I got a call from UCLA this morning, and the transplant is not going to happen, at least not between Janet and Bob, and Maria and me. As those of you who read my blog know, Janet, my next-door neighbor, volunteered to be a donor over a year ago, after only knowing me two months. It took over a year for me to jump through all the hoops to get on the list (including heart surgery and recovery from hip surgery). Finally, Janet could be tested to see if she was healthy enough to be a donor. She finally passed all her tests. But she's an A and I'm an O. O's can only receive from other O's.
By a beautiful turn of events(see previous posts for full story), I was introduced to another mismatched pair--an O donor and an A recipient. Usually an O can donate to anyone, but Bob has antibodies to Maria because of his previous transplant. So we were going to do a paired donation--Maria would give to me, and Janet would give to Bob.
We had dates set--next Thursday for Janet's and Bob's surgeries,and August 10 for Maria's and my surgeries. But we knew that we were still waiting for the final word on the compatibility of Janet and Bob. We heard this morning that Bob has antibodies to Janet, and the process to make two incompatible donors compatible, known as plasmaferesis, basically a plasma exchange, would be too dangerous for him.
I have the option of undergoing plasmaferesis in order to be compatible with Janet. This would involve surgically putting a shunt in my arterry (as in hemodialysis) and undergoing four weeks of IV plasma exchanges several times a week prior to surgery. On face value, this sounds like a lot of extra strain on the body, so I am attempting to make an appt. with the UCLA surgeon who is in charge of plasmaferesis to weigh the risks.
For right now, Janet and I are in a computerized data base of approx. 113 mismatched pairs in So Cal. Whenever a pair is added, it has the potential to change the dynamics of many people within the pool. I've heard various estimates as to how long it might take to get a match--tomorrow to 18 months, again, because you never know how a new pair could change things.
As with all supposedly "bad" news, I take it exceedingly well. No tears, no hand wringing, no whining, no worries. It's as if I am detached from the outcome. That probably doesn't make sense to a lot of you, but it is a way that works wonderfully for me. To give my all and then let it go. There is at least one advantage to delaying surgery that I can see: It will give me more time in cardiac rehab to get my heart in top shape.
But it does mean continuing to do dialysis every night for the foreseeable future.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Surgery Scheduled
I heard from UCLA today that Janet's and Bob's surgeries are tentatively scheduled for July 23--10 days from today!--and that Maria's and my surgeries are tentatively scheduled for August 10.
Scheduling all four on the same day was not possible. This doesn't concern me as it did even a short time ago. We have been brought all this way. I just can't see Maria bailing. That said, I have asked the UCLA coordinator if she could arrange a meeting for the five of us. It's much more difficult to back out on someone you've met and spent time with than it is to bail on someone you've never met and never even spoken with on the phone.
In an amazing turn of events, before I got this message from UCLA, I was carrying out the recycling and met up with another neighbor, Barbara. She helped me carry the recycling to the alley. Barbara takes care of other people's dogs besides having two of her own. I told her that I would probably be having surgery fairly soon and wondered if I could pay her to watch Rasputin. She was excited about caring for him and said he'd have a good time with her other dogs. She'd keep him from getting lonely. Then she said that she has been thinking of donating one of her kidneys. She's an O and so am I. She said she would be my backup if things didn't work out with the paired donation. Isn't that amazing to have two people willing to donate to a non-family member, both within 100 feet of my front door! I am really being taken care of.
Scheduling all four on the same day was not possible. This doesn't concern me as it did even a short time ago. We have been brought all this way. I just can't see Maria bailing. That said, I have asked the UCLA coordinator if she could arrange a meeting for the five of us. It's much more difficult to back out on someone you've met and spent time with than it is to bail on someone you've never met and never even spoken with on the phone.
In an amazing turn of events, before I got this message from UCLA, I was carrying out the recycling and met up with another neighbor, Barbara. She helped me carry the recycling to the alley. Barbara takes care of other people's dogs besides having two of her own. I told her that I would probably be having surgery fairly soon and wondered if I could pay her to watch Rasputin. She was excited about caring for him and said he'd have a good time with her other dogs. She'd keep him from getting lonely. Then she said that she has been thinking of donating one of her kidneys. She's an O and so am I. She said she would be my backup if things didn't work out with the paired donation. Isn't that amazing to have two people willing to donate to a non-family member, both within 100 feet of my front door! I am really being taken care of.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Movement in the Transplant Process
I just got off the phone with one of the transplant coordinators from UCLA. Finally, someone who took the time to explain the process to me. Thank God!
Suzanne said that all four of us are now medically cleared. Now what has to happen is that Bob's blood needs to be cross-matched with Janet's and mine needs to be cross-matched with Maria's. It's already been established that Maria and I are a go, but the problem may be with Bob and his antibodies from a previous transplant.
If the cross-matching goes well, Janet and Maria will meet with the surgeons for their clearance. If the surgeons say "yes," then it's a matter of scheduling and final blood tests and chest x-rays. Suzanne said that she's now scheduling living donations in mid-September, and ours is complicated by a paired donation. She is trying to get things done before Janet must return to work in the fall, but she's not making any promises.
Suzanne told me that Maria and I are only blood-compatible, not tissue-compatible. There are six points of tissue compatibility, and we do not have one of the six in common. Suzanne said this is no longer considered a factor in the viability of the organ or in the patient's long-term survivability. She also seemed to say that it has little to do with the amount of immune suppressants I will have to take post-op.
I remain optimistic. It's a miracle that I would move in next to a woman who wants to be my donor. And it's a miracle how we got hooked up with Bob and Maria. It sure seems as if the universe has orchestrated things thus far. I'm sure that all will go smoothly and we'll get the transplants done this summer.
I just need to get over this cold! After three full weeks, I'm still congested and coughing. Still having to sit up every night to sleep.
Suzanne said that all four of us are now medically cleared. Now what has to happen is that Bob's blood needs to be cross-matched with Janet's and mine needs to be cross-matched with Maria's. It's already been established that Maria and I are a go, but the problem may be with Bob and his antibodies from a previous transplant.
If the cross-matching goes well, Janet and Maria will meet with the surgeons for their clearance. If the surgeons say "yes," then it's a matter of scheduling and final blood tests and chest x-rays. Suzanne said that she's now scheduling living donations in mid-September, and ours is complicated by a paired donation. She is trying to get things done before Janet must return to work in the fall, but she's not making any promises.
Suzanne told me that Maria and I are only blood-compatible, not tissue-compatible. There are six points of tissue compatibility, and we do not have one of the six in common. Suzanne said this is no longer considered a factor in the viability of the organ or in the patient's long-term survivability. She also seemed to say that it has little to do with the amount of immune suppressants I will have to take post-op.
I remain optimistic. It's a miracle that I would move in next to a woman who wants to be my donor. And it's a miracle how we got hooked up with Bob and Maria. It sure seems as if the universe has orchestrated things thus far. I'm sure that all will go smoothly and we'll get the transplants done this summer.
I just need to get over this cold! After three full weeks, I'm still congested and coughing. Still having to sit up every night to sleep.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Where You'll Eventually End Up if You Leave the Forest
A few nights ago, I watched two documentaries that, on first glance, might seem to have no connection points, but the next morning, in a flash of insight, I realized how nicely they dovetail.
