TV?  Respite?  I feel like I should issue a mind gone alert.  May I just say this about TV?  The demise of daytime soap operas has not improved the programming one iota.  At least I could lose myself in the fantasy, the drama, the absurdity of the soaps.  Now all that’s left is reality tv and my life has about as much reality as I can take,  thank you very much.  Mike, however, loves The Military Channel and its monotonous stream of programs about the Nazis, WWII, its battles, its people.  I am not a fan.  You gathered that no doubt.  I am reduced to looking forward to 2 1/2 Men, which, if nothing else, can make me laugh at what a jerk the Sheen character is, and the Big Bang Theory reruns that follow and which are actually pretty amusing.  And so there you have it.  Winter reduces me to being a FOX fan.  I live for the end of the Military Channel and its’ segue to FOX and then the refuge of my bed.   Sad but true. 

I guess you have gathered that I loathe winter.  I see no point in the up/down, fall down get wet tedium of skiing or snowboarding so that distraction is not one that works for me, don’t bother suggesting it.  I don’t like the cold.  I dislike dressing up in heavy clothes.  Cold and wet is not fun, nor is it attractive with the red drippy nose and watery eyes.  Then there’s the driving, the shoveling, the car cleaning, the ugly black slush.  Forget about it.  Worst of all, in my mind anyway, is the dreariness.  The lack of color.  The lack of music from the birds.  The birds have the good sense to go South for the winter…how come I haven’t heard that call and followed suit?  I hate winter.  This is the worst time for me.  Not yet February when I delude myself into believing that the month is over in the blink of an eye, therefore, winter is over.  O-V-E-R. 

February does not count in my world.  My world wouldn’t even have a February on the calendar.  It would be like a day long if it had to be there.   But January.  Well.  January isn’t short.  January goes on forever.  There’s no way I can pretend January is brief, that winter is over, or even short.  Nope.  January is the worst for me.  I’d like to go hibernate during January.  The gardening catalogs come in January.  That’s nice.  Most people use them to plan and plot and look forward.  For me they are torture.  Like the forces of nature have conspired to truly drive me to the brink by sending me those colors, the vibrancy of the gardens, the life, the photography so fabulous the pages seem to be scented…and letting me sit there knowing it is only January and there are months till I can enjoy this for real.  I find the garden catalogues irritating now.  I used to like them, I used to plan.  Now I can’t bear to look at them until about mid February. 

This winter I’ve decided it’s time to stop procrastinating.  Maybe it will help to reduce my ordinary winter funk.  It’s time to write the story that I am aching to write.  Beyond the writing, it’s time to publish it and stop making excuses.  I’m reading books on writing.  I’m drinking in tons of information but I am not using that preparation as an excuse not to write.  I’m writing.  I’m writing here.  I’m writing letters to the budding Marine.  I’m journaling.  I’m writing the bones of a chapter a day.  Sometimes more.  I hope to be ready to publish by Spring.   Let’s face it…the monotony of winter, the dearth of anything remotely entertaining on TV, my genuine distaste for domesticity leaves me with plenty of time on my hands and little in the way of diversionary excuses.  I should be able to have a decent manuscript by Spring.

And when I do, I’ll be rewarded with trees bursting into leaf in that impossibly gorgeous, glowing, lime green that sparkles in the early morning sun.  (Crayola’s Spring Green almost captures it…but not quite) The song of the birds as they seek out their mates and secure the future of their breed, the crocuses and tulips and daffodils poking up through the soil.  Yep.  Give me Spring…the annual DO-OVER where Mother Nature makes her peace with us for winter.  I want a big vase of pink tulips.  Another of bright yellow daffodils.  Give me a hyacinth and it’s overwhelmingly sweet, cloying perfume.  Lilacs.  I want bunches of fragrant purple lilacs.  Move us into summer for roses.  I want bouquets of roses from the garden and the garden filled with its assortment of voluptuous rose bushes heavy with blooms and the air redolent of fruit, musk, and memories of my grandmother’s backyard. 

On a side note, and much less prosaic, this morning Mike asked me how to make coffee.  He used to make it all the time because I liked being looked after.  He used to ask me if I forgot the recipe.  I gave him fair warning as I showed him how to do it.  Once he gets this down pat again I am forgetting the recipe once again.  It’s going to be his job again.  I’m planning a summer of sitting in the garden, enjoying the blossoms, sipping iced tea and lemonade while he looks after me…a book propped up in my lap, the roses in full bloom…and the pesky dogs to holler at every 30 seconds to interrupt my serenity.  (Earth to Robin….time for re-entry…it’s still winter, the dogs aren’t going anywhere, and you didn’t wake up royalty.  Damn!  It was a nice fantasy while it lasted…)

We arrived about 9 expecting things would be zipping along and he’d be off on the bus and headed South in no time.  Like many things military it was hurry up and wait.  First, it was a very busy day at Harrisburg MEPS and as a result, pretty much standing room only.  It was hot inside…the end product of an over active heating system, lots of nervous bodies wearing or holding winter coats, collective nervous energy and a whole lot of hot air.    Then there were all the necessary processing steps.  The interviews, the fingerprinting, the contract signing, the travel briefing and you name it.  Don’t get me wrong, it is not that they weren’t efficient.  On the contrary, given the vast number of kids and paperwork and steps they were quite efficient.  It was just a pretty long, boring time.  Here’s a shot of the recruit applicant with his shipper tag (in case we forgot he was shipping there was a red S on his name tag for shipper? ) 

This was all pretty baffling for Mike.  He could not retain why we were there, why we were staying so long, and certainly why he had gotten up so early.  Fundamentally he understood what Cam was doing there, he just simply couldn’t retain the information.  When   they took the parents off to brief them about what would be happening with their kids over the next 96 hours, he just smiled wryly.  Almost a smirk, as if to say, yeah.  I know what that’s all about.  Been there done that.  When I asked, he clearly remembered going off to Great Lakes for his own boot camp and what went on in the first 96 hours. 

