WAITING ROOMS

‘INUIT MOTHER AND CHILD’ watercolor painting by kayti sweetland rasmussen

We are all in some sort of waiting room. Some with anticipation and some with trepidation. It depends upon where you are waiting; grocery store, post office, assisted living facility or doctor’s office. The grocery store is a toe tapper, while you wish the person in front of you would hurry up and count her change, and return the unwanted can of beans. The post office could go both ways; did you get a bill or a check? The people in the assisted living place, are waiting for God, and it could also go both ways. The doctor’s waiting room is far and away the most interesting.

Our hospital is getting older and seems smaller, and the number of patients has increased; drawn by the advent of Silicon Valley technology. For lack of space, various disciplines have been combined in spaces far to small to contain them. While waiting for my rheumatology doctor, I watched mothers and children waiting for pediatrics, There were also cardiology and oncology patients cooling their heels.

A beautiful young woman dressed with a jeweled head dress offered a seat which I gladly took. She was from India and her husband had come here to work for Google. She misses her parents and the fact that her daughter has never met them.

Two young fathers carrying their babies checked in and I remarked to myself that fathers never came to pediatricians appointments, let alone carrying their offspring. Another sign that times have changed. The day of the stay-at-home mom is over.

As refreshing as these fellow waiters were, a dark cloud arrived in the shape of a grumpy looking gentleman in his late 70’s dressed in baggy work pants and jacket, checked in with the young woman at the desk and obviously was disgruntled by having to give a co-pay. Mumbling all the way, he threw himself into the small chair with a scowl. He gave a challenging look toward the check in counter and groused: ” I pay enough as it is around here. Now you expect me to wait here?”

I was glad to go in to meet the cute young woman doctor who is always a pleasure. After chatting and acquainting her with any new problems, I told her about the current state of the waiting room, including a description of Mr. Grumpy. She laughed and said “I think he is my net patient.” I hope she was able to make his day a bit better.

SWIMMING IN YOUR HEAD

Amy Tan, writer of such memorable works as “The Joy Luck Club” as well as so many other insightful books, once advised us to write what’s swimming in our head. The mind is never a complete blank, though the ability to transcribe the void can be difficult.

My mind is usually so crowded, it’s hard to separate the ridiculous from the sublime, which is why I occasionally walk into another room and wonder why I went there. I would feel bad about it, but my daughter says she does it too. There is too much information out there to remember it all. A friend excused the sensation by imagining a little man bustling about trying to organize a roomful of feral cats. Obviously it can’t be done, so why worry?

We entertained yesterday with a late lunch, and Charlie behaved himself grandly with friends who had known him from a tiny puppy. Only once did I hear someone say “Charlie, stop eating your bed”. Charlie, like many humans, seems to get energized when company arrives, and while some people are propelled into talking mode, Charlie, in an obvious effort to extend a welcome, drags out all the toys in the toybox to see if he can encourage someone to pay attention to him. It’s sad really.

I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. The people who make them in hopes of improving themselves, usually don’t need much improvement. The monthly lunch with my high school girl friends, has gained a couple more ladies, who decided to join us when they heard about it. We used to meet every 6 weeks or so, but as we get closer to decrepitude, it seems wise to meet more often. One friend has moved into a retirement home, and another cannot drive the distance required. A third who until a year ago, drove to Reno often to see family, no longer drives the freeway. In our case, the resolution to come together more often is imperative.

We make the decision to stop driving at different ages and for different reasons. One friend and neighbor will be 95 in a few weeks and is still driving, though no longer on the freeway. The traffic has become horrendous at any time of day, and accidents and road rage intimidate the most intrepid drivers. I gave up driving this past year when I realized my AMD had progressed to the point of danger. Now, several months later, I have limited vision, finding certain things simply disappear. I can’t believe it, but it’s another interesting part of growing older, and more people than we know suffer from the condition. It’s somewhat like the roomful of feral cats, so why worry?

