expect me to do very well on an echocardiogram. I sure feel that way too.
I want to give the rehab another few weeks before I take the echo. That way, I should be in top shape.
I'm really enjoying rehab for the social aspect as well. The staff are very friendly, and I enjoy talking to the old guys because it's all old guys at my time slot. Today I spoke with Chuck, an 89-year-old man whose grandfather founded Farmers & Merchants Bank. Chuck smiled when he told me of his wife of 64 years and of his three children. Before he retired, he had been a lawyer in practice with his father. I told him that he really seems to have led a blessed life--a wonderful wife with whom he's still in love, three great kids, a meaningful career, and up until his heart-valve replacement, good health. He heartily agreed.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Rasputin is Such a Good Sport!
Rasputin is such a good sport. Case in point: I got a belated Christmas present from Diana. It was tied in a pink ribbon, which I first tied about Rasputin's waist. He loped about from room to room, his curly bows trailing behind him. Then I placed the assemblage on his head, and Aaron snapped pictures. Aaron then edited me out of the photo and touched it up with stars. What a silly boy!
A Whirl with the Wurlitzer Crowd
Bev, Diana, and I attended a Wurlitzer concert Sunday evening at the Old Time Music Hall in El Segundo. I was expecting a concert of old-fashioned music. I was not expecting an engineering marvel.
The organ has more than 2,000 pipes. The console controls a set of hand bells, cymbals, drums, a xylophone, hundreds of flaps and baubles and what-have-you. The organ is something straight out of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." To think that the organist controls all that through buttons, pedals, and knobs! It takes up the entire stage, and as one affecionado told us, there's another room behind the stage where more of the organ is housed.
Well over 90 percent of those in attendance were men. This came as little surprise to me, as the organ is a mechanical wonder. Two men in the audience were thanked from the stage for their efforts to maintain this amazing piece of machinery.
Later, at the Purple Orchid, the tiki bar across the street, Diana said that joining this group of organ enthusiasts would be a great way to meet men. She also suggested car shows and gun shows. The only thing is that organ buffs, like train hobbyists, might tend to be wonks. But even if I don't connect with any men at these concerts, I sure would love to see more of the old-time organs of So Cal.
And the music hall is well worth a return visit, as a silent film has been shown there every Sunday since 1968--accompanied, of course, by the organ. Next up is "Charlie Chan in Shanghai" and after that, Gene Kelly "Singin' in the Rain." What fun!
The organ has more than 2,000 pipes. The console controls a set of hand bells, cymbals, drums, a xylophone, hundreds of flaps and baubles and what-have-you. The organ is something straight out of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." To think that the organist controls all that through buttons, pedals, and knobs! It takes up the entire stage, and as one affecionado told us, there's another room behind the stage where more of the organ is housed.
Well over 90 percent of those in attendance were men. This came as little surprise to me, as the organ is a mechanical wonder. Two men in the audience were thanked from the stage for their efforts to maintain this amazing piece of machinery.
Later, at the Purple Orchid, the tiki bar across the street, Diana said that joining this group of organ enthusiasts would be a great way to meet men. She also suggested car shows and gun shows. The only thing is that organ buffs, like train hobbyists, might tend to be wonks. But even if I don't connect with any men at these concerts, I sure would love to see more of the old-time organs of So Cal.
And the music hall is well worth a return visit, as a silent film has been shown there every Sunday since 1968--accompanied, of course, by the organ. Next up is "Charlie Chan in Shanghai" and after that, Gene Kelly "Singin' in the Rain." What fun!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Putting a Positive Spin on Rejection
I had a much longer and more involved post about Armen deciding that my tubing et. al was more than he could handle, but my attitude toward his rejection has shifted, so I deleted the original post.