Mike had nicknames for everybody.  Justin was Roscoe, Cam was Jasper.  His first words to Justin that morning had been to greet him with “Morning Roscoe, how you doing?”  I was pretty surprised since he often can’t get the names straight, let alone the nicknames.  On this occasion he did.  When Cam would go to his briefings, Mike would ask where Jasper was or was going.  It was pretty amazing to him that Cam had chosen the Marines.  He thought Navy was the way to go but if Cam wanted Marines, go for it.   We joked that he would be Jasper Gyrene from then on.  I asked him if he was ready to go on into the office and try the Marines this time, I’d ask the Sergeant Major if we could quick get him signed up and shipped off to Paris Island too so he could keep an eye on the kid.  It made him smile, it filled some time and caught his attention for a bit, forestalling the demands to leave.  Overall, he did pretty well, though it became apparent when his point of exhaustion hit (and his blood sugar dropped).  Fortunately we didn’t have much longer to wait at that point.  

At about 11 enough kids had been processed to fill a room for swearing in.  Off we trooped, where we listened to the operations officer for the Harrisburg station try to put a bunch of scared kids minds at ease and offer them valuable military career advice, travel advice, boot camp survival advice.  Mike and Kristin were up a bit more on the side with a direct view of Cam.  I was a bit back , in the corner…not at my best in crowds I can tell you, I was rapidly becoming claustrophobic.  Finally the lieutenant ordered the kids to Attention.  I saw Mike straighten up and stiffen at attention.   As the kids were instructed in the swearing in process I noticed Mike paying attention.  When the guy told the kids to raise up their right hand and repeat after him, I saw Mike’s right hand go up as he swore the oath of enlistment with Cameron.  He struggled to try to use his voice, but definitely swore the enlistment oath.  Here’s Mike congratulating Cam afterwards…after which all of us but Cam trudged back out into the cold morning air (it had gone from a frigid 24 to a slightly less frigid 27 except in the shade where my on board external temp sensor told me it was 25.  UGH.)  and headed back home. 

So now our baby baby is off to be a man.  He was exhausted, and I know that he probably was not permitted to sleep last night.  Though it’s barbaric in my mind, I guess they want these kids tired and confused as possible initially so they can more easily facilitate a transition from civilian to military order.  I’d have been a lousy recruit.  Mike always told me in the military I’d have been in the brig.  Period.  Then kicked out.  I’d have been like, wait…you don’t speak to me that way and OH, by the way, I don’t take orders, I give them.  Fortunately, Cam was raised to be a bit more compliant and less resistant to direction.  He’s been preparing for this and he’s motivated, but scared.  He’s been pretty sheltered, really, though he is a tough kid.  He’s on his own for the first time.  Still, I am sure he will do fine.  Failure is not an option.  The Marine Corps won’t have to work too hard to instill that into him…I certainly have over 20 years as my dad ingrained it into me long before that. 

He made his obligatory call to Kristin last night about midnight.  ”Hello, this is Recruit Wehr.  I’ve arrived safely at Parris Island.  Please do not send me anything.  I will write to you in the next 7-10 days.  Goodbye for now.”  Something to that effect.  She said he sounded exhausted, confused, was struggling to read the card and as if he had a gun to his head while making the call.  Before she had time to say I love you or to cry (again) he had disconnected.  This morning she tells me she barely slept last night and when she did, had terrible nightmares.  I’ve pointed out he has a whole lineup of tough “mamas” to raise him up now, hard.  He is being well cared for, the property of the government and they care for their property well.  I’ve told her that she gave him wings, helped him to fly and now, having helped him to the point of independence and leaving the nest, she needs to let him spread those wings and try them out in the big wide world.  But even as I say it, I want to clip those wings just one more time myself and pull him back into the nest myself…safe, warm, protected.   I’m so proud of him, but it’s truly bittersweet.  Having 3 kids who have grown, gone off to college, into the real world, I can tell you.  It’s quite different this time.  I can’t quite say why.  Maybe because where he’s growing/going is the penultimate passage into manhood.  Because it’s so hard.  Because he will be bewildered for a period and I would like to shelter him from that.  Because he’s my baby baby.  But the wings are fully extended, the flying has begun…and I am going to start writing my daily letters to him so when I have an address they can go out en masse  …  and I’m calling Parris Island as soon as they open to try to book base housing for Mike and me for graduation weekend.  I can’t wait to see him next, in uniform, proud and tall, marching on that Parade Ground!   For now though, I think I’ll shed a couple (proud, sad) tears and have a cuppa tea, looking at his baby pictures and wondering where the time has gone.  OOH-RAH Cam!

Yes, of course, we have the nights (like two nights ago) when Mike is not sure we are at home and wonders when we are going home.  Finally, in the light of morning, he realizes we are home and rests.  I find these are nights when he has been overly tired…perhaps from not wearing his CPAP the night before.  And we have the occasional lapse of memory or timing…but overall, there are days when Mike’s memory seems quite reasonable for somebody with little memory…and he seems almost his old self.   His heart rate and blood pressure are still holding up in spite of being off powerful drugs for three weeks now, so my fingers remain crossed for the best.  The bedsore scar seems to have healed completely, there is no further breakdown and no complaints that it burns…so I think we’ve got it healed completely inside this time.  Truly.  Life’s good.  It’s all good. 

I woke Mike up this morning bright and early so we could go on a Robventure.  He’s accustomed to my spontaneous decisions to go off on this or that adventure…and seems not to have forgotten them.  Delighted to get out of the house, even a Robventure didn’t bother him much today.  We went down to West Chester to snag a couple of absolutely, drop dead, gorgeous Ethan Allen wing chairs. 