The first was "A Certain Kind of Death," which shows the viewer, in sometimes graphic detail, what happens to those who die with no next of kin. We see the initial police investigation of the body, followed by efforts to find family through papers in the deceased's residence, the eventual carting away of possessions and their sale at a monthly auction, the burning of the body in the crematory, and finally, burial of the ashes in a mass grave. The only exception was one man who had about $60,000 in the bank. After the City of Los Angeles deducted expenses for the government workers and the movers, his estate was left with sufficient funds to bury him in a beautiful, old cemetary in Mendocino, which I recall from my days in Pt. Arena. He had left detailed sketches as to where he wished to be placed.
The other documentary, "Keep the River on Your Right: A Modern Cannibal Tale," concerned the late artist-turned-anthrologist Tobias Schneebaum, a life-long New Yorker who, in his early 30s, went to Peru on a Fullbright and ended up deep in the jungle. He was befriended by a tribe that had had little or no contact with outsiders. The men would take Tobias hunting, but one day, what Tobias had thought was a trek to hunt for animals turned out to be a war party. Though he did not participaate in the massacre of the men in the other tribe's village, a spear was placed in his hand after a man had already died and he was pressured into piercing the corpse. What's more, the warriors then began to eat their victims, and Tobias felt that he had to take one bite. This so distubed Tobias that he left the tribe without saying goodbye and headed back to civilization. He did not return for 45 years, pressured to do so by the film crew. (Actually, most of the film takes place in New Guinea, where he had also befriended a tribe and had a very deep connection with a male lover.)
Since Tobias' first visit, the tribe had moved deeper into the forest to get away from the missionaries. Still, their way of life had completely changed. When Tobias arrives, the village is assembled in a common house watching TV. Empty beer bottles are piled up underneath the house, which is raised off the ground on stilts. The people are wearing clothes now, primarily football jerseys and shorts. I often wonder if visiting anthropologists and adventure tourists bring them football jerseys, thinking they will make cool gifts.
To Tobias' surprise, one woman and at least two men whom he knew 45 years ago are still alive. The woman says, rather forlornly it seemed to me, "Now we're wearing clothes. But that's OK." I got the feeling she would much prefer to be nude again and to see the men nude.
In no way am I endorsing cannibalism, but it was so clear to me that these people's power had been so greatly diminished. Previously they had been self-sufficient, deeply in touch with their surroundings, sensual and proud. Now they were sitting around in dirty football jerseys, watching TV and drinking beer.
I saw so profoundly the connection between these Peruvian villagers and the men in LA who had died with no next of kin. Dying alone in a filthy, cockroach-infested apartment in a big city is the end result of leaving the forest.
The first was "A Certain Kind of Death," which shows the viewer, in sometimes graphic detail, what happens to those who die with no next of kin. We see the initial police investigation of the body, followed by efforts to find family through papers in the deceased's residence, the eventual carting away of possessions and their sale at a monthly auction, the burning of the body in the crematory, and finally, burial of the ashes in a mass grave. The only exception was one man who had about $60,000 in the bank. After the City of Los Angeles deducted expenses for the government workers and the movers, his estate was left with sufficient funds to bury him in a beautiful, old cemetary in Mendocino, which I recall from my days in Pt. Arena. He had left detailed sketches as to where he wished to be placed.
The other documentary, "Keep the River on Your Right: A Modern Cannibal Tale," concerned the late artist-turned-anthrologist Tobias Schneebaum, a life-long New Yorker who, in his early 30s, went to Peru on a Fullbright and ended up deep in the jungle. He was befriended by a tribe that had had little or no contact with outsiders. The men would take Tobias hunting, but one day, what Tobias had thought was a trek to hunt for animals turned out to be a war party. Though he did not participaate in the massacre of the men in the other tribe's village, a spear was placed in his hand after a man had already died and he was pressured into piercing the corpse. What's more, the warriors then began to eat their victims, and Tobias felt that he had to take one bite. This so distubed Tobias that he left the tribe without saying goodbye and headed back to civilization. He did not return for 45 years, pressured to do so by the film crew. (Actually, most of the film takes place in New Guinea, where he had also befriended a tribe and had a very deep connection with a male lover.)
Since Tobias' first visit, the tribe had moved deeper into the forest to get away from the missionaries. Still, their way of life had completely changed. When Tobias arrives, the village is assembled in a common house watching TV. Empty beer bottles are piled up underneath the house, which is raised off the ground on stilts. The people are wearing clothes now, primarily football jerseys and shorts. I often wonder if visiting anthropologists and adventure tourists bring them football jerseys, thinking they will make cool gifts.
To Tobias' surprise, one woman and at least two men whom he knew 45 years ago are still alive. The woman says, rather forlornly it seemed to me, "Now we're wearing clothes. But that's OK." I got the feeling she would much prefer to be nude again and to see the men nude.
In no way am I endorsing cannibalism, but it was so clear to me that these people's power had been so greatly diminished. Previously they had been self-sufficient, deeply in touch with their surroundings, sensual and proud. Now they were sitting around in dirty football jerseys, watching TV and drinking beer.
I saw so profoundly the connection between these Peruvian villagers and the men in LA who had died with no next of kin. Dying alone in a filthy, cockroach-infested apartment in a big city is the end result of leaving the forest.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Can Collecting Not Just for the Homeless Anymore
This morning while walking Rasputin, I came across a friendly, young, black couple who were going through the trash, looking for cans. They were definitely not homeless, as their bodies and their clothes were clean. Perhaps they are chronically unemployed or under-employed or working full-time but at low wages. This is a population we're going to see more of in this country, as the number of people who have exhausted their state and federal unemployment benefits is now at 2.5 million. That's a lot of people.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Blue Skies
Beautiful, blue skies today in Southern California, just as it should be, just as it used to be before chemtrails. I guess even the spooks take Fourth of July off!
For those of you who don't yet know about chemtrails, well, all I can say is that you start to do a little research and if you have any curiosity at all, you'll go down the rabbit hole into the world of government spooky business. Chemtrails will lead to underground bases or secret prisons for political activists on U.S. soil or plans for thinning the population or controlling the masses during epidemics cooked up in government labs. It's a deep hole, so watch out!
I started noticing chemtrails about 25 years ago. This is long before they began to appear in online discussions. I remember pointing them out to my then-husband, and we've been separated and then divorced for almost a quarter century. I noted that they hung around much longer in the sky than jet trails, tended to disperse over a wide area, and crisscrossed, as if created by design by several aircraft.
One of the chief reasons why there isn't a general outcry about chemtrails is that people no longer gaze at the clouds. People are just too gosh darn busy to spend daydream time doing that. If they were taking stock of their surroundings, they would see that there is a clear difference between jet trails and chemtrails. There are all kinds of theories as to what chemtrails are composed of and what their purpose is, and it's much too much to get into here, but like the ridiculous explanations our government gave for 911, the government gives equally ridiculous answers about chemtrails. Basically, the official line is that they are really jet trails, that's all. Well, if that's the case, then they're a radically different kind of jet trail, so that begs the questions, "In what ways are they different? Why are they different? How did these differences come about? What is the chemical composition of these trails? Why do they hang around in the air when regular jet trails don't? Why do they disperse over large areas when regular jet trails don't?" This ridiculous response reminds me of government explanations for UFOs, saying they are merely weather balloons. Sure, weather balloons that change colors, change formation, zip across the sky, disappear and reappear in another part of the heavens. That's some weather balloon! Just like chemtrails are some jet trails!