Yes, of course, like anyone, it's not an exhilerating feeling to be rejected, especially by someone who thinks I'm fabulous in every other way besides dialysis tubing and insulin pump. But the way I'm looking at it now is that I had two decent dates. Not flutter-in-my-groin dates, not even flutter-in-my-tummy dates, but still much better than the usual reading-a-good-book or mopping-the-kitchen-floor dates (dates in which my time would have been better spent reading a good book or mopping the kitchen floor). Armen could hold up his end of the conversation, he was interested in my opinions, he certainly was flattering, and he treated me (rather than the usual guy who can't even spring for a cup of coffee). We went to a cute Italian restaurant in Hermosa Beach on the first date and to the Santa Anita horse races on the second--the latter being something I hadn't done for more than 20 years, and it was a bunch of fun. So I am very grateful for two nice dates and, as I always am, even on the dull dates, for meeting another human being, someone who adds to the rich tapestry of life.
And that's the right attitude. The time we shared was pleasant. There will be other men, and there's a high probability of more rejection, but there's also the possibility that I'll have fun on some of the dates and the possibility, albeit slim, that one of those men will say he's willing to explore getting close to me, despite the tubing. I mean, it is possible. I don't know if it's of the probability of being invited for dinner at the White House or of finding a $20 bill on the sidewalk. But it is a possibility. Probably a much stronger possibility is that I'll get on the kidney wait list, a living donor who matches me will offer me his or her kidney, and I'll be rid of the tubing forever. That would be far better than any date!
Yes, of course, like anyone, it's not an exhilerating feeling to be rejected, especially by someone who thinks I'm fabulous in every other way besides dialysis tubing and insulin pump. But the way I'm looking at it now is that I had two decent dates. Not flutter-in-my-groin dates, not even flutter-in-my-tummy dates, but still much better than the usual reading-a-good-book or mopping-the-kitchen-floor dates (dates in which my time would have been better spent reading a good book or mopping the kitchen floor). Armen could hold up his end of the conversation, he was interested in my opinions, he certainly was flattering, and he treated me (rather than the usual guy who can't even spring for a cup of coffee). We went to a cute Italian restaurant in Hermosa Beach on the first date and to the Santa Anita horse races on the second--the latter being something I hadn't done for more than 20 years, and it was a bunch of fun. So I am very grateful for two nice dates and, as I always am, even on the dull dates, for meeting another human being, someone who adds to the rich tapestry of life.
And that's the right attitude. The time we shared was pleasant. There will be other men, and there's a high probability of more rejection, but there's also the possibility that I'll have fun on some of the dates and the possibility, albeit slim, that one of those men will say he's willing to explore getting close to me, despite the tubing. I mean, it is possible. I don't know if it's of the probability of being invited for dinner at the White House or of finding a $20 bill on the sidewalk. But it is a possibility. Probably a much stronger possibility is that I'll get on the kidney wait list, a living donor who matches me will offer me his or her kidney, and I'll be rid of the tubing forever. That would be far better than any date!
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Blue Flash
On Thursday night, just after turning off all the lights, a bright blue flash zoomed across my living room. Years ago, perhaps nine or 10 years ago, the same blue energy appeared in my bedroom and moved about the room for a minute or so. Both times I was left with a heightened sense of well-being, a zing. I consider both to be angelic presences, something we all could use now and again.
On both occasions, the blue I saw was a bit more intense than the inner blue of this swirl. I always called this cornflower blue, though in truth cornflowers are more of a true blue.
On both occasions, the blue I saw was a bit more intense than the inner blue of this swirl. I always called this cornflower blue, though in truth cornflowers are more of a true blue.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Encouraging Lab Results
I just checked my lab results for blood that was drawn this morning in preparation for my monthly dialysis clinic visit. They are very encouraging. The measures of kidney function are the best they've been in a long time. Of course, they're still abnormal, but they are improving. And all the other tests, from electrolytes to blood chemistry, are within the normal range.
Creatnine, measure of protein in the urine. If the kidneyes are not functioning properly, protein is leaching out through the urine. My results: 4.5 (normal .6-1.1). But that's the best reading since December 2008, when I had a 4.2. During the past year, my levels have been in the upper 5's and 6's.