Do you think I have enough wing chairs already?  I do now.  These two are for me.  The “new” wing chair for Mike makes the style of the existing chair unsuitable for the room…and it cried out for another wing.  Well, that became a pair of wings…in a fabric so delicate and feminine without being cloying that I could not resist.  The room is so masculine, designed around men and boys and dogs that these were for my soul.  I spend a lot of time in this room now and I needed something soft for my eyes.  (And straight for my sciatica!).  Since I was once again shopping Craigslist and had specific requirements, I  figured it would take a while to find the right chair.  Bingo.  Fast.  There was a pair.  So off we went on my Robventure…Mike, Teddy (our very spoiled mini schnauzer) and me in the Edge.  I snagged the chairs indeed, shoehorned both in the back of the Edge, and lugged them inside myself.  I feared my son would tell me he was done moving furniture and they’d stay in the car…so I was determined to get them in the house before he got home.  I did.  they look lovely.  Teddy has declared the seat of one his own personal throne.  We’ll quell that little habit tomorrow. 

We talked at length on the way to West Chester about the Eat To Live diet, its radical approach, the rationale behind why I think Mike and I should both try it.  Mike understood…and surprisingly agreed to give it the old college try come Jan 2.  When I explained to our son what the new dietary plan is for his dad and me, he was sure Mike had not agreed.  He questioned him at length.  Dad, do you know what this means.  Dad, you’re not going to miss meat, cheese, pierogies, sour cream and sugar?  Dad you really agreed to do this?  Mike, hours after the initial conversation, said, “I’m in with this.”  Now we both know he’s not “into it”…he is doing it because he is less into another blockage/heart attack.  To me it is pretty marvelous he could comprehend the entire discussion today, the medical rationale, the inevitable outcomes of continuing to eat as he had been and then hang onto that information till this evening.  I expect by Jan 2 he’ll be asking, “Where’s the beef???”    

Since life has settled down considerably, I’ve found time to engage in some of my hobbies again.  Mike likes TV.  Specifically, Mike likes the Military Channel and anything about War.  Any war.  Military History.  I don’t.  But I do still need to be close by to him as he cannot be without supervision.  He’s pretty impulsive at times!  (well, I am too…but nobody sees the need to supervise me…maybe they should when I think about it !)    Anyway.  I digress.  The house has never been tidier.  I’ve grown truly bored with all that.  As hobbies go, housecleaning doesn’t even make my list.  Sewing does…and I’ve been doing a bit more of that while Mike sleeps in the morning, starting on quilts for next year’s Christmas gifts.  Genealogy is way up there at the top of the list.  I’ve been doing more of that and even started my Ancestry subscription again to see what new info is out there.

Surprisingly, there has been some new data.  I managed to turn up a descendant of my great grand aunt…a woman I’ve never met.  Yet I’ve researched the family so much and have located so many elderly cousins who knew these ancestors that I almost feel I know them.  In any case, I’m thrilled to have found another descendant who will be able to fill in some blanks relative to dates and burial locations and hopefully will be able to offer new insights into the people, their lives and maybe even photos, though those old photos are so hard to come by so I’m not all that hopeful there.  I’m just thrilled to have found more kin.  Small things thrill me…I tell you…I’m really a pretty simple girl!  

Read some interesting research today.  It seems that the brain learns best, or well, when it is surprised with new information.  Studies are likely to be undertaken to determine what portions of the brain are engaged differently during surprise than ordinary learning to see how and if this can help TBI and Stroke sufferers.   I guess it’s important to the scientists to understand the mechanics.  The mechanics don’t really interest me.  Just the outcomes, the results.  I’ve got to ponder this whole topic and read the article a couple more times to figure out strategies to use this surprise discovery to try to get Mike re-learning  some things.  I don’t figure it can hurt.  And if it helps, I’ll expand the trial.  But first I better figure out wha the trial will be.  Something else to do while the Military Channel drones on and on in my ear….

We’re doing well, really we are.   I won’t write again before the 1st…so here’s to wishing you all the Happiest of New Years, the safest of New Years Eves.  I also want to thank you all for caring for us all year…for holding us in your hearts, your thoughts and your prayers.  You’ve sustained me and kept me sane.  You all mean so much to me…

And here’s the naughty Teddy, curled up on my new wing chair…

The KING

When Mike was wished Merry Christmas and asked if he had a good Christmas Day, he responded, “Not yet”.  Kind of a shocking response since it was about 8 pm.  What the heck was it going to take to make a good Christmas Day?  As if he could read minds…and in answer to the WHAAAAT?  He said, “Not til January 7″. 

Mike’s family always celebrated Orthodox Christmas on Jan 7.  Only after he and I married did he celebrate 12/25…but we still celebrated Jan 7 and that was Christmas for Mike.  What intrigued me about his response is this.  He has no real short term memory…the same information, repeated over and over escapes him as quickly as a flower petal in the breeze.  He also is not oriented to date.  Sometimes not even to season.  Or Month, let alone day or date.  Certainly not to year.  I had told him in the morning it was Sunday, December 25, Christmas morning…but December 25, “pagan Christmas” as he used to torment me…not January 7, Orthodox Christmas.  At some point during the day he asked (remarked really) that it was Saturday?  No, I explained, Sunday, December 25.  Then hours later…bingo…he knows it is not Jan 7 yet, therefore he has not yet had a good Christmas.  Hmmm.  Makes me wonder how that brain works, what makes it tick, what is the secret to sorting it out???  Do I really need to sort it out…or is this new normal enough?  Seems sometimes, in this case, it might be time for me to forsake my usual requirement for there to be better, more, constant improvement…and simply be grateful for the now and enjoy it, every second, for as long as it lasts…which I hope is a good long while.

