Sylvia's Journal

All of yesterday morning was devoted to bodywork. This is possible because all is quiet in Kabul, the weekend of Eid is upon us and people are getting ready to feast, so very little email activity from that end.

I started with PT, getting a few more exercises as I am entering stage II post-op according to the doctor’s protocol. I declined the icepack at the end and headed straight for Abi’s massage place for a last and wonderful massage. While she continued with Axel I had my nails done by a tiny Vietnamese girl. I arrive in the midst of a wedding prep party with young blond girls debating the colors that would go best with their wedding party outfits. It made me think of the girl at Yale, murdered days before her wedding party by a deranged lab technician and all the things that did not and will not happen as a result. So very sad.

With most of the body work done, one last PT appointment on the day of my departure, I will be limber and spiffy when I arrive in Kabul, with my shiny dark red toes, short hair and no visible signs of a recent rotator cuff operation.

After his massage, Axel joined me for a lobster sandwich lunch at Panera (as advertised) and from there we drove to a community that is built for mature persons with money, just behind Wal-Mart to say goodbye to our neighbor Jacqui. The place is like a forest of large buildings that have been sprouting up, one after another, for the last few years, catching the front end of the baby boomers. The complex houses thousands of them;  people who are tired of mowing grass, shoveling show and the risks of walking out one’s front door.

Our neighbor Jacqui is one of those and has happily exchanged her beautiful but large house at the end of Lobster Cove for a small apartment at this retirement village. She told us about the possibility of walking for miles around the place, from one building into the next, without ever getting outdoors. For her that was a good thing. It makes us hope we are not going to get old for a long time, wanting such things is very scary.

While we walked back to our car I wondered why we put people of the same age together like that, all in one place. Why not sprinkle a few day care centers across the buildings and impeccably groomed lawns? The very young and the elderly, usually only mentioned together when we talk about the flu or other infectious diseases, ought to be living together. They would be able to give each other what they want most of all: attention. It would also make the place a little more lively; children’s voices and the pitter patter of small feet in a place where people speak softly and shuffle; what a concept. I see a business opportunity there.

The rest of the day was filled with a flurry of activities, checking things off multiple lists and following the finishing touches of the carpenter in our living room. He had to be a bit more precise than I was (slower is faster), so that he did not have to come back on Monday and we could move things back into the living room and invite our dinner guests to enjoy the new living room. When the first guest arrived, he was just cleaning up; we had about 30 minutes to get the place ready. We succeeded and the living room, except for pictures on the wall, is finally done, about 10 months behind schedule and just in time for my departure. We had a lovely evening sitting around the table and eating the goodies that all the guests had brought in and then, when it was parting time, we pretended that nothing is going to change.

The suitcases are more or less packed, the goodbyes to colleagues and friends in the Cambridge area said, the locker with the smelly rowing clothes, not used for a year, cleaned out and its contents washed, the paperwork for our continued retirement savings completed, the old computer returned and wiped clean and the final to dos put down on paper. I am indeed in the final stretch of my long transition period.

Psychologically my final day of work yesterday at MSH/Cambridge was more like a field visit to headquarters. I no longer have an extension number – my computer and cell phone constituted my virtual working space.  I had plenty of times to chat and visit with colleagues I am not going to see for awhile.

At the end of the day I was tricked into a ‘surprise’ sendoff party that was not really a surprise because Nina had already spilled the beans early in the morning and Alison spilled them again at noontime. Also, I am not stupid, and had correctly interpreted what the 4 o’clock ‘meeting’ scheduled for me was all about. I have attended too many of those sending other colleagues off.

I was touched by the kind words of colleagues that accompanied the send-off, especially those of younger colleagues whose public health careers at MSH, so they tell me, have been positively affected by things I did and said.  I have also been positively affected by them as my transition, work wise, was so much smoother because of them. They, the thirtysomethings, are now pretty much running the place and they do it well. It felt entirely natural for me to move to another place where there are fortyandfiftysomethings who could use some help.

At the end of the day, after making one last sweep through the office for some final hugs I picked Maria Pia up at Central square to visit Said at Mass General. She had not told him I was coming. I caught a surprised Wafa who surfaced from behind a curtain where Said was being catherisized or cleaned or what not by medical staff at the pediatric floor of MGH.

Wafa and I waited outside his room by the elevators watching the evening fall over Boston. We mostly talked in mime as his English is about the level of my Dari. I had forgotten my verbs again, the days of the week and other things I was able to say a couple of months ago. It was frustrating not being able to have a conversation with him as there is so much I had wanted to ask him. All I could repeat, over and over, was ‘Boston khub?’ and ‘Shoma khosh?” (Boston good? You happy?).  My next priority is clear: language lessons. A teacher is lined up and waiting for me in Kabul.