BUN, another measure of kidney health. Normal is anything less than 19. Today's level was 49--a level I have not seen since August of 2007, when I was 44. I've been as high as 103 since then and have generally seen levels in the high 50s-70s.
GFR--Even this indicator of kidney health has creeped up from a low of 8 to 10. Anything lower than 15 signals an immediate need for dialysis.
Hemoglobin--an indicator of anemia if it's below 12. I have inched back up to 10.8, from a low of 7.8 post-surgery.
I am taking all this as very positive news. My kidneys are waking up. I am very grateful for this progress toward my vision of perfect health.
Creatnine, measure of protein in the urine. If the kidneyes are not functioning properly, protein is leaching out through the urine. My results: 4.5 (normal .6-1.1). But that's the best reading since December 2008, when I had a 4.2. During the past year, my levels have been in the upper 5's and 6's.
BUN, another measure of kidney health. Normal is anything less than 19. Today's level was 49--a level I have not seen since August of 2007, when I was 44. I've been as high as 103 since then and have generally seen levels in the high 50s-70s.
GFR--Even this indicator of kidney health has creeped up from a low of 8 to 10. Anything lower than 15 signals an immediate need for dialysis.
Hemoglobin--an indicator of anemia if it's below 12. I have inched back up to 10.8, from a low of 7.8 post-surgery.
I am taking all this as very positive news. My kidneys are waking up. I am very grateful for this progress toward my vision of perfect health.
Monday, January 04, 2010
How Others Saw my Mother
I have heard from a few cousins who said my mother was a big inspiration for them. They saw her as an adventurer and as a feminist. My cousin Mary saved all the articles that my mother wrote for the local paper about her travels in Europe, 1952-54. She was 12 years old at the time, and my mother's writings had a significant impact on her. And this past year Mary lovingly typed my mother's handwritten memoirs. My cousin Jane was also very moved by my mother and considered her an independent woman.
I truly believe this was my mother before she was married. It was gutsy of her to leave the U.S. and live in Europe for two years. That was certainly adventuresome, and it was the mark of a liberated woman.
It's just that this was not the woman I knew. For some reason, maybe because she was so unhappy in her marriage and maybe because she felt trapped in the role of the mother of two children, she shut down. Far from adventuresome, she downright refused to participate in activities with her family. She grudgingly went camping, but never went exploring with Dad, Tim, and me. Instead she would stay at camp and read the newspaper. A few years back, my brother happened upon a journal I had kept during one of our extended camping trips to Montana and Wyoming. Every entry began with, "Dad, Tim, and I went on a long hike after breakfast. We went exploring. Mom didn't want to go. She stayed in camp and read."
So often I tried to get her to participate, but she always begged out of whatever I suggested. I remember driving 150 or more miles to Joshua Tree National Monument with her and Aaron when she visited California one winter. I was so excited to show her the fascinating boulders in this area--something she definitely could not see in Wisconsin. Despite cajoling, she refused to leave the van and walk a few feet to take in this glorious landscape. This was her reaction to hundreds of things I attempted to entice her to do over the decades. She just wasn't interested and didn't want to try anything new. I'm sorry she shut down her adventuresome side, but perhaps she used it all up in Europe during those two magical years.
But that's not exactly true either. She did go on adventures, only not with her family. I remember that she took solo vacations--a driving trip around the Great Lakes, a barefoot cruise of the islands off Maine, a cross-Canadian train trip. And she vacationed with her friend Marianne in the Caribbean. No, I guess it's just that she didn't want to do anything with her husband and kids. And when I was not yet a teenager, she applied for a permanent position in Germany. Had she gotten the job, she would have left her family and perhaps continued the adventure she started in 1952. So perhaps she was adventuresome, as my cousines maintain. It's just that I never saw that side of her.