I was whining to myself about the (once again) hopelessly mired toilet and the fact that I don’t want to unclog it yet again.  I have told myself repeatedly it’s character building to do so.  And that I have had sufficient character building for a lifetime.  Yet, in a reflective mood, I pondered that for a moment.  And in that moment realized that if my character had been sufficiently built by the toilet unclogging experiences of the last few months, I would not be whining about it or reflecting on it…I would just do it and shut up about it already.  Thus began a contemplation of character.  In general.  And more specifically, mine.  I found some interesting information on the web…and in particular, this page which lists some reflections on the qualities of character.  http://character-training.com/blog/list-of-character-traits-or-qualities/  I plan to work on these qualities in 2012. 

As I reflected, I realized that one of my greatest fears is that something might happen to me…and then who would care for Mike?  The caregiver advisors always tell me I need to take care of me because if something happens to me, Mike can’t take care of me…so who will take care of me?  Shoot.  That has no effect on me…my mind is not wired thusly.  My biggest fear is nobody to care for Mike.  So I need to take care of me for that.  And I need to take care of him so he’s around a lot longer.  Having seen and felt firsthand what being a widow might feel like, I can tell you, I didn’t like it and I’m not ready for it!  So I’ve been researching and researching…something I do exceedingly well.  (Acting on it is not always my strong suit…but researching…now that’s the easy part!). 

Be that as it may.  My research tells me that heart disease, obesity, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes 2 are all the by-products of an indulgent and unhealthy diet.  I am convinced.  Thus, to start the new year fresh, I am planning to try to embrace the principles Dr. Joel Fuhrman has laid out in his Eat To Live book.   Since, whither I goest, Mike also goest, I reckon he’ll be trying to embrace it as well.  I don’t expect it to be easy.  Even in his current state he will ask…”But what meat are we having” when I do meatless dishes.  But meatless we will endeavor to be…or virtually meatless.  Not sure I can forsake all meat on all days.  Cheese will be another hard one for me.  But, like I stopped smoking 27 years ago…so too shall I embrace this.  (That would be like Sherman marching on Atlanta for the uninitiated…)  I expect my son will be a huge problem…and he will certainly comment on it to Mike and to me routinely.  Hopefully I can enlist his help and get him to keep his comments to himself at least.  Good thing he’s a chef…he can pick and prepare his own poison as it were.   As a Type 1 Diabetic and a very smart guy he should know better, but I am beyond trying to influence grown kids who own charting their own course in life at this point.   Dr. Fuhrman assures us of glowing good health, reduction in cholesterol, reduction of body fat, improved immune systems.  Groovy.  Let’s GO!  I’m IN!!  (oh Lord…what am I getting myself into NOW?)  I am also assured, the Vitamix will get a workout.  

To round out the plan for the new year, Mike and I will be doing some volunteer work at our local community food bank.  Not clear quite yet on what he can do…but I figure it’s good for us to get involved in the community a bit.  It will be good for both of us.

I don’t normally make resolutions.  I don’t view these as resolutions.  I’m making them goals.  And I am very goal oriented.  So let’s get on it with it already!  Wishing you and yours the Happiest of New Years!

Remember that I worked in IT for a  lot of years?  While not a programmer, I know a pretty fair amount of logical information about pc’s and IT apps and programming.  I had good people working for me who made sure I didn’t look like an idiot when I had to argue for something for them with other real IT managers.  You can’t help but actually learn something unless you are, truly, an idiot.  Apparently I did not learn DO NOT CLICK ON THINGS ON THE WEB REGARDLESS OF HOW LEGITIMATE THEY LOOK.  I clicked on a flash update popup while on the web and installed a rootkit trojan.  UGH.  I tried to clean it…and did…but it overwrites system drivers.  My pc no longer had a windshield or lights.  It did not drive well at all.  I put it back where it was.  Finally, I paid McAfee $90 to remove it.  Yes.  $90 on top of my annual subscription fee.  (Merry Christmas to hackers and to hackers good night!) The first McAfee rep removed some of it…not the root.  I kept telling her it was illogical to think it was clean if the stupid mcafee software is telling you it’s not.  She reassured me it was fine.  I decided she must know what she was talking about. (Apparently I didn’t learn yet not to believe everything somebody tells you just because they are supposed to know what they are talking about)  I used the pc 24 more hours.  Noticed it was still telling me that the trojan was detected and cleaned…every 5 seconds.  I called McAfee.  I waited an hour to get access to a rep.  This rep put me on hold  every three minutes to consult her senior technician for about 10 minutes at a clip.  My confidence in her ability to effect a change in my pc waned.  Finally, the web assist session timed out and disconnected on one of these checking with my senior tech sessions.  I called back.  Waited almost an hour again.  Got another gal who I told where to find the bug and who went and found the bug..but had to escalate to a senior technician to remove it.  The appointment for that would be two days away.  Yesterday was the day.  Sudir, the senior tech that called, was marvelous.  I am bug free.   The drivers are OK.  The pc is a pc again.  I am happy.  A lot of housework got done in two days of no surfing. 

To make it an even happier time, Mike is having no side effects so far from discontinuing the two BP/Heart Rate meds.  I have found somebody at the VA to initiate the paperwork for a catastrophic disability eval for Mike and have an appointment for it on Jan 25.  The VA has actually looked at Mike’s compensation claim…though they seem not to have read it…and they have asked for a heap of info they already have.  They have the claim all bolluxed up meanwhile.  Hopefully the VSO is sorting it out with them.  I have another email out to him to find out his level of success in trying to sort it out with them and what his strategy is to get it back on track.  SIGH.  With the wc plunged, my pc plunged, Mike’s affairs sorting themselves out and house cleaned, I reckon all is right with my world and Christmas can arrive. I’ll bake cookies for Orthodox Christmas.  I am not in the baking frame of mind this week.