For those of you who don't yet know about chemtrails, well, all I can say is that you start to do a little research and if you have any curiosity at all, you'll go down the rabbit hole into the world of government spooky business. Chemtrails will lead to underground bases or secret prisons for political activists on U.S. soil or plans for thinning the population or controlling the masses during epidemics cooked up in government labs. It's a deep hole, so watch out!
I started noticing chemtrails about 25 years ago. This is long before they began to appear in online discussions. I remember pointing them out to my then-husband, and we've been separated and then divorced for almost a quarter century. I noted that they hung around much longer in the sky than jet trails, tended to disperse over a wide area, and crisscrossed, as if created by design by several aircraft.
One of the chief reasons why there isn't a general outcry about chemtrails is that people no longer gaze at the clouds. People are just too gosh darn busy to spend daydream time doing that. If they were taking stock of their surroundings, they would see that there is a clear difference between jet trails and chemtrails. There are all kinds of theories as to what chemtrails are composed of and what their purpose is, and it's much too much to get into here, but like the ridiculous explanations our government gave for 911, the government gives equally ridiculous answers about chemtrails. Basically, the official line is that they are really jet trails, that's all. Well, if that's the case, then they're a radically different kind of jet trail, so that begs the questions, "In what ways are they different? Why are they different? How did these differences come about? What is the chemical composition of these trails? Why do they hang around in the air when regular jet trails don't? Why do they disperse over large areas when regular jet trails don't?" This ridiculous response reminds me of government explanations for UFOs, saying they are merely weather balloons. Sure, weather balloons that change colors, change formation, zip across the sky, disappear and reappear in another part of the heavens. That's some weather balloon! Just like chemtrails are some jet trails!
The Role of Denial in Obesity
In yesterday's post, I related the story of an overweight former co-worker. Like an alcoholic before he hits bottom and goes to his first AA meeting, overweight people are so often in denial, not that they have a problem, but that the problem is of their own making. They blame their condition on genetics, lack of time to cook right, or, like this former co-worker, on the struggle she's waged all her life against weight, to no avail. And yet, it's a struggle for me to see the struggle, as any opportunity to indulge in a sweet is never passed up. There doesn't seem to be a struggle at all, just an easy saying "yes" to desserts.
I recall another insightful incident that occurred almost 30 years ago, long before obesity was a matter of public discourse. I was a philosophy student at the time, and an overweight classmate of mine was often telling me how she ate nothing but salads. I found this hard to believe, but I had nothing but her word to go by until the day she gave me a ride home from campus. I glanced in her back seat and saw that it was littered with hundreds of burger wrappers, french fry bags, and empty malted milk containers. Burger King appeared to be the fast-food joint of choice. Rarely does one see such a classic example of denial, someone literally tossing one's garbage behind oneself, out of sight, supposedly out of mind. I realized that the litter in the back seat was something she could not face, and so it might pile up until her husband cleaned it out or paid someone else to do it. But I knew, looking at it, that she would not be able to do it herself. This would bring her face to face with her self-deception, and that confrontation would rock her foundation, the story she had told the world and herself about herself.
Just like in AA, when the recovering alcoholic has to take personal responsibility for his actions, the problem of obesity requires that every overweight person admit that he or she is responsible for the excess pounds. It isn't society's fault or their parents' or their spouse's or their children's fault. It isn't because they were somehow born with a black mark on their foreheads that relegates them to a life of obesity. They have the power to change their lives. But first they must abandon denial and take a good, honest look at themselves. Without such an approach, there will be no lasting change.
I recall another insightful incident that occurred almost 30 years ago, long before obesity was a matter of public discourse. I was a philosophy student at the time, and an overweight classmate of mine was often telling me how she ate nothing but salads. I found this hard to believe, but I had nothing but her word to go by until the day she gave me a ride home from campus. I glanced in her back seat and saw that it was littered with hundreds of burger wrappers, french fry bags, and empty malted milk containers. Burger King appeared to be the fast-food joint of choice. Rarely does one see such a classic example of denial, someone literally tossing one's garbage behind oneself, out of sight, supposedly out of mind. I realized that the litter in the back seat was something she could not face, and so it might pile up until her husband cleaned it out or paid someone else to do it. But I knew, looking at it, that she would not be able to do it herself. This would bring her face to face with her self-deception, and that confrontation would rock her foundation, the story she had told the world and herself about herself.
Just like in AA, when the recovering alcoholic has to take personal responsibility for his actions, the problem of obesity requires that every overweight person admit that he or she is responsible for the excess pounds. It isn't society's fault or their parents' or their spouse's or their children's fault. It isn't because they were somehow born with a black mark on their foreheads that relegates them to a life of obesity. They have the power to change their lives. But first they must abandon denial and take a good, honest look at themselves. Without such an approach, there will be no lasting change.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Thin People Do Not Have "Special Powers"
I get the feeling from a lot of heavy people that they think thin or healthy-weight persons have "special powers," that somehow they can eat what they want and not gain weight. Sure, I suppose there are a few such individuals, but that's not the norm. Rather, thin people are either disciplined in their eating or they are focused on other interests than food.
One summer I read the many books of Carlos Castenada in which he tells of his experiences with a Mexican shaman named don Juan. Don Juan gives Carlos many lessons, but one that is applicable here is the idea of the assemblage point, the point at which an individual's consciousness is configured in relation to the world. Having a healthy attitude toward food is a matter of shifting one's assemblage point away from an addict's self-destructive focus on food and toward a self-confident, life-affirming, disciplined approach to food in which one eats to live, not lives to eat.
This matter is in the forefront of my mind as I recently had email contact with a former co-worker whom I have not seen for several years. She had been unaware of what is going on with my health, and I gave her a brief run-down, then wrote something that I did with the best intentions, but it seems to have been for naught. She is about 5'6" and at least 300 pounds. I wrote that overweight people seem ungrateful for the great gift of health they've been given; that given all that I know about the ravages of diabetes, I can't see why they don't do everything in their power, including losing weight, in order to prevent its development in their own lives. Then I made a personal appeal and said that it is so important for her to lose weight in order to prevent disease and to be able to enjoy life to the fullest.
She wrote back that she gives thanks every day for her health and that she's been struggling with her weight since she was a baby. It's really sad how steeped in denial this response is, since I have often been with her when we've walked only a few hundred feet and she's been out of breath. Certainly that isn't the sign of a healthy body. And I've never been out with her when she hasn't ordered or bought a dessert.