And liberated woman, well, that too is not quite right. Yes, she gave money to the National Organization for Women and, yes, she worked in responsible positions. But as my father said, "She wants to be independent, and she wants someone to take care of her." I don't believe she ever read any set of directions. She would simply say she couldn't do it and leave it for someone else to figure out. This kind of helplessness I did not associate with liberation. She would also say very traditional things about men and women, especially as regards relationships. And she would always take the advice of a man over any woman's. In fact, I could say something and she wouldn't hear it, and my brother could say the same thing a few minutes later and she'd take it to heart. I think she wanted to be progressive and thought of herself as progressive, but really would have preferred that a man take care of everything from money to fixing things. Of course, when no man was around, I became the man, running errands, fixing things, taking care of so many things that she was capable of doing on her own but didn't want to. My attitude has always been to do as much as I possibly can for myself and only then ask for help, but this was not my mother's m.o.
As I grow older, however, I think what my dad said cynically actually sounds pretty good. How wonderful it would be to love a man and he love me and have him say--and mean it--"Honey, you just do whatever you want. Take classes at the university. Learn to play guitar. Get a job. Take trips with your girlfriends. Volunteer. Write poetry. Whatever you please. And don't worry about the money. I've got plenty for the both of us." Yes, I think it would be utterly fantastic to be independent and taken care of! A good idea, Mom!
I truly believe this was my mother before she was married. It was gutsy of her to leave the U.S. and live in Europe for two years. That was certainly adventuresome, and it was the mark of a liberated woman.
It's just that this was not the woman I knew. For some reason, maybe because she was so unhappy in her marriage and maybe because she felt trapped in the role of the mother of two children, she shut down. Far from adventuresome, she downright refused to participate in activities with her family. She grudgingly went camping, but never went exploring with Dad, Tim, and me. Instead she would stay at camp and read the newspaper. A few years back, my brother happened upon a journal I had kept during one of our extended camping trips to Montana and Wyoming. Every entry began with, "Dad, Tim, and I went on a long hike after breakfast. We went exploring. Mom didn't want to go. She stayed in camp and read."
So often I tried to get her to participate, but she always begged out of whatever I suggested. I remember driving 150 or more miles to Joshua Tree National Monument with her and Aaron when she visited California one winter. I was so excited to show her the fascinating boulders in this area--something she definitely could not see in Wisconsin. Despite cajoling, she refused to leave the van and walk a few feet to take in this glorious landscape. This was her reaction to hundreds of things I attempted to entice her to do over the decades. She just wasn't interested and didn't want to try anything new. I'm sorry she shut down her adventuresome side, but perhaps she used it all up in Europe during those two magical years.
But that's not exactly true either. She did go on adventures, only not with her family. I remember that she took solo vacations--a driving trip around the Great Lakes, a barefoot cruise of the islands off Maine, a cross-Canadian train trip. And she vacationed with her friend Marianne in the Caribbean. No, I guess it's just that she didn't want to do anything with her husband and kids. And when I was not yet a teenager, she applied for a permanent position in Germany. Had she gotten the job, she would have left her family and perhaps continued the adventure she started in 1952. So perhaps she was adventuresome, as my cousines maintain. It's just that I never saw that side of her.
And liberated woman, well, that too is not quite right. Yes, she gave money to the National Organization for Women and, yes, she worked in responsible positions. But as my father said, "She wants to be independent, and she wants someone to take care of her." I don't believe she ever read any set of directions. She would simply say she couldn't do it and leave it for someone else to figure out. This kind of helplessness I did not associate with liberation. She would also say very traditional things about men and women, especially as regards relationships. And she would always take the advice of a man over any woman's. In fact, I could say something and she wouldn't hear it, and my brother could say the same thing a few minutes later and she'd take it to heart. I think she wanted to be progressive and thought of herself as progressive, but really would have preferred that a man take care of everything from money to fixing things. Of course, when no man was around, I became the man, running errands, fixing things, taking care of so many things that she was capable of doing on her own but didn't want to. My attitude has always been to do as much as I possibly can for myself and only then ask for help, but this was not my mother's m.o.