With our daughter and grandsons off on their own (after 6 years!) Mikey is finally getting to move into the big (used to be master bedroom) upstairs.  It’s painted, it’s clean, new bedroom furniture is installed…he needs only to get a mattress after Christmas and he’s moved in.  He’s also been working on one of the small bedrooms that used to be our other daughter’s.  It had lovely, frilly, Louis Phillipe wallpaper in it.  Pink and baby blue hearts and paisley.  Lovely.  It had seen better days.  And Mikey wants to use it for his “entertainment room” which translates to man cave.  The paper needed to go.  We’ve been having a terrible time getting the wall paper paste off and noticed the dry wall underneath the window was spongey…like from water damage.  I had a dry wall guy out last evening for an estimate.  There’s enough little dry wall work he can do that will keep him busy.  He tells me the water damage is from the condensation/leak when the old central air condensate drip lines were plugged.  UGH.  He tells me to paint the room with oil based Kilz to quell the wallpaper paste.  He’ll skim coat if anything bubbles.  He’ll replace a piece of drywall in my hall ceiling, the damaged piece below the window and remove any mold/replace insulation that might be moldy or wet, put a 3/8 layer up over the existing ceiling because it’s kind of wavy from the nails backing out , repair the dimple from Mike’s head when he fell and spackle anything in the bedroom, hallway and stairwaythat needs it while he’s here.  He figures about $500.  I was prepared for much worse so I am happy about that estimate and told him he can start as soon as he can get me in the book after Jan 1.  Mike is pretty happy somebody else is doing this work besides him…but he hates the idea of actually paying for it to be done.  Oddly, his current state or level of ability to actually perform the work never enters his mind. 

We’ve fallen into some kind of new normal routine.  It’s very quiet in the house without the boys here.  Mike has rediscovered the military channel…his old favorite.  He does not love football anymore unless it is the Eagles and he is watching with his son.   He sits on his chair, I sit on mine…we watch the military channel.  Ad nauseum.  Did you guess that I am not a military history fan?  He recalls some things about history…it used to be a subject he could tell you the most minute details about.  He confuses dates, battles, places, eras now.  But he loves it.  Now the question is…will he begin to remember any of it and retain it.  So far, not really.  Maybe.  I’ll say a qualified maybe.  Too soon to tell.  Words/sentences are still a little difficult.  Except when he wants to insult or confront his son in their manly badgering/bantering way.  The other day he came up with a completely appropriate, grammatically correct, complex if unprintable  sentence in response to his son’s bantering.  And topped it off by telling me he wished he “could have an artistic drink”.  I asked him if he meant alcoholic?  Nope.  A couple of questions later it came out.  An artistic drink is one that consists of something other than water.  Juice.  Iced Tea…or better yet, an Arnie Palmer.  Soda.  Something like this.  Prior to his illness he would drink only water.  Too much sugar in the rest.  It seems he is in some state of young boyhood post brain injury.  And sometimes the grown up peeks out. Like when I told him this week his blood pressure and heart rate better be fine because he scared me enough for one year and he does not have permission to get sick and die any time soon.  He laughed his old laugh and told me in the most disgusted, bemused tone he could must that he wasn’t doing any dying.    So, we prepare for the New Year, filled with hope for health and happiness for Mike, for all of you…and look toward February, looming right around the corner when it will be one year since Mike’s heart attack.  I wonder if I can consider us out of the woods then?  That’s my Christmas and New Year’s wish…what’s yours?   Meanwhile, Merry Christmas to all of you that celebrate…I hope you’ll experience the joy and the peace of the season with loved ones. 

  Now I know this seems foreign to those of you who are Christmas tree and decoration lovers.  Truthfully.  I am too.  I am just not in love with doing the decorating.  I have such an aversion to it, I hired a lady to do it for me one year.  I was happiest about the decorating that year.  It looked like a magazine layout, didn’t cost all that much, and was soooo simple.  I made a lot of money that year.  It isn’t happening on pension, that I can tell you.  So if it’s to be, it’s up to me.  Maybe I’ll be putting it up today.  Maybe.   Then again, maybe I’ll find a nice quilt with a Christmas Tree I could hang up instead.  Or make one for next year with battery operated lights in it.  Hmmm. 

I’m also wanting to eat a few Christmas cookies.  Not many, mind you.  A few.  I got my sister-in-law to give me my mother-in-law’s Kiffles recipe.  They are the best I’ve ever eaten.  Truly light, they melt in your mouth.  I don’t even mind the walnut filled ones.  She was a great baker!  Mel also gave me the recipe for Pecan Tassies.  I love those things! My MIL called them nut tassies or just tassies and may have used walnuts which I detest about as much as Christmas decorating.  I like pecans well enough so I call them Pecan Tassies…and fill accordingly.  Mine were ok when I made them.  This year, armed with Anna’s recipe, I am sure I will be happier with them.  She had a secret ingredient.  One I’d never, ever have guessed.  And then something called “Kossack Kisses” which my other sister-in-law Mickey made.  Oh.  My fave.  Little round melt in your mouth balls with finely ground nuts.  Rolled in powedered sugar.  TO DIE FOR!  I think they are like what some call Russian Tea Cakes/Cookies or something.  Boy are they good!  Then the usual Tollhouse, Peanut Butter, Chocolate w peanut butter chips.  A batch a day of each ought not to kill me…and Mike can help.  We’ll finish them up Christmas Eve.  I remember last year.  I baked and baked.  Mike ate and ate them.  Then he ended up with a blocked coronary artery.  Hmmm.  Maybe I should just be lazy and skip the baking this year.  Or buy some at the bakery.  At the current price of nuts this year, it can’t be much more expensive than homemade. 