Five or so years ago, we were both at a baby shower for another co-worker. Everyone had been asked to bring something to share, and we were sitting and standing in the break room, munching. The group had divided into two distinct groups. Around the vegetable trays were the thin gals, who were commenting on how crunchy the carrots and celery were and how juicy the tomotoes. Around the dessert table were the overweight gals, who were orgasming over the cheesecake and encouraging each other to have one more brownie or piece of fudge. This vignette made the thin vs. heavy drama so poignantly clear. The thin girls were really enjoying the vegetables, and the heavy gals didn't want anything but the dessert. Different assemblage points.
The problem of obesity is much more than educating people about healthy food choices. It also involves personal responsibility and honesty with one self. In fact these issues are in many ways far more important to an individual's life journey than losing weight.
One summer I read the many books of Carlos Castenada in which he tells of his experiences with a Mexican shaman named don Juan. Don Juan gives Carlos many lessons, but one that is applicable here is the idea of the assemblage point, the point at which an individual's consciousness is configured in relation to the world. Having a healthy attitude toward food is a matter of shifting one's assemblage point away from an addict's self-destructive focus on food and toward a self-confident, life-affirming, disciplined approach to food in which one eats to live, not lives to eat.
This matter is in the forefront of my mind as I recently had email contact with a former co-worker whom I have not seen for several years. She had been unaware of what is going on with my health, and I gave her a brief run-down, then wrote something that I did with the best intentions, but it seems to have been for naught. She is about 5'6" and at least 300 pounds. I wrote that overweight people seem ungrateful for the great gift of health they've been given; that given all that I know about the ravages of diabetes, I can't see why they don't do everything in their power, including losing weight, in order to prevent its development in their own lives. Then I made a personal appeal and said that it is so important for her to lose weight in order to prevent disease and to be able to enjoy life to the fullest.
She wrote back that she gives thanks every day for her health and that she's been struggling with her weight since she was a baby. It's really sad how steeped in denial this response is, since I have often been with her when we've walked only a few hundred feet and she's been out of breath. Certainly that isn't the sign of a healthy body. And I've never been out with her when she hasn't ordered or bought a dessert.
Five or so years ago, we were both at a baby shower for another co-worker. Everyone had been asked to bring something to share, and we were sitting and standing in the break room, munching. The group had divided into two distinct groups. Around the vegetable trays were the thin gals, who were commenting on how crunchy the carrots and celery were and how juicy the tomotoes. Around the dessert table were the overweight gals, who were orgasming over the cheesecake and encouraging each other to have one more brownie or piece of fudge. This vignette made the thin vs. heavy drama so poignantly clear. The thin girls were really enjoying the vegetables, and the heavy gals didn't want anything but the dessert. Different assemblage points.
The problem of obesity is much more than educating people about healthy food choices. It also involves personal responsibility and honesty with one self. In fact these issues are in many ways far more important to an individual's life journey than losing weight.
Friday, July 02, 2010
Fluid Overload
I saw my nephrologist, Dr. Butman, yesterday for my monthly clinic visit. He felt that fluid overload is the root of my problem. I have been selecting my dialysis solution based on my blood pressure, and my blood pressure has been on target, due to the meds I'm taking, so I've selected a regimen that does not extract a lot of fluid. But my weight has been increasing, even though I haven't been eating very much. Dr. Butman guessed that I'm carrying around 15-20 pounds of water weight.
Last night I used a much stronger dialysate, and this morning I was eight pounds lighter. That's a lot to lose in a few hours. I wouldn't recommend it. I feel a little hung over.
The reason why my cough doesn't go away--it's been with me more than two weeks now--is because there is probably water in my lungs. Stagnant water can turn into phlegm. I'm thinking that this all may have started on my plane trip to Canada and then to France. I was exhausted and weak during my time overseas. I thought I was anemic, but I was probably in fluid overload, which puts a strain on the heart, thereby causing weakness and fatigue.
It's not that I don't also have a cold; it's just that the fluid retention doesn't allow me to easily get over the cold. Finally, a theory about my condition that makes sense. Tonight I'm going to take it easy. Five pounds max. That's enough.
Last night I used a much stronger dialysate, and this morning I was eight pounds lighter. That's a lot to lose in a few hours. I wouldn't recommend it. I feel a little hung over.
The reason why my cough doesn't go away--it's been with me more than two weeks now--is because there is probably water in my lungs. Stagnant water can turn into phlegm. I'm thinking that this all may have started on my plane trip to Canada and then to France. I was exhausted and weak during my time overseas. I thought I was anemic, but I was probably in fluid overload, which puts a strain on the heart, thereby causing weakness and fatigue.
It's not that I don't also have a cold; it's just that the fluid retention doesn't allow me to easily get over the cold. Finally, a theory about my condition that makes sense. Tonight I'm going to take it easy. Five pounds max. That's enough.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Worn Out
Since returning from France on June 16, I have had a debilitating cough. For the first week and a half, it was a dry cough. I would hack and hack as if I were going to cough up my kidneys, but nothing was expelled.
Last week I saw a GP who prescribed antibiotics. They didn't seem to do anything, so I visited another GP a few days ago. He felt I don't have an infection but rather heartburn. He said that sometimes heartburn manifests as a dry cough. This didn't ring true to me; this sure seemed like an infection.
On Monday I saw my acupuncturist, Dr. Mai, who diagnosed it as a wind-dryness syndrome. He treated me with needles and moxibustion, saying that there was a lot of congestion in my lungs, whereas the GP had said there was none. The acupuncturist made a whole lot more sense to me. He gave me herbs too. By that night, I was already feeling my chest loosen up, as if it might be possible some day to expel some phlegm.
The last few nights have been rough, with a tremendous amount of coughing, but not that violent, wretching-up-my-innards cough. A manageable cough.
I so want to get over this infection so that I can get back to cardiac rehab. I want my heart to be in top shape for transplant surgery, which I am still hoping will take place this summer.
Last week I saw a GP who prescribed antibiotics. They didn't seem to do anything, so I visited another GP a few days ago. He felt I don't have an infection but rather heartburn. He said that sometimes heartburn manifests as a dry cough. This didn't ring true to me; this sure seemed like an infection.
On Monday I saw my acupuncturist, Dr. Mai, who diagnosed it as a wind-dryness syndrome. He treated me with needles and moxibustion, saying that there was a lot of congestion in my lungs, whereas the GP had said there was none. The acupuncturist made a whole lot more sense to me. He gave me herbs too. By that night, I was already feeling my chest loosen up, as if it might be possible some day to expel some phlegm.
The last few nights have been rough, with a tremendous amount of coughing, but not that violent, wretching-up-my-innards cough. A manageable cough.
I so want to get over this infection so that I can get back to cardiac rehab. I want my heart to be in top shape for transplant surgery, which I am still hoping will take place this summer.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Unhappiness, the Unrecognized Component of America's Obesity Problem
So much is being written and pontificated about obesity these days, but something very basic is missing from the discussion. Unhappiness. People who overeat, who know they are damaging their bodies and yet continue to do so, who do not like what they see in the mirror yet can't stop contributing to the problem, must on some level be unhappy. If they felt better about themselves, they wouldn't want to be heavy, just like someone who feels good about herself makes sure she bathes every day and changes her shirt.