I am reminded of a cousin, who is 99 this year, had a relationship with a gentleman friend a few years ago. When they were both widowed, they decided to marry, and planned a wedding aboard the USS Hornet, a wartime aircraft carrier moored in Alameda, which had some meaning for them. The gentleman’s adult children however, disapproved of the marriage, casting a pall on the affair which ended shortly thereafter, due to the prospective bride and groom living in different cities, and unable to drive any longer. The ability to drive in their case was crucial. It was obviously before Uber.

A SHORT VACATION Kate’s Journal

“Dancer” stoneware sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussen

Dr. Advice does not cook. I mean he REALLY does not cook, so in preparation for my short vacation for a tune-up, I am preparing a bit of sustenance in advance. So far a chicken vegetable soup, a chocolate cake and a few enchiladas. He used to feel sorry for our friend Emmett Oliver after Georgia passed away when Emmett stocked his fridge with frozen dinners. Personally I think that was very smart.

This appointment for surgery popped out of the blue a day or so after the stress test. One of those “voices” informed me that the doctor was ready. There was no chance to say “Wait a darn minute–HE may be ready but I haven’t finished reading the brochure”.

Having a bypass of a leg artery may or may not correct my “spaghetti” legs. I don’t think there is a need to drag out my dancing shoes again, but perhaps I can pass along my wheeled transportation. It seems a very positive endeavor. I just hate to be rushed.

STRESS TEST Kate’s Journal

When the voice identified herself as “Cardiology”, I wondered why they were calling me. In rapid fire English she informed me that my doctor had scheduled a Nuclear Stress Test for me in two days.
II
I informed that I do not walk, especially on a treadmill. She told me that I would not be required to walk, It seems that the word “Nuclear” makes all the difference. Instead I would be a quiet recumbent participant of the three hour test.

I find the process of aging with its many ramifications very interesting. Each indication of new challenges gives you pause to get acquainted and decide how to cope with each with grace and dignity.

I showed up at the required time and was soon rigged out with an IV in my arm before we went into a room with a machine half the size of my dining room. They injected a dye into the IV and had me put both arms over my head while lying down. This position was maintained for 15 minutes while the machine (camera) lowered itself to within 1/2 inch from my face. It slowly revolved around the upper body while I forced myself to think of sailboats on a quiet sea with seagulls calling out to me. Conversing with seagulls is not easy and I truly find them noisy and greedy creatures, so this subterfuge really didn’t help the time pass any faster.

When this test was over, They took me into another room where a nurse with a lot of authority took charge. After explaining the process she injected me with another drug and began the test. I could tell she had done this before because suddenly I experienced everything she had mentioned. You become a bit panic stricken and want to end the test. She asked me what I was feeling and being an honest person I told her I really wanted to throw up. Her answer was to inject me with even more drugs as the test progressed. This test lasted a half hour after which the nurse suddenly asked me if I wanted a milkshake; either vanilla or chocolate. Obviously, no one wants to be vanilla so I took the other one. One stipulation of these tests was no caffeine for two days, so chocolate was the obvious choice.

After returning from my reclining run, the nurse told me I “looked very good for eighty-eight”, which gave me the boost to move back into the original room with the large camera. The original routine was repeated while the camera slowly rotated over me.

With the test over, we now wait for orders from the vascular surgeon who hopes to be able to do a bypass of my legs.

I’M BACK!

I’m back and please don’t tell me you didn’t know I was gone. Christmas arrived with great hope which soon disappeared into a miasma of hopelessness. For some reason, through no fault of my own obviously, pneumonia struck Christmas Eve, and put me into the hands of the good folk in the local hospital. It was a grand experience to say the least. It is very disconcerting to find that you cannot breathe. But I am home again and on the way to becoming my usual annoying self.

I found renewed appreciation and gratitude to all the medical people who kept me going during my stay in hospital. I learned that there are “travel nurses”, which I never knew of. I had heard of Doctors Without Borders who go from country to country, but these girls who sign on to be a travel nurse, sign up with a company, some of whom allows them a choice of numerous states including Hawaii and Alaska. They come for a period of 13 weeks, and there are some nurses who decide to just travel; no home base, no ties, just keep traveling and seeing the country.

The two travel nurses I had were from the East Coast, one from Upstate New York, the other from Kentucky. They are skilled in many different disciplines, and give a great sense of security.