This morning, now doing my exercises in the dark, I achieved the hoped for 180 degree stretch with my arms over my head when I touched the ground with both hands holding a stick; not bad, six and a half weeks post-op. I have decided that I will not travel with my bulky sling. Between the anti-inflammatory pills, the cortisone shot and my shoulder’s range of motion I feel as good as new.

Last time getting up at 4:30 AM, now dark again, to make sure I can leave for work at 6 AM. This one and a half hour used to be plenty for my morning routine, including the half an hour or so of writing, but now I am pushing it with about one half hour of exercises are added to the drill.

The car is loaded with book bags, duffel bags and other stuff I cannot fit in my suitcases. It’s what I think I can live without for awhile. I checked the weather in Kabul, which is now programmed into my iPod-Touch, right alongside Manchester by the sea, Amsterdam and Dubai – significant places for me these days. Surprisingly, at around 8 PM the temperature (55F), the direction of the wind (NNE) and the number of knots (3) was more or less the same for Manchester and for Kabul. I took a jacket out of the duffel bag and squeezed it back in the suitcase.

The pace is picking up for both of us, Axel’s to-do list, a paper one, looks overwhelming; mine is less so as the big stuff has already been taken off and only smaller things remain, mostly in my head. The trip to the office today pushed several items to the top, among them all sorts of manipulations and forms related to my pension plan that MSH has just changed.

Part of my own preparation required a consultation with a financial specialist to make sure I don’t make any unwise moves with the money I have saved so far for our retirement. Getting the finances right is something that we learned a bit late in life and we swore we would not let our kids make the same mistakes that turn out to be quite costly when you look back later in life. We bought Tessa and Steve a two hour consultation to make sure they get off to a good start with the little money they have now. Sita and Jim get to do the same, an early wedding present.

My hairdresser Bonnie gave me a haircut that is the shortest ever. I think she doesn’t want me to go to another hairdresser in Kabul and by clipping my hairs back to about a half inch, she may indeed succeed; I won’t need a hairdresser for months. We made an appointment for December 23 when she can do it again.

She informed me of the latest developments in her nasty divorce and abuse case and it occurred to me that the only thing we have in common is the power of a community of friends that rallies around one during difficult times; without that, she thinks, she would have died. I can relate to that. But in any other aspect she and I are on opposite ends: self confidence, self sufficiency, family relations, housing situation, money in the bank, job security, technology and administrative savvy. 

I have my mother to thank me for much of that – she was a feminist in a quiet way and taught me that I should be able to take care of myself and the business of running a family/household in all its aspects (financial, administrative, insurance, taxes, maintenance, etc.). She also taught me that a strict division of woman’s work and man’s work in the household has never hurt a man and always hurts a woman when things go off the rails. She saw it around her and I still see it, Bonnie being the latest case in point.

All through my dreams I was looking for my missing files. Surprisingly I kept finding them, yet I never acted on that knowledge. Now that I am awake again, I can’t remember how to get there. So they remain missing.

My itinerary is now hanging on the kitchen window, next to the phone, where all my itineraries have always been posted so the members of my household know when I am going and when I am coming back. This time the return date is July 17, 2010. This date is somewhat arbitrary but it does get the message across that I am packing for a long absence rather than the usual 10 days or 2 weeks. That kind of packing was easy – I have packing lists and things ready to toss in my suitcase or even in my carry-on. This kind of packing, for the long haul, is an entirely different story.

I have sorted things in piles: need right away, can wait. The ‘can wait’ bags and boxes are going to MSH where they will wait until a traveler to Kabul is willing to take some stuff along. The rest will have to fit in the two suitcases that are spread open on the bed.

An alarm went off on my computer to remind me that tomorrow is my last day in the Cambridge office of MSH – as if I might forget. This is a last chance for some of the to-dos that require my presence there. It includes a trip to the boat club across the street to empty my locker. I will also ask our IT people to try one final attempt at locating the missing files and while they do that I will say my goodbyes to colleagues who are unlikely to travel to Kabul in the foreseeable future.

Yesterday I had my last follow up with the shoulder doctor who gave me the thumbs up; I am good to go. His assistant also gave me a cortisone shot and a prescription for some strong anti-inflammatory pills for the other, the ‘good’ shoulder that has been increasingly painful. Hopefully the effect of this shot and the pills will see me through the next few months and especially the two days of travel.

I woke up from having just resolved a word riddle that started with the words, ‘a notoriously famous cab…’ I was pleased with my accomplishment – seeing something hidden and yet so obvious in a jumble of meaningless words. I was about to hand in my solution to a gentleman who would determine whether I had succeeded when I woke up. Now, I will never know.

The puzzle in the dream was a continuation of a computer puzzle: files I had made to disappear from my computer screen. I did not delete them but can’t find them, and with that I undid hours of work. I went to bed still searching in my mind where I could have dragged them to. It has something to do with profiles and I hope that our IT Mamadou will help me retrieve them today. The alternative is redoing much of what I did last week which creates a slight bout of panic.