If Americans were happy with their lives, they wouldn't overeat. In the heart of every overweight person is someone who is not happy with who he or she is. The only exception I can think of is my friend Carol. She has been struggling with her weight for a long time, and yet she is one of the most well-adjusted people I've ever known. But then Carol is what I think of as German massage therapist heavy, the kind of woman who is solid, big-boned perhaps, but not fat. She plays golf several times a week and is in a walking group. She gets plenty of exercise and so she's toned. And she has one of the best attitudes around.
But besides Carol, I think I'm onto something. Every time I've seen an overweight person interviewed about his or her weight problem, I always get the screaming message of unhappiness. The person talks about ostracization, loneliness, feeling apart from others, and yet these issues are not addressed, only a plan to get the person to eat more sensibly.
I am a case in point. I was a fat kid. I had no friends, and so I isolated myself indoors and ate, which isolated me even more. Kids made fun of me and threw rocks at me, and so I hid away and ate. I didn't get any pleasure from eating, I just did it. Perhaps I knew on some level that this was unhealthy, and I was trying to bring about my end. Life was difficult, and I wanted out. When I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age 13, I was given a dietary plan, but I received no emotional counseling, and so I simply cheated on my diet. Throughout my teens and early adulthood, I cheated, with disasterous effects on my health.
Then about eight years ago, following an extremely challenging and tumultuous time in my life, I decided to be happy. I was so sick and tired of being sad. I simply refocused my attention away from lack and problems and toward what was beautiful about my life. And I began the process by giving up coffee. My son had been working for my favorite coffeehouse, and when he was let go, I stopped going out for coffee. By giving up one harmful substance, my body became cleaner and it no longer craved other unhealthy substances. So my desire for Cheetos and candy bars and ice cream and the occasional slice of coconut cream pie from Coco's also fell away.
Simultaneously, I was finding happiness within, not looking for it outside me. From an outsider's point of view, my life is much more difficult today than it was eight years ago, but from my viewpoint, I am so much happier. Eight years ago, like now, I had no husband or boyfriend, but I perhaps had more than one date a year, as seems to be my average these days. Eight years ago, I was making more money than I am today. And eight years ago, I did not yet have heart disease and I was not on kidney dialysis. Of course, I would love to be in a healthy, passionate, fun-loving relationship with a great guy. Of course, I would love to be making more money. Of course, I would love to have a body that is completely free of disease. But my happiness is not dependent on love or money or health.
And so today I am 5'8", 145 pounds, rather than the 165 or so of eight years ago. I'm not skinny, but remember that I am always carrying about two litres (4.4 pounds) of dialysis solution. If I weren't doing dialysis, I'd probably weigh around 135, since the dialysis solution itself adds between 50 and 65 grams of carbohydrates to my intake each night.
The message I want to give all those who think they can't bear to give up junk food is this: If you quit junk food today, a month from now, after a good four weeks of eating right, you're going to wonder why you ever craved that crap. It'll be like a bad relationship; once you leave it, really leave it, you're going to shake your head, amazed at how stupid you once were. Junk food will no longer taste good. You'll really fall in love with crunchy salads and lean meat and fresh fruit. You'll turn up your nose at Big Macs. You'll no longer need your salt and sugar fix.
So, all that I'm saying is that every time I see a heavy person, I think, "There's another unhappy American." Of course, not all thin or healthy-weight persons are happy; anorexia is a clear counterexample. But except for a few Carols, I venture a guess that most of the overweight have low self-esteem. What they need is emotional counseling, not just a diet plan. Any government or nonprofit efforts to simply get people to eat healthier are doomed to failure, as low self-esteem and unhappiness cannot be cured through diet.
If Americans were happy with their lives, they wouldn't overeat. In the heart of every overweight person is someone who is not happy with who he or she is. The only exception I can think of is my friend Carol. She has been struggling with her weight for a long time, and yet she is one of the most well-adjusted people I've ever known. But then Carol is what I think of as German massage therapist heavy, the kind of woman who is solid, big-boned perhaps, but not fat. She plays golf several times a week and is in a walking group. She gets plenty of exercise and so she's toned. And she has one of the best attitudes around.
But besides Carol, I think I'm onto something. Every time I've seen an overweight person interviewed about his or her weight problem, I always get the screaming message of unhappiness. The person talks about ostracization, loneliness, feeling apart from others, and yet these issues are not addressed, only a plan to get the person to eat more sensibly.
I am a case in point. I was a fat kid. I had no friends, and so I isolated myself indoors and ate, which isolated me even more. Kids made fun of me and threw rocks at me, and so I hid away and ate. I didn't get any pleasure from eating, I just did it. Perhaps I knew on some level that this was unhealthy, and I was trying to bring about my end. Life was difficult, and I wanted out. When I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age 13, I was given a dietary plan, but I received no emotional counseling, and so I simply cheated on my diet. Throughout my teens and early adulthood, I cheated, with disasterous effects on my health.
Then about eight years ago, following an extremely challenging and tumultuous time in my life, I decided to be happy. I was so sick and tired of being sad. I simply refocused my attention away from lack and problems and toward what was beautiful about my life. And I began the process by giving up coffee. My son had been working for my favorite coffeehouse, and when he was let go, I stopped going out for coffee. By giving up one harmful substance, my body became cleaner and it no longer craved other unhealthy substances. So my desire for Cheetos and candy bars and ice cream and the occasional slice of coconut cream pie from Coco's also fell away.
Simultaneously, I was finding happiness within, not looking for it outside me. From an outsider's point of view, my life is much more difficult today than it was eight years ago, but from my viewpoint, I am so much happier. Eight years ago, like now, I had no husband or boyfriend, but I perhaps had more than one date a year, as seems to be my average these days. Eight years ago, I was making more money than I am today. And eight years ago, I did not yet have heart disease and I was not on kidney dialysis. Of course, I would love to be in a healthy, passionate, fun-loving relationship with a great guy. Of course, I would love to be making more money. Of course, I would love to have a body that is completely free of disease. But my happiness is not dependent on love or money or health.
And so today I am 5'8", 145 pounds, rather than the 165 or so of eight years ago. I'm not skinny, but remember that I am always carrying about two litres (4.4 pounds) of dialysis solution. If I weren't doing dialysis, I'd probably weigh around 135, since the dialysis solution itself adds between 50 and 65 grams of carbohydrates to my intake each night.
The message I want to give all those who think they can't bear to give up junk food is this: If you quit junk food today, a month from now, after a good four weeks of eating right, you're going to wonder why you ever craved that crap. It'll be like a bad relationship; once you leave it, really leave it, you're going to shake your head, amazed at how stupid you once were. Junk food will no longer taste good. You'll really fall in love with crunchy salads and lean meat and fresh fruit. You'll turn up your nose at Big Macs. You'll no longer need your salt and sugar fix.
So, all that I'm saying is that every time I see a heavy person, I think, "There's another unhappy American." Of course, not all thin or healthy-weight persons are happy; anorexia is a clear counterexample. But except for a few Carols, I venture a guess that most of the overweight have low self-esteem. What they need is emotional counseling, not just a diet plan. Any government or nonprofit efforts to simply get people to eat healthier are doomed to failure, as low self-esteem and unhappiness cannot be cured through diet.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
How About Charging for Excess Passenger Weight, Not for Checked Bags?
