Gratitude Journal: January 15

With luck, one month from today, I will be on the other side of the hip replacement surgery that has occupied my every thought since the pain first became constant last August.  When I received a surgery date earlier this month, my heart opened up to the idea that I won’t have to live in the small world of crippling pain forever.  The relief I feel at having a surgery date is palpable. Aside from the pain and disability of the last 6 months, the way the situation has untethered my general optimism has been hard to bear.  It will be a good long while before I recover from the mental health disaster of draconian food restriction brought on by the requirement that I lose weight to receive medical treatment.  Being denied much-needed healthcare because of weight, especially in the absence of scientific research to support such cruelty, is appalling.  I don’t expect that I will ever again trust a doctor.  When I have seen to my recovery, I intend to speak out about the injustice of the whole situation. 

 For now, I am focused on getting to my February 14 surgery date.  And I am incredibly grateful to my son, my sister, my family members, and the friends who have helped me to get to this point and who will see me through to the other side of surgery.  Their help and willingness to celebrate the surgery date have been an incredible bright spot in this very hard patch.  My heart is full of gratitude for them, aware that I could not have made it this far alone.

Sister Act

Today is my sister’s birthday.  I’m the oldest and when we were little girls, she used to threaten that one day she would be older.  I like to think that I was gracious about this - confident that time and space were on my side - but we’ll need KO to confirm that.  As adults, I joke that there was a screw up in the birth order continuum, because she’s the level-headed family general and we march to her orders.  That’s fine by me: she’s smart and funny, sensible and loyal and when my hip went suddenly south in August, she was unfailingly the solid rock that I needed. She put up with endless whiny texts and phone calls and was supportive and sympathetic, whatever the circumstances required.  The harder things got, the more she stepped up.  It is no exaggeration to say that I wouldn’t have made it this far into the journey without her good cheer and good sense.  Before I could summon the courage to ask, she volunteered to come East and look after me post-surgery.  That right there is KO in a nutshell: she knows what you need and she will get it done.  She is the very best sister a woman could ask for and I love her beyond measure.  

Happy Birthday, KO!

The Magic 8 Ball Delivers

My office in the Middle School has a Magic 8 Ball, which mostly serves as a source of comic relief.  When a visitor asks about it, I explain that it’s the primary decision-making agent of the Middle School and then we all laugh.  But this '70s era toy brings amusement on the daily and I should show more respect to the Magic 8 Ball.  On Tuesday, thoroughly fed up with my lack of a surgery date, I shook the 8 Ball and asked if the scheduler would call today.  The 8 Ball answered, “It is certain.”  I responded with a smart ass remark and then limped my way to class.  But you know where this story is going...at mid-day, the scheduler called.  She was all business, with pre-op appointments and a surgery date. 

February 14. 

Valentine’s Day has little charm when you are single but you can be damned sure that I will be celebrating this year.  

Style Journal: Sassafras Shelf

My first house, in Nebraska, had a beautiful fireplace with a mission-style oak mantle.  I loved the mantle and enjoyed decorating it.  The items on it reflected all sorts of seasonal decor: flowers in the Summer, pumpkins in the Fall, Christmas stockings and greenery, my collection of hand-carved bunnies in the Spring.  My first house in New Jersey did not have a fireplace or a mantle and an antique table in the living room served as an improvised mantle of sorts.  Sassafras House, which has been home since 2006, has beautiful chestnut wood work and oak floors but there is not a fireplace or mantle.  The antique table wouldn’t fit in the living room and over the years I have improvised a place for seasonal decor.  Sometimes I used the wood radiator cover in the living room front window.  For a few years, I had a mantle shelf.  But I have been on the hunt for a better set up.  For years, the shelf below the TV held the cable box and DVR.  When I gave those up for Roku streaming, it freed up the shelf.  And just like that I had my mantle equivalent.  This month, it has some of the wooden houses in my collection and light from a digital candle that flickers in a hobnail glass jar.  As the seasons change, I enjoy planning a new display for the shelf, which has become a little corner of happy in my world.

Return of the Bullpen

 Last night found me back to form, completing my Sunday night chores to be ready for the school week.  I organized my school bag, changed the sheets on my bed, watered my pants, and got the bullpen ready. 

These habits are the glue of my world and help me to feel organized and ready for what the week will bring.  These days, when daily living is hard because of my (temporary!?!) disability, I am grateful for the order of these established habits.  

Worthy

At the December 15 appointment where the surgeon qualified me for the hip replacement surgery I desperately need, I was instructed that I could expect surgery in 6 weeks and that the scheduler would be in touch within 10 days.  When 10 days without a call passed, I called the scheduler.  She was polite but had no date - or even a prospective date - and indicated that I’d have a four week lead when she finally got me on the calendar.  It’s been three weeks since that first appointment; and more than one week since I called the scheduler.  I still don’t have a surgery date. 