Well, all this ruminating over whether or not to decorate will certainly eliminate all possibility of it happening.  Guess I better get busy!

And now, moving on to a less distasteful topic, yesterday Mike, Mikey, his girlfriend and I headed to center city Philly to pick up Mike’s new wing chair.  I’ve never been to center city residential Philly.  It was neat.  City…but charming.  I quite liked it.  More than NYC to be sure.  I expect you need plenty of dough to reside in this area and I’m sure it has its downsides but charm abounds.  We got the chair without incident and headed on home.  Once again I missed the turnpike toll booth because I was so fearful of ending up heading to Jersey and who in the world wants to go to New damn Jersey???  Not me.  I kept to the left of the tollbooth thinking the Northeast Extension entrance…therefore toll booth…was thataway.  It was…partially.  The entrance was.  Not a booth to get the ticket.  I realized with dread I had gotten on the turnpike sans ticket.  The turnpike rules mean that when you don’t have a ticket you pay from the start of the pike.    We got off at Lansdale to rectify the situation and get back on.  The very, very kind tollbooth attendant listened to my plight and took my license, put it in the computer and told me as a one time courtesy he would charge me the $1.10 fare instead of the $25.95 he is supposed to charge me.  Mr. Tolltaker…Merry Christmas.  You are a true gentleman!  We headed up toward home from Lansdale the back…picturesque…way so we could come into Quakertown and Mikey could stop at his all time favorite, Yum Yum donuts.  He and Mike always loved that place.  Not me.  I don’t much eat donuts since there is no Behringer’s Donuts in town any more.  Finally we got home, installed the chair and Mike in it.  What a blessing.  He sits up straight, it doesn’t hurt his butt and he can get in and out of it easily and without aid or losing his balance.  It’s a winner!  When Kristin visited last evening with the boys she told him it was a stately chair for a stately guy.  He blushed and giggled like a young boy. 

As we sat quietly, watching TV after Kristin and the boys left we unwound from the day and Mike gave me my Christmas gift.  The best Christmas gift ever.  The house was peaceful and quiet.  I was on the computer…as usual…and out of the corner of my eye I caught some movement.  Mike was looking at me and waving shyly.  I asked what was up.  He told me he was just looking at me.  Do you need something I wondered?  No.  He said “I am watching you because you are me.”  I’m you, I asked?   “You’re a part of me and I like looking at you.”  Yeah Mike, you’re a part of me too.  And suddenly all thoughts of turd chasing left me as I pondered how much I love this guy and how much he truly loves me…and how I treasure this time we have together.  All the icky stuff and bothersome stuff was kind of put into perspective.

In the morning it started with Mike informing me he “didn’t want to do a damn thing today.”  I pointed out he was getting picked up at 2:00 for his usual constitutional and he seemed puzzled and asked who was coming.  Playfully…and always looking to stimulate memory…I asked who normally came to pick him up to walk.  He didn’t know.  I reminded him his sister was coming as she usually does to go walking with him.  He still seemed perplexed and asked who.   I asked his sister’s name.  Michelene.  Well, yeah honey, but Micheline died in 1986.  “No she didn’t,”  he told me.   Well, yeah…but you have another sister who takes you walking.  Who is that sister?  (By now I was getting a little alarmed.  This was a big memory slip since he had accepted and recalled Mickey’s death again months ago and always, ALWAYS, recognizes and remembers his sister Melanie’s name.)   Still perplexed he said he didn’t know.  Who comes to take you walking and to do math and reading and walnut shelling and helping at church?  Which sister is that?  Kristin.  UH.  No honey.  Kristin is our daughter.  I figured before he got frustrated I’d help.  Don’t you have a sister Melanie?  Melanie.  Oh yeah.  Melanie.  Then an argument about how she doesn’t come to walk him and Kristin is not our daughter.  Sheesh.  He still didn’t want to do anything today but wanted to know when she was coming. 

I watched the Giffords webcast while waiting for the appointed time.  Mike watched TV.  There are a few movies he always gravitates toward.  Vietnam era war movies.  We’ve TIVO’d them for him.  Full Metal Jacket is the current top of the list fave.  (Platoon falls closely behind, the Seige of Firebase Gloria, Apocalypse Now….then Rambo and Rocky are also able to hold his attention.  All that testosterone and aggression.  Geez.)   He got hungry during the telecast again.  His appetite is increasing with the meds withdrawn and he is looking for food every 3 hours…ravenously hungry.  His typical demand is “Feed me.”    I had headphones in so I could hear the webcast and Mike’s demands were apparently not being heard since he whispers.  Pretty soon I heard a raspy “HEY!  HEY!” through the headphones.  Looking up, I heard “I’m hungry.”  I took out a headphone and walked him through the steps of finding a calzone in the freezer, getting a plate, working the microwave, getting juice and ice and taking care of his lunch.  Though it is far quicker for me to do, I try to keep him independent and stimulate his mind to follow directions, remember where things are found in the house…meet his own needs.  Thus he tells me I don’t take care of him…he takes care of himself.  OK Mike.  Whatever.  He ate and off he went on his walk. 

He was grumpy when he came home.  Just kind of contentious like a bored kid gets.  In exasperation I told him he was being a big shit.  How do you spell shit Mike, as in YOU ARE BEING A BIG TURD THIS AFTERNOON MIKE????  (I was thinking M-I-K-E).  Mike responded as follows.  R-O-B-I-N.   This was vintage Mike.  I’d never have dreamed it up…it is a playful game he used to play before he was sick.  Was it a flash of memory returning?  His wit returning?  His personality poking back through?  Who knows.  We got a big giggle out of it.  Mikey came home from work and they were playful in their father/son poking fun at each other.  Mike asked where x and y were.  These were some weird, off the wall words, names which we never heard of and that made no sense.  He finally said they were our other two dogs.  Try though we might to convince him we never had dogs by such names…and count them, all of our dogs are here, he was not a believer.  He finally shook his head in disgust and let it drop.   