As I grow older, however, I think what my dad said cynically actually sounds pretty good. How wonderful it would be to love a man and he love me and have him say--and mean it--"Honey, you just do whatever you want. Take classes at the university. Learn to play guitar. Get a job. Take trips with your girlfriends. Volunteer. Write poetry. Whatever you please. And don't worry about the money. I've got plenty for the both of us." Yes, I think it would be utterly fantastic to be independent and taken care of! A good idea, Mom!
Remembering Mom
Every time I eat a grapefruit, I think of my mom. When I was a young girl, she and I often ate grapefruit halves sprinkled with sugar. Today I skip the sugar. I also think of the fresh blueberries we had with cold milk and the soft-boiled eggs sitting in painted egg cups. It's funny that I should think of her in terms of food because she was not a good cook. But I did like what she made for breakfast--poached eggs, something I've never had anywhere else but in my mother's kitchen; oatmeal; and waffles made from scratch and in a waffle iron. Buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar--something else I haven't had since I was a child, though I made it for my own child once in a while.
The other food items I associate with my mother are rhubarb crunch, which she made from a rhubarb plant that grew outside against the wall of the house, and iceberg lettuce with chives that I cut from a plant that grew outside too. Interesting that I bought a chive plant for the bay window in my kitchen a few days ago at Target.
One of her regular entrees was tuna casserole with corn flakes on top for a crunch. On Christmas Eve she would make Swedish meatballs--ground veal smothered in cream-of-mushroom soup. For my birthday, she would make a fruit salad with canned mandarin oranges, bananas, dates, apples, marshino cherries, canned fruit cocktail, and Cool Whip. And a few times on Christmas Day, she pulled out her mother's cast-iron pan and made foeden, a ball of dough seasoned with cardamon and rolled in sugar, a northern German delicacy.
Funny that I should so closely associate my mother with food, since she was not a cook and since meals were often stressful, my dad pouting and refusing to sit with us, or if he did, acting as if it was a big pain. The mind sure is a mystery.
The other food items I associate with my mother are rhubarb crunch, which she made from a rhubarb plant that grew outside against the wall of the house, and iceberg lettuce with chives that I cut from a plant that grew outside too. Interesting that I bought a chive plant for the bay window in my kitchen a few days ago at Target.
One of her regular entrees was tuna casserole with corn flakes on top for a crunch. On Christmas Eve she would make Swedish meatballs--ground veal smothered in cream-of-mushroom soup. For my birthday, she would make a fruit salad with canned mandarin oranges, bananas, dates, apples, marshino cherries, canned fruit cocktail, and Cool Whip. And a few times on Christmas Day, she pulled out her mother's cast-iron pan and made foeden, a ball of dough seasoned with cardamon and rolled in sugar, a northern German delicacy.
Funny that I should so closely associate my mother with food, since she was not a cook and since meals were often stressful, my dad pouting and refusing to sit with us, or if he did, acting as if it was a big pain. The mind sure is a mystery.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
New Decade
The decade that just passed has been a lonesome one. Mike broke up with me in April of 2000, and I have not had a relationship since. Only dates and not many of them.
I am envisioning this decade as one of love, relationship, passion, intimacy, and health. A decade that reverses what was amiss about the last.
Just the fact that I've already had a date this year is a very good sign. I know that things will continue to improve. Amen!
I am envisioning this decade as one of love, relationship, passion, intimacy, and health. A decade that reverses what was amiss about the last.
Just the fact that I've already had a date this year is a very good sign. I know that things will continue to improve. Amen!
Best Date in Years
Last year I went out with a 32-year-old DJ and professional gambler. Well, if you can really call what we did "going out." I would generally drive over to the coffeeshop where he likes to hang out, and he would tell me the same stories over and again. Once we went to a strip club where he was thinking of working; basically, we were there to check out the dancers. Once we saw a movie--"Transformers," do you believe it! And twice we went for a walk. Other than that, we necked a bit when I dropped him off in front of his apartment building. But he was always said something nice about how I looked every time I saw him. I can't knock that.