The joy and relief I felt on December 15 has begun to wane.  As each day without a surgery date comes to a close, I make the struggle upstairs to bed where in the quiet darkness, I fend off the waves of despair that I feel.  With the help of my amazing pain management doctor, I can get some rest, but I haven’t had a full night of sleep since August.   January 16 will mark the start of my 6th month of living with crippling hip pain.  Over the last 5 months - 5 months - I’ve learned some tools to manage the disability.  But my world is small.  I go to work and then I come home.  Once home, I mete out the last of my energy to cook supper or run a load of laundry.  Groceries must be picked up as I can no longer walk through the store.  JT is indispensable; he does the bulk of our household chores while also trying to keep my spirits up.  He is my daily source of gratitude and grace and he never complains about helping me. Walks outside, a trip to the movies or a bookstore or to a cultural event are simply not an option.  Food restriction remains in place so even if I could go to a restaurant (I can’t), what would be the point?  My life now is small and getting smaller. Everyone reassures me that once I get a hip, a life rich with prospects will re-emerge.  I hope so, but I fear otherwise.  I recognize the dangers of that fear. It’s incredibly easy for me to slip into despair and to wonder if any of these doctors who swore an oath to do no harm actually give a damn about me.  In this case, actions speak louder than words, so I know the answer.  

Still, I try to choose hope.  For my Christmas stocking, I bought myself a mystery box from my favorite jewelry shop.  Inside the box was a tiny silver ring engraved with the words “I Am Worthy.”  It feels like the universe delivered this timely reminder just when I needed it.  Being required to lose weight to qualify for necessary medical care is demeaning and demoralizing; a daily reminder that my needs matter less and that I am not worthy in the eyes of some doctors.  I play a waiting game for medical care denied me because I am fat; it’s a game that makes me feel that I am not worthy at all. So I slip my silver talisman on my finger and struggle onward.

Among the Trees: January 5

The woods around me are quiet as Winter takes hold.  A Nor’easter is forecast for the weekend - our first prospect at real and significant snow in nearly two years - and I continue to wait for word of when my hip replacement surgery will be scheduled.  Without the hip, mobility is a challenge for me.  I miss the ability to walk at all, but especially to walk outside in the Winter woods.  Without a surgery date on the horizon, I don’t think that February will find me able to make the solitary Winter walks I used to enjoy.  I have great hopes for March forays into the trees.  For now, the backyard dogwood branches remind me that even in Winter’s cold, Mother Nature is making plans.   

A Wish for Peace

The last few months of 2023 were rather a shitstorm, both personally in terms of my health and in terms of world affairs.  The October 7 Hamas attack and the devastation in Gaza that followed has been heartbreaking.  Explaining it and discussing it with my idealistic and hopeful 8th grade history students has been extraordinarily hard.  My own reserves are spent thanks to my deteriorating hip and the ways in which I am disabled by it.  As a woman who thrives on her independence, I have not handled the waiting with any kind of patience or dignity.  Even as I understand that anger will not help, I yield to my fury more than I should.  When I found this lovely tag among my Christmas wrapping collection, it spoke to me on so many levels. 

As I continue to play a waiting game for my hip replacement and prepare to return to school next week, this tag will be my mantra and a reminder to control what I can control and to be the master of my anger, not mastered by it.  

January 1: A Cardinal Year

It’s no secret that my Dad was a huge fan of the St. Louis Cardinals and his love of a team with a scrappy, mean bird as a mascot is rather a funny thing.  My Dad could be scrappy but he was never mean.  His affection for the team dated back to his childhood and it never wavered.  Even when his team was struggling, Dad maintained hope that the game - and the season - could be turned around.  Some of my greatest joy in life is found in memories of the conversations he and JT had as the Cardinals - by then JT’s team - won an improbable pennant and then World Series in 2011.  The sight of a cardinal has always reminded me of my dad and all his best qualities: his liberal politics, his sense of humor (and exquisite timing), his skill with profanity, his joy in his grandsons.  With his passing in 2023, the sight of a cardinal feels like my Dad is at hand, counseling patience as I wait for my new hip, condemning ignorance and stupidity, or shouting “Jocko” when there is flubbed play at sport.  In 2024, the first of each month will be devoted to cardinals in all their forms in my world.  First up is this Christmas gift from my sister.  

It will be hung over the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, keeping watch over my home and reminding me of my dad.

December Book Report: A Gentleman in Moscow

This book, by Amor Towles, has been on my to-read list for a long time.  When my Secret Book Santa gave it to me in a holiday gift exchange at school, it moved to the top of my list and has been my read for the last week.  

In a word, the novel is splendid.  At turns sentimental and suspenseful, Towles weaves together a simply wonderful story of a man whose life seems limited but instead is limitless.  Pressed to make the best of a difficult situation as his beloved nation sinks into the ridiculous rigors of Bolshevism, Count Alexander Rostov remembers his father’s most valuable bits of advice: “Master one’s circumstances or be mastered by them” and “constant cheerfulness is a sign of wisdom" and puts them to good use.  With these pearls, his life —— seemingly constrained by his captivity in the Hotel Metropol —— becomes an existence of wonder, joy, and friendship.  The Count is a man the reader both likes and admires.  The novel is well-written, the narrator well-read and as charming as the Count, the Russian history at the center of the story is both well-understood and well-utilized.  It was the perfect read for me as I wait out the delay for my hip surgery and struggle to master those circumstances.  I loved the novel and will set it aside to be read again some day, grateful for the ways in which a book has once again saved me.