On my way to LA from Newark, I sat next to a woman who must have weighed 350 pounds. I had to sit sideways in my seat to accommodate her. Why should I have to do this!
As we took off, I wondered, With all the overweight people on this plane, will we be able to stay in the air?
Then it hit me that the reason airlines are charging for checked bags is that they are too chicken to ask the overweight to pay for their poundage. After all, the airlines claim that this is to offset fuel costs, and most Americans are carrying around a lot more extra weight than the weight of my checked bags. Just think that my checked bag maybe weighs 40 pounds, but many Americans are way over 40 pounds overweight.
Helene told me that in all her years with Air Canada, only twice did she charge a passenger for two seats--and it was the same passenger.
What would be so hard about every passenger standing on a scale when they checked in. Their weight would only be displayed to the clerk, so that information would remain private. Then they could do one of the following to mitigate the increased fuel costs of these hefty passengers:
* Set a cap for female and male weight, perhaps 160 for women and 190 for men. Anyone over that weight would pay a surcharge. Passengers who were grossly overweight, perhaps 280 and up, would have to buy two seats.
* Have a graduated fee schedule, say, $25 for up to 25 pounds overweight, $35 for up to 50, and so on.
* Charge $1 per pound of excess weight.
* Those people who are, say, 100 pounds or lighter would receive a break on their ticket.
* The excess-weight surcharge would not be based on body mass index. True, body builders and other athletes might be more than the cut-off weight and, true, their weight would be due to muscle not to fat, but if the surcharge is about excess weight, it doesn't matter whether the weight takes the form of fat or muscle.
Instead of everyone, fat and skinny and in between, having to pay for the excesses of some, why not make those who are responsible for the extra weight pay? This might have the added benefit of giving people an incentive to lose weight. Money is a great incentive.
As we took off, I wondered, With all the overweight people on this plane, will we be able to stay in the air?
Then it hit me that the reason airlines are charging for checked bags is that they are too chicken to ask the overweight to pay for their poundage. After all, the airlines claim that this is to offset fuel costs, and most Americans are carrying around a lot more extra weight than the weight of my checked bags. Just think that my checked bag maybe weighs 40 pounds, but many Americans are way over 40 pounds overweight.
Helene told me that in all her years with Air Canada, only twice did she charge a passenger for two seats--and it was the same passenger.
What would be so hard about every passenger standing on a scale when they checked in. Their weight would only be displayed to the clerk, so that information would remain private. Then they could do one of the following to mitigate the increased fuel costs of these hefty passengers:
* Set a cap for female and male weight, perhaps 160 for women and 190 for men. Anyone over that weight would pay a surcharge. Passengers who were grossly overweight, perhaps 280 and up, would have to buy two seats.
* Have a graduated fee schedule, say, $25 for up to 25 pounds overweight, $35 for up to 50, and so on.
* Charge $1 per pound of excess weight.
* Those people who are, say, 100 pounds or lighter would receive a break on their ticket.
* The excess-weight surcharge would not be based on body mass index. True, body builders and other athletes might be more than the cut-off weight and, true, their weight would be due to muscle not to fat, but if the surcharge is about excess weight, it doesn't matter whether the weight takes the form of fat or muscle.
Instead of everyone, fat and skinny and in between, having to pay for the excesses of some, why not make those who are responsible for the extra weight pay? This might have the added benefit of giving people an incentive to lose weight. Money is a great incentive.
A Narrow Focus on Physical Well-Being
When I first realized that dialysis was inevitable, I thought that the peritoneal dialysis clinic would be a helpmate, a resource, a place where I could turn if I had questions. Very soon I saw how naive that kind of thinking was. I received contradictory advice or nurses were afraid to give advice or they had the blanket response for everything--go to the emergency room. So I have tried to figure things out for myself and avoid the clinic as much as possible, except for my required monthly visit.
Let me cite one example of the craziness of dealing with the PD clinic. When I was training to do home dialysis in early February of last year, I must have asked a dozen times what I was supposed to do in order to get to the bathroom at night, as I was attached to the dialysis machine by a 9-foot cord. Nine feet was not nearly enough length for me to get to the toilet. All I kept hearing was that I should not disconnect myself as this would be unsanitary. I asked if I could put an extension cord on the electrical outlet, but that idea was nixed as it could shortcircuit the machine. So what I was left with was pulling the therapy cart as far as possible toward the bathroom, stretching the electrical cord and the patient line to the max. Once this resulted in the dialysis bags falling off the cart and pulling out of their connective tubing. This of course created a major risk of infection, plus I had to stop the treatment and start all over with new bags.
As part of the work-up for the transplant, I had to undergo all kinds of tests, including a colonoscopy. What was I supposed to do about going to the bathroom now? I'd be getting up many times during the night before the procedure. Finally, a nurse told me that there were patient extension lines that could be attached to the normal patient line, thereby extending it another 12 feet. Why hadn't this ever been mentioned before! Since then I have continued to use the extensions.
Then a month ago I was in a hospital in Fontana. I had to stay overnight, so dialysis supplies were provided. The nurse gave me a cassette that had an extra long patient line built in. This way I would not have to connect an extension, a good thing, since with every connection that is made, there is a potential avenue for infection. Why, why, why hadn't my own PD clinic told me about this over a year ago!
The answer I have come up with is that most health care professionals don't think of the patient as a real human being. Rather, they think something like, "Well, she should be happy she's alive. She doesn't need to have mobility, comfort, a social life, a sex life, a relationship, etc. She's alive. That's enough." And so they are very narrowly focused on the patient's physical well-being. What drugs can we give her to stop this symptom? What change in her dialysis solution do we need to make? They never take the time to wrap their minds around how they would feel if they were hooked up via a 9-foot cord to a machine for 10 hours every night. They think of their job as very narrowly about pills and protocol and covering their ass.
Let me cite one example of the craziness of dealing with the PD clinic. When I was training to do home dialysis in early February of last year, I must have asked a dozen times what I was supposed to do in order to get to the bathroom at night, as I was attached to the dialysis machine by a 9-foot cord. Nine feet was not nearly enough length for me to get to the toilet. All I kept hearing was that I should not disconnect myself as this would be unsanitary. I asked if I could put an extension cord on the electrical outlet, but that idea was nixed as it could shortcircuit the machine. So what I was left with was pulling the therapy cart as far as possible toward the bathroom, stretching the electrical cord and the patient line to the max. Once this resulted in the dialysis bags falling off the cart and pulling out of their connective tubing. This of course created a major risk of infection, plus I had to stop the treatment and start all over with new bags.
As part of the work-up for the transplant, I had to undergo all kinds of tests, including a colonoscopy. What was I supposed to do about going to the bathroom now? I'd be getting up many times during the night before the procedure. Finally, a nurse told me that there were patient extension lines that could be attached to the normal patient line, thereby extending it another 12 feet. Why hadn't this ever been mentioned before! Since then I have continued to use the extensions.
Then a month ago I was in a hospital in Fontana. I had to stay overnight, so dialysis supplies were provided. The nurse gave me a cassette that had an extra long patient line built in. This way I would not have to connect an extension, a good thing, since with every connection that is made, there is a potential avenue for infection. Why, why, why hadn't my own PD clinic told me about this over a year ago!