They get a housing stipend of about $3700.00, and find their own living space, and when the 13 week contract is over, they get a nice bonus. I asked why they had chosen California, and they both said Northern California pays the most in the country.

I came home to find half the wall in my dining room filled with oxygen tanks, and a cable tether which allows me to travel all over the house. I don’t plan to stay tethered for long, but in the meantime, it’s very nice to say “I don’t want to do anything today!”

Two close friends met at our front door bearing chicken soup the day I came home. I am more grateful than I can say for all the loving care of these “visiting angels”. They gave such hope to a dear husband who at nearly 90 has never mastered the preparation of food, and finds it difficult to do even minor clean-ups! Mothers, take heed; teach your sons how to live alone and like it.

It appears we will need some help around the old place for awhile, and so a lovely young woman is coming next week to see if she likes me and if I like her.

Life should always be filled with new experiences, and we can always learn. Remember: You only have to know one thing; you can learn anything.

ENERGY BEGETS ENERGY

Painting by Audrey Mabee

I have long hoped that the amount of energy we apply to every endeavor would reward us with the same amount we spent. I should have known better. After all, we don’t receive the same amount of money back after blowing a week’s salary on a frivolous purchase. However, suppose we donated that money to a worthy charity, or helped someone achieve a goal which had been illusive? That “energy” would come flowing back.

It’s a known fact that you “use it, or lose it,” and I seem to have misplaced my muscles in the past couple of years. We like to blame other things for our shortcomings, and I have been happy to blame other things on my lack of endeavor in the exercise department. Like Audrey Mabee’s painting, I have been floating and having a great time.

There is a new book out about the value of “tidying up”, so I thought I would give it a try.

Is scrubbing the kitchen floor considered exercise? After all, it does entail energy.

FATHER OF FITNESS

Jack LaLanne was certainly a fitness superhero. Exercise guru, promoter, inventor, Jack could do it all, and kept doing it until he died at 96. Maybe that’s what it takes, find out what you’re good at and keep doing it.

Julia Child taught us to cook by way of the TV, and Jack LaLanne taught us to exercise to keep the excess weight in bounds also by watching TV. Each of them appeared on morning TV for a half hour, and we learned how to make an omelet, and how do do deep squats afterward.

Our kids didn’t bother too much with Julia, but Jack was a different story. He commanded you to stop whatever you were doing and flex those muscles. He frequently had his dog on the show, a nice white shepherd dog, which caught the attention of the little ones.

Where Julia spoke slowly, as if feeling her way along, Jack talked in machine gun mode, and you were forced to tear yourself away from the sight of Jack in his blue jumpsuits, to follow him in each exercise.

He did amazing stunts such as swimming across the Bay while towing 13 boats, long after he could have been quietly enjoying life. He lived in Morro Bay down the coast, and ate at the same restaurant each evening. The waiters knew he had the same table and a small glass of red wine.

When parking meters were first installed in Oakland, he and some cohorts showed off by bending them to the ground. No idea if the cops caught the boys.

Julia occasionally dropped something on the floor and picked it up with a laugh, advising you not to tell your guests. She guided you through an entire dinner party with decorations on the table. You were always sure of a chuckle, because she was obviously having such a good time. Her many cookbook grace the shelves of kitchens worldwide.

Both Julia and Jack LaLanne were the innovators of good things, and both lived long lives, Julia passing at 91 and Jack at 96. Maybe we should take another look.

GOD’S SPECIAL CHILDREN

My cousin Kendall passed away this past year at the age of sixty-one years as we count chronologically, but he never grew up. Kendall was born in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, and had Down Syndrome. His parents, my aunt and uncle, lived over seas for thirty years, and nothing much was being done at that time anywhere in early education for the mentally handicapped or the parents. Abnormalities in a birth always come as a surprise to parents happily looking forward to a life filled with so-called normal expectations, but to older parents living in a third world country, Kendie’s birth was heartbreaking and unexpected.

Their initial and common reaction was to take the blame. “what have I done?” “How could I have prevented this?”

