Jan 3: Martha, stumbling around, Zerla, Michael

My mind has been in a whirl, I've been exhausted and numb and all sorts of emotions. Last week was just incredible fatigue, barely got through the days of work. Not making the situation any easier was that I had to work in the hospital a couple days, which tires me out under normal circumstances, and these weeks have been anything but normal.

This last weekend was very recuperative for me. Friday I didn't even leave the house. But so much stuff had to get done that posting kept getting pushed to the back burner. And there is so much I want to write about: illness, being close to death but on a different side of it, the grief that is coming now. It's almost 11:30 pm, so this will not be comprehensive, but will hopefully serve to remind me of things to expand on at a later period.

It's the grief now, mine and others. I'm feeling somewhat isolated with no family or friends around me who are sharing in this particular death, so a lot of time has been spent on the phone. I was trying so hard to take care of everything with John and the kids that my own emotions hadn't come to the surface, and sharing those with others who have lost Martha is necessary and therapeutic. I've also had to get an appropriate dress, requiring a trip to KOP mall, which I do not enjoy. But found a pair of shoes for my hard-to-fit feet as well, so at least productive.

I've taken on a project for the memorial which has gotten progressively larger in scope than originally planned, and the next several days and nights will be spent trying to madly finish it. I've had to admit to John that it involves pictures, but am trying to keep it a surprise beyond that. John and the kids don't read this, so it can be safely revealed to you loyal readers. I called Martha's mother, brothers, friends and half-sister (who is the daughter of Martha's father) and asked them to send pictures of Martha from childhood and over the years, especially before she and John were together. These will go on a series of poster boards, the number expanding by the day, for the memorial service. Afterwards I'll put them as a collage in a poster-sized frame. But it takes time for people to go through photos, then get them to me. Her mother is sending another packet to me tomorrow, and those need to be scanned (which takes me an inordinate amount of time, for some reason), the rest are being e-mailed, then have to go and get them printed. Then arrange them, decide on a narrative. The repeated phrase has been how much people have enjoyed doing this, going through old photos and memories, re-living happier times. It's been good for me to have something to concentrate on, to be involved with, channel my grief. Otherwise I feel kind of zombie-ish.

Zerla is doing pretty well. She's supposed to be walking around, the hope is that scar tissue will form and help hold the kneecaps in place. The left side is healing beautifully, the right side is still problematic. She doesn't seem to be in pain, but is uncomfortable in walking. The vet said it was OK for her to jump about 2 feet, allowing access to the bed and couch, but she won't do it. That takes a lot of rear leg projection, and she clearly doesn't feel comfortable with that yet. She loves it when I stay on the sofa for several hours, coming and looking up at me until I pick her up and settle her onto the couch, and I did that a couple times over the weekend. But with the aforementioned running around it hasn't happened that much in the last couple of days. But last night I was on the couch, commiserating with Martha's best friend. And we got each other crying. After only a minute or so I felt something at my feet, which were extended on the recliner couch. It was Zerla, the only cat who actually comes to comfort me when I cry, reaching up a paw and tapping my foot. I picked her so she could lie next to me where she assumed her usual position of putting her paw gently on my leg and purring. You simply can not stay morose with a purring cat next to you giving her gentle support. It also served as a reminder that the thousands of dollars in vet bills were because she is so sweet. None of the other cats will come near me when I cry, although to give appropriate credit, Chester has been very affectionate over the last several weeks.

The latest story to follow is that of my friend Michael. Michael is a friend from Fellowship who was diagnosed with a known but unusual heart problem about a year ago. It's called Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, or HCM. I think it's mentioned in a couple previous posts. He's done a lot of research, which along with my recommendation lead him to Brigham. Various medications were tried, but he's been incredibly symptomatic. The only treatment for this is open-heart surgery, and the place that has done the most is Cleveland Clinic, where they operated on 168 people with HCM last year, the highest number at one hospital in the country. We've been talking since he was diagnosed, and he has adopted several of my recommendations, including a blog. Hey, why re-invent the wheel? He's an excellent writer, and you can follow his story at http://www.mlkheart.blogspot.com/ Anyway, his surgery is Thursday. Since he follows my blog, he knew I'd been distracted of late, but sent me a gentle reminder that he goes under the knife in a couple days.

So, that's all there is time for now. Getting my hair touched up tomorrow, which any female will tell you is necessary before a major event like a funeral/memorial service. And trying to get the last of the photos so something can get put on the boards. I work Wednesday and Thursday, then will go up to Ossining on Friday for the service on Saturday. Despite all the family there, including his sister from New Zealand, John informs me that everyone else will be in hotels and that I have my usual spot. It means a lot to me that he wants me with him and the kids at this time, even with everyone else around.

I'll post when is emotionally possible. In the meantime, please keep Michael and his wife Jenn in your thoughts and prayers.

Thanks for checking in, Laurie