Rambo was on and Mikey turned it on for Mike.  I was truly ready for bed but it was 8 and Rambo superseded any normal tired tendencies Mike had.  When I asked if it was bedtime he said no, he was watching Rambo…but when Rambo was over and I was in the middle of something and he was ready for bed it was now an emergency to drop everything and go.  Uh…hold your horses buster.  And he did.  But when we got to bed it was a new argument about not wearing his CPAP. 

On it went…off it came.  He took it off setting it aside and informing me it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to be doing and anyway he didn’t need it.  I asked what he thought it was supposed to be doing.  Of course he didn’t know…the question was probably far too abstract for him to connect to.  I explained he had sleep apnea and the cardiologist wanted him to wear it every single night because doing without it is very, very hard on his heart and we didn’t want sleep apnea to be the cause of another heart attack.  Don’t worry, he told me, I am not having any heart attack.  Right.  Well Mike, that’s what you told me last year and then you went and had a big old heart attack and nearly died on me and believe you me, on my watch, you do not have permission to have a heart attack and die any time soon mister. 

Mike looked stunned.  He did not have a heart attack, he argued.  I went over the facts with him…mystified since he has been well aware he had a heart attack and a cardiac arrest.  We had gone over it and over it in speech therapy.  And with the neuropsychologist.  He said he remembered being in the hospital for a week.  I told him it was 97 days.  He looked stunned.  He asked how much all that cost.  I told him what the billings were.  He wanted to know who paid that.  I said the insurance.  He looked angry…and told me he was.  I asked why.  Because of all that money.  Why, I asked, we didn’t pay anything but a couple thousand in outpatient copays.  Well then why was I bringing it up he wondered?  Still, he persisted, he didn’t have a heart attack and he hadn’t been ill.  There was nothing wrong with him.  I asked how he thought he had gotten into this state and he wondered what state I was talking about.  The one where you have no memory Mike.  He laughed at that…but truly argued he had not been ill.  Mikey had to come down, concur, then ask really, what is the point, what difference does it make?  You need to wear the mask, you’ve been wearing it for 20 years, you’re not stopping now so put it on before I put it on you.  They laughed again.  He put it on.  At some point during the night it came off again and I put it back on.  But off to sleep he had gone.  He was restless…it took a while…but he slipped off.  He had a very restless night, finally falling off soundly to sleep about 3. 

Something was touching my face, my eyes, my hair…feeling it like a blind person feels the face of a new person they meet.  I woke up fully.  It was Mike.  I asked if everything was ok.  Yes, he told me, he was checking to see if I was OK.  He had a dream.  He was a DCA (and I could never figure out what that was nor could he describe it) and the government was chasing us trying to kill us.  But he saved me because I was still alive.    This is the second time he had this type of dream since he is home from the hospital.  The first was much more nebulous, much less detailed.  He could only tell me people were chasing us.  Those people.  This time he could articulate government.  Once he established that I was fine, he fell soundly asleep.  I think I’ll give him some time off today.  And limit his TV watching to the Hallmark and Family Channels with me! I know I surely cannot figure out what goes on in his brain…but wish I could simply get inside his brain and take the plugs and get them into the correct outlets and make the necessary connections to get him firing on all pistons.  This must be so frustrating for him….it is for me and I don’t have to live inside that brain.  Trying to navigate inside all that confusion must be very, very hard. 

In another strange twist of how my life turns…our current furniture causes Mike to sit kind of slouched, putting pressure on the old tailbone wound and making him uncomfortable…ultimately risking opening the wound again.  I tried him on wing chairs out at Ethan Allen and found one that fits him well…unfortunately I want leather for those accidents…and they don’t have a light blue or Wedgwood blue leather which is what would be best to replace the existing light blue chair.  I’ve been watching Craigslist.  A beautiful…almost brand new condition…Pennsylvania House blue leather wing is available.  Great price.  Meets the needs.  I wrote the seller, made arrangements to see.  Because it is Craigslist, I worry when I go out on these adventures who I am going to see, meet, encounter.  While the ad looked quite upscale…am I off to meet Jack the Ripper with my impaired husband leaving both of us at risk?  The return email address had a name…I googled it as I normally do to see what I could see.  Like is it a real person?  Bingo.  This person is.  A professor at Thomas Jefferson.  In the Health Professions school OT division.  Where they ALSO have a center that specializes in independent living techniques and education for the aging/dementia population and their caregivers.  There’s a ton of resources and educational information for caregivers of that population…plus services they provide where appropriate…that seem like they could readily transfer over to the brain injury caregiver community.  So, though I have not had time yet to check out all the links and information, FWIW, here’s a link to the educational/resources section of the website.  Hope it helps some of you!  http://www.jefferson.edu/carah/elder_care/caregiver_materials.cfm

I had looked forward to the event in hopes of learning something fabulous and new relative to cognitive rehabilitation therapy…which was addressed by the brain injury association spokesperson and her response was a far cry from the kind of information I had hoped for.  There was a vet there who suffered a TBI in Iraq and who is now a student at Univ of Arizona.  I felt like he had been trotted out like a poster child of what was possible…when I thought they might more readily have trotted out as a poster child what is typical.  If a poster child was even necessary.  Which it wasn’t.  In a word, I found the whole thing to be underwhelming.  Disappointing. 