Other than this, I had one date all year. I actually had another scheduled, but the man stood me up. The one that did occur was with an X-ray tech. He suggested we meet at noon. I asked if this was a lunch date. He said, "No, just coffee." I got there on time, he was 20 minutes late. I had already bought my own coffee. Then he said he was hungry and was going to have lunch. I had already eaten because he had said it was not a lunch date.
So that was the full extent of dating in 2009.
Today, the third day of the new year and of the new decade, I went on a date. Armen is trim, well-dressed, the best looking man I've been out with in a long time. We met in Hermosa Beach, walked around near the ocean, then had dinner at a little Italian restaurant. Armen kept up his end of the conversation and asked me a lot of questions. He maintained good eye contact. I liked his kisses.
But always in my consciousness was dialysis. He touched my side, but since I was wearing a heavy coat, he could not feel my tubing. If I see him again, I will have to tell him about dialysis, the insulin pump, and the cardiac surgery because I'm sure he would touch or see one or the other. I really don't know how to go about this. Do I tell him over the phone when we make plans for the next date? Do I tell him in person? Do I wait until he's touching me and then say, "I've got something to tell you"?
I tend to think this will be a deal breaker with Armen. He said quite a few times during the evening that he was selfish about his time and that a wife, chidren, and pets never fit in. Someone who is so used to thinking only of himself would have a hard time with my trappings.
So anyways that was the best date I've had in years, though, of course, that isn't saying a whole lot, given the dates I've been on. But I think of what I read in a spiritual book about not thinking, "Why haven't I met the man who is matched to me?" but rather realizing that the universe is sending men my way and with each of them I can say back to the universe, "You know, this and this was really wonderful about him, but I need some more of X or less of Y in the next man you send my way." In short, don't think of the dates as failures but as opportunities to refine what I really want.
After I got home tonight, I took Rasputin for a walk. We were moving down a semi-dark alley, and I tripped over a bump in the pavement and fell. Little Rasputin came right up to me and gave me love. That's what I would like in the man who is matched to me--someone who loves me despite my boo boos.
Other than this, I had one date all year. I actually had another scheduled, but the man stood me up. The one that did occur was with an X-ray tech. He suggested we meet at noon. I asked if this was a lunch date. He said, "No, just coffee." I got there on time, he was 20 minutes late. I had already bought my own coffee. Then he said he was hungry and was going to have lunch. I had already eaten because he had said it was not a lunch date.
So that was the full extent of dating in 2009.
Today, the third day of the new year and of the new decade, I went on a date. Armen is trim, well-dressed, the best looking man I've been out with in a long time. We met in Hermosa Beach, walked around near the ocean, then had dinner at a little Italian restaurant. Armen kept up his end of the conversation and asked me a lot of questions. He maintained good eye contact. I liked his kisses.
But always in my consciousness was dialysis. He touched my side, but since I was wearing a heavy coat, he could not feel my tubing. If I see him again, I will have to tell him about dialysis, the insulin pump, and the cardiac surgery because I'm sure he would touch or see one or the other. I really don't know how to go about this. Do I tell him over the phone when we make plans for the next date? Do I tell him in person? Do I wait until he's touching me and then say, "I've got something to tell you"?
I tend to think this will be a deal breaker with Armen. He said quite a few times during the evening that he was selfish about his time and that a wife, chidren, and pets never fit in. Someone who is so used to thinking only of himself would have a hard time with my trappings.
So anyways that was the best date I've had in years, though, of course, that isn't saying a whole lot, given the dates I've been on. But I think of what I read in a spiritual book about not thinking, "Why haven't I met the man who is matched to me?" but rather realizing that the universe is sending men my way and with each of them I can say back to the universe, "You know, this and this was really wonderful about him, but I need some more of X or less of Y in the next man you send my way." In short, don't think of the dates as failures but as opportunities to refine what I really want.
After I got home tonight, I took Rasputin for a walk. We were moving down a semi-dark alley, and I tripped over a bump in the pavement and fell. Little Rasputin came right up to me and gave me love. That's what I would like in the man who is matched to me--someone who loves me despite my boo boos.
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