Down Syndrome is a genetic disorder caused by the presence of all or part of a third copy of chromosome 21. It is typically associated with physical growth delays, characteristic facial features, and mild to moderate intellectual disability.
The average IQ of a young adult with Down Syndrome is 50, or equivalent to the mental age of an 8- or 9- year old child, but this varies widely. Education and proper care have been shown to improve quality of life, ideally from birth on. In the past, the life expectancy was about 30 years, but now it is about 50 or 60. Down Syndrome is the most common chromosome abnormality in humans, occurring in about one per 1,000 babies born each year. It is a lifelong condition, but with care and support, children who have Down syndrome grow up to have healthy, happy, productive lives.

Fortunately so much has changed in public acceptance of the mentally challenged. A hundred years ago, these people were kept in a back bedroom, and lived out their brief lives alone and unseen. It was assumed that they were incapable of learning, and even their existence was kept a somewhat shameful secret.

Education and proper care have been shown to improve quality of life. My daughter earned her college degree in the study of the mentally challenged, some of whom had Down Syndrome. Specialized education is a wide open field and now some children with Down syndrome are educated in typical school classes. Some individuals with Down Syndrome graduate from high school and a few attend post-secondary education. In adulthood, about 20% in the U.S. do paid work in some capacity with many requiring a sheltered work environment.

Kendall’s life fell in the middle of an “enlightenment” period in that though he was ubable to participate in an early-childhood education in Saudi Arabia, he was later sent to a school in the U.S. where he lived throughout his life. He never grew beyond the size of a 9-10 year old, and he was always cheerful and happy as a small child, with a big smile lighting his face when he was pleased or when he recognized a friend. These people live at the very pinnacle of innocence. It is we who need the education to accept them for what they are, God’s Special Children

About 35 years ago, a friend with two young sons called early one morning to tell us of the birth of a fourth son. This family prided itself on building good health, strength and athletic ability. Each was proficient in sports. As Dr. Advice answered the phone, I caught a slight change of expression as he said “Maybe God thought you needed a cheerleader for your basketball team.” He had promptly diverted the conversation from one of mixed feelings into one of positive anticipation. Their fourth son had Down Syndrome.

At the time the University of Washington had a concentrated study of the condition, and the mother of this child went there from California and learned what was being done to educate babies from birth. Instead of waiting for several years before teaching basic skills, Blair began immediately being prepared to live in the mainstream of society. Before speech, he was taught sign language, which hastened his communication skills.

As soon as possible, Blair’s mother took him into school classes and introduced him, explaining to the students that he had Down Syndrome and what it was. When old enough, he was enrolled in school and treated just as any other student. He was never made to feel “different” or out of the loop. His mother organized a baseball club made up of mentally challenged children, which developed their concept of team play, and their natural joy in physical activity. She even went to members of the Oakland Athletics professional baseball team and appealed to them for pieces of athletic equipment, which they gladly donated, taking the little team under their wing.

To see Blair today, with his show of confidence and compare him to Kendall, a lot can be attributed to his early training.

Years ago, when Blair was about 5, I received this poem from one of his older brothers while he was a student at U.S.C.

My brother Blair, was born with Down Syndrome, a form of mental handicap. December 1990

BROTHER, by Sean Hogan

Brother so kind, how can it be?
Brother “What happened? How come he can’t see?
Brother I’m sorry; you will never be like me.
Brother your life will set me free.

Mother please, the blame will never be known.
Mother in this life, the harvest can not be resown.
Mother worry not so much for him.
Mother cry more for me and Tim.

Father others expectations may run too high.
Father friends will come, fear, and say goodbye.
Father they say patience and time can only tell.
Father without you, his life will surely be Hell.

Grandpa, has Peter now become your best Friend?
Grandpa, how come you never stayed till the end?

(As Peter denied the knowledge of knowing Christ, Grandpa tries to deny Blair’s existence and relationship to him.)

AMAZING GRAZING 2

Driving the backroads of Italy on a cold and overcast day with cold feet and an empty stomach was not an idea we originally planned on, but following a friend’s suggestion, we were headed for a tiny restaurant tucked away in the countryside. We came upon it late in the afternoon, in a stand of bare oak trees, beside a small family owned winery. Rows of gnarled old grape vines bordered the road and a shepherd herded his flock through an adjoining field, closely followed by his faithful sheepdog. If hunger had not given me a push, I could have happily watched this rustic scene until the sun went down.