I am not sure what I expected.  The information disseminated was pretty high level…and seemed geared toward awareness.  It also seemed geared toward highlighting the VA Polytrauma program…which, if you are a TBI sufferer from the Middle East needs no advertisement…the DOD health system pushes you through that when treatment is appropriate.  If you are a vet or serviceman who is not in the former class…say a vet who suffers cardiac arrest and an anoxic injury that results from your ischemic heart disease related to AO exposure, you are not so lucky.  While the VA MIGHT treat you if your Service Connection is granted while you are still alive OR if your income is low enough to meet their criteria to be eligible for health care, it WON’T be via the Polytrauma system.  Which is apparently where the leading edge brain injury treatment is. 

It seemed to me that the people who were listening on the web were people who suffered injuries and who are all too painfully aware of the information that was disseminated.  As for the Q/A.  The media gal from DC who was managing the forum for Gifford’s office seemed to be deeply in love with twitter and therefore the questions that came from Twitter.  ( have now dubbed her THE TWIT. She is quite young.  )  There were a couple twitter questions, one email question, two audience questions (both of which I am glad were put forth and answered because that poor family was in need of resources and advocacy!!!  I wanted to volunteer my services to them and if they were on the East Coast think I would have!)   None of my questions were put forth…but I only expected maybe one of them would be.  The others, I was sure, would be far too ”controversial” for the venue.  After listening to the webinar, I realize the problem with them was that they were my usual hard questions.  Deep.  Pot stirring questions.  Not fluffy at all.    Yeah.  I don’t expect answers…they won’t really want to touch them. 

Ultimately,  it seemed to me that there was some back patting going on…either in their efforts to engage the VA within the Giffords congressional district, or their advocacy of TBI care at the Congressional level.  I suppose some effort is better than none…but this one fell short of even some effort from my perspective.  It was fluffy.  That’s the best thing I can say.  Fluffy.  Nice enough…but merely fluff.  I reflected on it afterwards, thinking…yeah…annnnd?  Now what?  I did hear, again, that music therapy is extremely useful in regaining ground where there is language deficit.   Since Highmark won’t cover further speech therapy, cognitive therapy at all, and was unwilling to authorize rehab in the first place, I guess I know what they’ll say if I ask them to approve music therapy for Mike.  Maybe I can refer them to the panelists on the webinar today.   Think it’ll help?  

I liken today’s webinar to how books/magazines/newspapers today are written for the average reading level.  Which is about 8th grade.  I think I have researched so much on my own there is not really much news left for me to glean from forums such as this.  Sign me “Jaded” and take this post with a grain of salt.   I am sure others felt it was a very helpful forum…I found it lacking in depth and ultimately not very useful.  I DO wish I could have Mike treated at a Polytrauma Network Site…and I would choose Southern Arizona’s if I could!  The weather is better there than here….and the panelists from the staff were definitely sharp!

I will say, however, that the pills seem to have had a sedative kind of effect on him.  Much more of his personality is coming back out since he is off them.  He is more awake.  More alert.  Shows more initiative.  All this is good.  However, the feisty side of him has also come out again and he is far less malleable.  Hmmm.  The coming days could get interesting!  He seems more capable of higher order thinking yet again.  This morning when I said I love you he seemed sad.  I inquired and he told me yes, it made him sad.  When I asked why, he told me “because I don’t know where we go from there.”  That was a little perplexing.  I tried to clarify.   It seems he equates me loving him, him loving me, with going and doing good things together…like dinner, movies, trips etc.  In truth, we’ve been way too focused on therapies and the like so we have not done much as a couple.  Guess with the holidays and thereafter we need to remedy that! 

Highmark has denied further speech therapy…seems they think that there is no evidence that continued formal therapy will achieve additional benefit.  There’s no evidence it won’t…but they err in favor of their bottom line.   It’s frankly too much to argue at this point so I’ve chosen not to appeal.  We went to Wilkes Barre for some speech therapy with the VA, and I saw promising changes after those sessions, however further sessions are on hold…I don’t want to be 2 hours away if a serious cardiac problem rears its ugly head.  Better we should be close to home and our regular docs if something goes wrong.  Then, next year, we won’t qualify for VA health care at all from an income perspective.  The SSDI income will push us just above the income requirements.  I’ve been trying to get him evaluated for catastrophic disability but though I have tried no less than 10 people in the VA health care system nobody has been able to tell me how to get this eval initiated.  Catastrophic status would give him access to health care…which would give us access to cognitive and speech therapy.  I don’t need the rest of the health care.  Just the therapy.  I am pretty sure he qualify for catastrophic status.  I guess now the Monday call is going to need to be to the Medical Director and Wilkes Barre.  The Federal rules say he/she is the person responsible for the process.  Maybe they can ferret out who in their organization is responsible to help me initiate the paperwork since none of their organization seems to know they are responsible.  If that doesn’t work I don’t know what the heck will.  Will it take a call to my Congressman’s office?  Surely that shouldn’t be what it takes…!     

Meanwhile, Mike’s sister Mel has her own versions of therapy in place for Mike.  She is a Godsend and totally dedicated to getting him through this.  Mel taught elementary school…and well…and Mike gets pencil and paper work.  Math, spelling, reading comprehension etc.  She takes him to the church with her to do her reports to give him routine things to help with…clean up the pews, collate and staple her reports, simple, repetitive things.  She also takes him walking several times a week.  They do 2 or slightly more miles.  Today she had me bundle him up like a tick ready to pop.  Mr. Feisty was resistant…and I informed him “Mel said so”.  He informed me he didn’t care what Mel said.  Yeah?  Well YOU tell her that buster…I am not about too.   When she gets here he is eating out of her hand.  You go Mel!  She has much to do with his progress and I am very grateful for her efforts. 

They’re out walking now…and the vacuum cleaner awaits.  The mountain of dust and dog hair beckoning to me.  Till next time…take care of yourselves!