The answer I have come up with is that most health care professionals don't think of the patient as a real human being. Rather, they think something like, "Well, she should be happy she's alive. She doesn't need to have mobility, comfort, a social life, a sex life, a relationship, etc. She's alive. That's enough." And so they are very narrowly focused on the patient's physical well-being. What drugs can we give her to stop this symptom? What change in her dialysis solution do we need to make? They never take the time to wrap their minds around how they would feel if they were hooked up via a 9-foot cord to a machine for 10 hours every night. They think of their job as very narrowly about pills and protocol and covering their ass.
Ego Puts Patient Lives in Danger
When I was in France, I received an email from Janet, my neighbor who is my unmatched donor. She said that she had spoken with her coordinator at UCLA, who claimed she knew nothing about the paired donation we had arranged with Bob and Maria. I emailed Bob. What's up? I wondered. He wrote back that Maria had been told the same thing by the coordinator--that she knew nothing about our arrangement, nothing about Heidi and Janet. Under further questioning, however, she said that it was her job to arrange donations, not the patient's job and that we should have let her make the arrangements.
Can you believe that! Instead of saying, "Oh, how beautiful that you four found each other! That makes my job easier," she was prepared to thwart the arrangement because her ego had been bruised. It's like c'mon, lady, people's lives are at stake!
Once again, if the four of us were not on top of this, we could have been placed on the bottom of everyone's to-do list. It's amazing, with all that patients have to put up with, with the physical, emotional, and social challenges of being on dialysis, that we also have to deal with difficult health professionals who supposedly are being paid to help us.
Can you believe that! Instead of saying, "Oh, how beautiful that you four found each other! That makes my job easier," she was prepared to thwart the arrangement because her ego had been bruised. It's like c'mon, lady, people's lives are at stake!
Once again, if the four of us were not on top of this, we could have been placed on the bottom of everyone's to-do list. It's amazing, with all that patients have to put up with, with the physical, emotional, and social challenges of being on dialysis, that we also have to deal with difficult health professionals who supposedly are being paid to help us.
On the List!
Finally, finally, finally, I am on the transplant list! As of June 16, I am on the national kidney transplant list.
I was told on April 29 and a few other times after that, that the only thing UCLA had to confirm was that I have health insurance. It took them 48 days to do that! Unbelievable. This just goes to show, once again, how the so-called health care professionals are just doing a job, not thinking about the emotional strain that they are putting on patients. They could care less if it took 48 months to verify that I have insurance. It also points out again how a passive patient, one who just waited for other people to act, would still be waiting for an intial appointment with UCLA. If I weren't as assertive, if I didn't make all the phone calls I have to get people moving, to get people to do their jobs, I would never have gotten on the list. Whether you're on the list perhaps has more to do with chutzpah than with your overall health.
I was told on April 29 and a few other times after that, that the only thing UCLA had to confirm was that I have health insurance. It took them 48 days to do that! Unbelievable. This just goes to show, once again, how the so-called health care professionals are just doing a job, not thinking about the emotional strain that they are putting on patients. They could care less if it took 48 months to verify that I have insurance. It also points out again how a passive patient, one who just waited for other people to act, would still be waiting for an intial appointment with UCLA. If I weren't as assertive, if I didn't make all the phone calls I have to get people moving, to get people to do their jobs, I would never have gotten on the list. Whether you're on the list perhaps has more to do with chutzpah than with your overall health.
Trip Recap
First, I am so thankful for Helene's invitation. She used her 25th anniversary of service to Air Canada award of guaranteed first-class tickets. I also appreciate her arranging for the apartment in Paris and her muscle power in carrying my suitcases. And an especially big thanks to her for introducing me to her friends Marie and Stefania in Paris and for introducing me to Khadidja last summer when we were both in Nova Scotia.
Marie, Stefania, Khadidja, and Helene are all terrific women. They pick up and travel to exotic locales without a male escort. They are intelligent and multi-lingual and fun to be with. They're open to new ideas and new experiences. They are all pretty and stylish in their individual ways. Like so many wonderful women, they do not have a steady man in their lives or any man at all. Unfortunately, not many men are interested in confident, intelligent, self-sufficent women. Most men still would prefer a woman who is needy in some way. I sometimes wonder if the 2012 transition will also issue in a shift in men's consciousness, that they will begin to appreciate a relationship that is formed between two strong and amazing people. God, let's hope so!
Marie, Stefania, Khadidja, and Helene are all terrific women. They pick up and travel to exotic locales without a male escort. They are intelligent and multi-lingual and fun to be with. They're open to new ideas and new experiences. They are all pretty and stylish in their individual ways. Like so many wonderful women, they do not have a steady man in their lives or any man at all. Unfortunately, not many men are interested in confident, intelligent, self-sufficent women. Most men still would prefer a woman who is needy in some way. I sometimes wonder if the 2012 transition will also issue in a shift in men's consciousness, that they will begin to appreciate a relationship that is formed between two strong and amazing people. God, let's hope so!
Architectural Tour
Sunday, June 13, our last morning in Monton. We toured Khadidja's sister's house, a few houses away from Khadidja's. Amina's cellars were given an award for the best cellar in Monton. Three levels deep. She still stores wine and vegetables there, though not as extensively as in the old days.
Here's a photo of one of Anima's bedrooms in which the old beam figures prominently.
Khadidja's mom's place was right next door to Khadidja's. In fact, the two houses are so close that you can hop from one exterior staircase to the other. Jeanne is quite a gal--83 and still gardens every day. Just as in medieval times, the gardens are located outside what was once the city walls. She's also caring for a distant relative on her late husband's side. The 12-year-old girl is a little slow, and so her family sent her back to Algeria to fend for herself. When Jeanne rescued her, she was working under slave conditins as a maid.
Jeanne's house contains walls that were part of the castle built in 1060. This page from one of her childhood books shows the castle that became her house.
The houses are so close together that Jeanne's kitchen protrudes into Khadidja's house.
And here's a cupboard that was hollowed out of the wall.
The timbers in these old houses have been used many times over for many different purposes. Jeanne has one timber in her living room that has rungs on it, what was no doubt once a ladder. The beams are also of various widths, as shown here.
L to R: Jeanne, her cousin who is staying with her for a month, Heidi, Gabriel, Helene
L to R: Jeanne, Khadidja, cousin, Heidi
Before we left for the train station, Jeanne gave us a cherry custard she'd made from the cherries in the garden. That is the kind of easy back and forth between people in Monton, as the day before a neighbor had given us some cherries.
We then took the 12:45 train from Clermont back to Paris. I for one was sorry to leave this beautiful area. Khadidja had been such a warm and attentive host. She is quite a gal too.
We spent the night at Marie's, then flew from Paris at 1 p.m. the next day.
Here's a photo of one of Anima's bedrooms in which the old beam figures prominently.