The

low ceilinged room was floored in ancient terra cotta tiles, worn in the traffic spots. A couple of hanging light fixtures illuminated the space, and small ceramic pots with a sprig or two of lavender were on the cloth covered tables. No sooner were we seated when the smiling owner brought a basket of home-baked crusty bread and a bowl of olive oil, and a bottle of house wine. Somewhere in the back we could hear the clatter of pots and pans and a wonderful smell told us we were in the right place.

We both opted for the soup of the day, which arrived in large ceramic bowls and a promise of seconds if we wished. The scent was addictive, with just a hint of garlic and parmigiano.

After this warming and satisfying meal, we asked who the talented chef was, and it turned out to be her son that day. Oh for a son like that in my kitchen!

ZUPPA TOSCANA

A cup each of chopped carrots, celery and onion, sauteed in a little olive oil. Add a clove or 2 of garlic and a diced potato. Saute for about 5 more minutes, and add about 3 cans of chicken broth (or vegetable broth) Meanwhile, brown 2-3 Italian sausages and a few slices of bacon chopped. Drain the fat and add to vegetables. Add a couple large handfuls of chopped kale or chard to the pot. At this point if desired, you can also add a can of cannelini beans. (As you can see, you can take this soup in many different directions.) Add 1 cup of heavy cream. Throw in a couple Tbs. olive oil, a generous handful of bread crumbs, and a handful of parmigiano or pecorino cheese.
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Now, about those bread crumbs. We always have leftover bread around, and I never throw anything away. (Depression baby.) We grind them and use them in many things. Toasted they are great sprinkled over a pasta dish or a cup of soup, but included IN the soup they serve to thicken it. Just keep them in a ziplock bag in the freezer and they reward you. Cut into 1/2 cubes, tossed in a little olive oil and garlic powder, they toast up nicely in a 325 over for about 10-12 min. and are good on salad or on top of soup.

LET’S EAT!

I RARELY END UP WHERE I WAS INTENDING TO GO

Sitting here in my breakfast room, savoring a second cuppa, Charlie is impatiently waiting for the morning walk. He’s always in it for himself, the tail wag and lopsided grin are a red herring covering up his real opinion of us. The mornings are so cold we use the excuse that it will chill his feet if he goes out before the sun warms the road. I have spent the past few days getting into the 2015 mindset, like most other people; putting away the Christmas finery, and putting the house back into its normal condition.

The holidays were great, with family arriving for a Danish Christmas feast on the 22nd. I had made several Danish dishes, such as frikadeller, a meal patty, a ton of cookies, and a number of side dishes. The decorations went low-key this year, suitable for a country-style celebration. Santa and his sleigh ran down the center of the long table, with an army of nutcrackers at his rear, and a hand carved farm scene on the buffet.

Unfortunately, I awoke that morning with an ugly eye infection which took us to the ER. I have become quite friendly with the staff there, as 2014 took me there to celebrate my birthday. They even wrote “Happy Birthday” on the large schedule board in the room to make me feel at home. You can’t ask for more. But this eye infection was so bad the resident ER doctor sent me to the ophthalmologist in the afternoon, just as the party was to begin. Fortunately our two daughters are expert party-givers, so they took over while we were gone. Now that’s the way to give a party!

I gave Dr. Advice an iPad for Christmas, even though he is not computer literate (yet). The battery function seemed slow so we took it to the Apple store, which is a most interesting operation. First of all, if the product is so wonderful, why are there so many people waiting in line for hours to get them fixed? You obtain an appointment online, but when you arrive, there are great numbers of people seemingly with the same appointment.

Once fixed, I was asked to put in his ID and password, which was a good idea, except I forgot to bring the paper I wrote it on. After spending 3 hours to get that far, we left and went out for lunch.

I never make New Year’s Resolutions because I would break them by January 2nd, but to those who do make them, good luck. We all need a certain amount of introspection if only to make us try harder.

The weather has warmed, my coffee has cooled, and Charlie is still doing his Jack Russell best to go for his walk. See you later.