Khadidja's mom's place was right next door to Khadidja's. In fact, the two houses are so close that you can hop from one exterior staircase to the other. Jeanne is quite a gal--83 and still gardens every day. Just as in medieval times, the gardens are located outside what was once the city walls. She's also caring for a distant relative on her late husband's side. The 12-year-old girl is a little slow, and so her family sent her back to Algeria to fend for herself. When Jeanne rescued her, she was working under slave conditins as a maid.
Jeanne's house contains walls that were part of the castle built in 1060. This page from one of her childhood books shows the castle that became her house.
The houses are so close together that Jeanne's kitchen protrudes into Khadidja's house.
And here's a cupboard that was hollowed out of the wall.
The timbers in these old houses have been used many times over for many different purposes. Jeanne has one timber in her living room that has rungs on it, what was no doubt once a ladder. The beams are also of various widths, as shown here.
L to R: Jeanne, her cousin who is staying with her for a month, Heidi, Gabriel, Helene
L to R: Jeanne, Khadidja, cousin, Heidi
Before we left for the train station, Jeanne gave us a cherry custard she'd made from the cherries in the garden. That is the kind of easy back and forth between people in Monton, as the day before a neighbor had given us some cherries.
We then took the 12:45 train from Clermont back to Paris. I for one was sorry to leave this beautiful area. Khadidja had been such a warm and attentive host. She is quite a gal too.
We spent the night at Marie's, then flew from Paris at 1 p.m. the next day.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
An Artist in the Family, Cave Dwellings, and Knives
Saturday morning the 12th, we drove to Les Martes de Veyre, where Khadidja's ex-husband Scott Martin lives. Gabriel has always lived with her, including her years overseas teaching in Nova Scotia and North Dakota. This is the first time in 21 years that Gabriel is living with his father.
Scott is a Canadian who has been living in France for 20 years. His French is flawless. He is an IT guy, but also a photographer who manipulates his photos to enhance the colors and the depth. Quite beautiful. Scott generously gave Helene and me several of his photos.
Back in Monton, Gabriel took us on a tour of a convent that has been converted into a B&B and of the cave dwellings. During the religious wars of the 17th and 18th centuries, people started living in these caves. They were occupied until the 1950s, then by refugees from eastern Europe.
For lunch we had grated carrots and beets, bread, butter, tomatoes, sausage, cheese, yogurt, and strawberries.
In the afternoon, we drove to Thiers, what had once been a thriving knife-producing city. Though some of its factories are in ruins, many still remain open. We toured the knife museum and a workshop. The guide explained how, in the old days, men would lie on their stomachs over a grindstone for hours at a time. Dogs would lie on their legs to keep them warm. Also, as the dogs got up and repositioned themselves, the men would in effect get a mini-massage to keep the circulation in their legs going.
Thiers also had a few fine examples of medieval architecture.
Though no one else seemed excited about the factories by the river that were in ruins, I certainly was. I love photographing ruins.
Scott is a Canadian who has been living in France for 20 years. His French is flawless. He is an IT guy, but also a photographer who manipulates his photos to enhance the colors and the depth. Quite beautiful. Scott generously gave Helene and me several of his photos.
Back in Monton, Gabriel took us on a tour of a convent that has been converted into a B&B and of the cave dwellings. During the religious wars of the 17th and 18th centuries, people started living in these caves. They were occupied until the 1950s, then by refugees from eastern Europe.
For lunch we had grated carrots and beets, bread, butter, tomatoes, sausage, cheese, yogurt, and strawberries.
In the afternoon, we drove to Thiers, what had once been a thriving knife-producing city. Though some of its factories are in ruins, many still remain open. We toured the knife museum and a workshop. The guide explained how, in the old days, men would lie on their stomachs over a grindstone for hours at a time. Dogs would lie on their legs to keep them warm. Also, as the dogs got up and repositioned themselves, the men would in effect get a mini-massage to keep the circulation in their legs going.
Thiers also had a few fine examples of medieval architecture.
Though no one else seemed excited about the factories by the river that were in ruins, I certainly was. I love photographing ruins.
Monton Magic
Monton was so darn cute. I just must show you more of its beauty. First, my favorite image. Even when I took it, I said aloud, "This is going to be my best shot."
Farmers, Churches, Black Madonnas
Saturday's breakfast, like all the meals Khadidja made for us, was simple, wholesome, and delicious. Homemade yogurt. Cherry, apricot, and quince jams made by Khadidja's mom. Hearty bread.
We bought a few things at the farmers' market in Clermont. Fresh milk and cream from a man who treats his cows with homeopathic remedies, not antibiotics. He also sold bread and butter, slicing off what was needed from a large tray and from a 4-5 kg loaf. I bought two organic honey-almond nougats to take home as gifts.
We visited Notre Dame du Port, a fine example of Romanesque architecture, and the cathedral. Both tauted black Madonnas, a common icon in the area. I especially was touched by the descent to the crypt, the oldest region of the church and cold as it is underground. Seemed more mystical and otherworldly than even the silent presence that infused the diffuse light of the churches themselves.
We also dropped into a wine store that had two cellars and glacieres in the bottom floor. These are holes deep into the earth that were once used to store ice from the mountains and make ice cream. Naturally occurring ones can be found in the mountains, the byproduct of volcanic activity.
We took a circuitous route back to Monton so that we could delight in the little villages around Puy de Dome. When Khadidja and her son, Gabriel, were training for their Nepal trek, they could climb the mountain in 15 minutes. Impressive!
On the outside wall of the Romanesque church in Orcival are shackles. A souvenir of the Inquisition? A reminder that we are in bondage to this earthly form until liberated by the grace of God? No explanatory placard made that clear.
Upon our return to Monton, Khadidja offered us a snack--organic strawberries with fresh cream. Yummy! For dinner, we had organic farm-raised trout with scallions and wild herbs, broccoli, carrots, bread, and for dessert, strawberries with curds and whey.
We bought a few things at the farmers' market in Clermont. Fresh milk and cream from a man who treats his cows with homeopathic remedies, not antibiotics. He also sold bread and butter, slicing off what was needed from a large tray and from a 4-5 kg loaf. I bought two organic honey-almond nougats to take home as gifts.
We visited Notre Dame du Port, a fine example of Romanesque architecture, and the cathedral. Both tauted black Madonnas, a common icon in the area. I especially was touched by the descent to the crypt, the oldest region of the church and cold as it is underground. Seemed more mystical and otherworldly than even the silent presence that infused the diffuse light of the churches themselves.
We also dropped into a wine store that had two cellars and glacieres in the bottom floor. These are holes deep into the earth that were once used to store ice from the mountains and make ice cream. Naturally occurring ones can be found in the mountains, the byproduct of volcanic activity.
We took a circuitous route back to Monton so that we could delight in the little villages around Puy de Dome. When Khadidja and her son, Gabriel, were training for their Nepal trek, they could climb the mountain in 15 minutes. Impressive!
On the outside wall of the Romanesque church in Orcival are shackles. A souvenir of the Inquisition? A reminder that we are in bondage to this earthly form until liberated by the grace of God? No explanatory placard made that clear.
Upon our return to Monton, Khadidja offered us a snack--organic strawberries with fresh cream. Yummy! For dinner, we had organic farm-raised trout with scallions and wild herbs, broccoli, carrots, bread, and for dessert, strawberries with curds and whey.
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