Yesterday was my first day without a sling. I felt both liberated and a bit anxious and new aches and pains have appeared. The latter may come from the new PT exercises that were added at the end of yesterday’s session. They are a bit more stretching than the original set. 

After PT I went to see the hand doctor. Axel accompanied me to the doctor so he can ask questions I forget; we have discovered that 4 ears and 2 brains are always better when dealing with doctors. The doctor confirmed carpal tunnel syndrome in my left hand/wrist. He offered to slot me in and operate, if I really wanted to, tomorrow. I must admit I considered it but then realized that with two recovering arms there was no way I could carry anything on my long trip to Kabul, so I declined and, in my mind, penciled in a date just before Christmas.

We then drove to Cambridge to attend a presentation by Razia Jan, the Duxbury Rotarian and tailor who we met in Kabul as well as Ghia, the arch-connector who we had only met by email and who has introduced us to all sorts of interesting people in Kabul, Razia Jan one of them. As she had a habit of doing, Razia Jan inspired everyone with her stories about the carpet makers in Bamyian and the girls school outside Kabul.

On our way back to Manchester we were intercepted by Rachel, a breathless ball of energy, a polo player, ex body builder, personal trainer, Rotarian, community organizer, feminist and peacenik as she calls herself. We met at Beverly’s Atomic Café where she rattled off name after name of women activists and others who know that educating women is one of the best development interventions known to mankind. We got more names, websites and contacts that will further embed us in Afghanistan and keep me grounded in what really happens (or does not happen) outside the government-to-government assistance that I will be part of.

Tessa cooked for us as I started to redo the haphazard packing followed by the file disappearing trick that made me dream about puzzles.

Today the countdown will really start as there is only one week to go. People ask if I am ready. No, I am not. Part of the getting ready is saying my/our goodbyes. We had a few of those this weekend.

Alison’s goodbye was hardly a goodbye, more a comparison of note cards about transitions. But the visit to Uncle Charles, who is just 7 week s shy of turning one hundred years, was more of a goodbye.

We took him to his favorite lunch place, down the road, Lindsey’s family restaurant. It serves traditional New England fare, much of it deep fried, to people who shouldn’t be eating such foot; that their arteries are clogged is visible from a distant to the non-trained eye.  Charles, a regular at the place, had his usual dish; he doesn’t even check out the menu: fried scallops and a cup of coffee. Sometimes the restaurant doesn’t even charge him.

Lunch with Charles is always wonderful; unlike conversations with other people of a certain age Charles never repeats himself, only when you ask him. He has at least 95 years worth of stories and we can never exhaust the reservoir in our few visits. We hope that we can pick up where we left off a year or so from now. When we drove away, watching him wave to us in front of his trailer, we both had to swallow hard. Although he was in great shape and has the Wilson’s longevity genes, a goodbye at that age maybe more of a farewell. I invited him to come visit us in Kabul. “My plane is warming up,” he quipped.

From there we drove straight to Ipswich where another goodbye was organized by Edith and Hugh for our Ipswich and Newburyport friends. Edith reads my blog first thing in the morning and I better get this part of the story in before I am heading out to the physical therapist, the hand doctor and MSH where I hope to see Razia Jan and the person who introduced us to her, Ghia.

Edith and Hugh have half a share of a fish CSA (a CSF?), an experiment that is going on simultaneously in Newburyport, Ipswich and Gloucester. They served us this week’s bounty on the grill, a delicious haddock surrounded by agricultural bounty from Essex  County. At the end of the gathering there were more hugs and more goodbyes (of the ‘see-you-later variety), and reminders that, at our age, one year is nothing. Everyone agreed.

My workday yesterday was punctuated by wonderful distractions, starting with an early rise that led me into my Outlook task box. I am chipping away at both tasks and email and discovered a great way to get rid of more than a hundred messages: I asked my Gmail account to download from my MSH account and something went wrong and suddenly my MSH inbox was empty. No one yelled at me. I think I am going to try this again when there are too many MSH emails.

The next piece of work was my visit to the physical therapist who measured my right arm’s movement. At one point she moved it too far and my entire body sized up producing some dismal measurements. Later, when she observed me doing the over-the-head-with-a-stick exercise she noted a 40% discrepancy with her measurement and corrected it upward. Of the 180% I need to reach I am already at 150%, with no pain. I feel very ready to abandon the sling.

After a brief interruption of MSH work, including a call from my colleagues in Kabul, I headed out to see Abigail for my weekly massage. She tries to massage away the mess in my upper back. I was in heaven for a full hour, feeling limber and slippery from all the oil. This weekend Abi is starting a course to become an Ayurvedic practitioner; she already uses the most wonderful oils with exotic Hindi names.

The combination of sling and sitting a few more hours in front of a computer did undo much of the massage’s effects but then there was another distraction that had been planned months ago.

Armed with warm clothes, yellow rain slickers and rain pants we walked around Smith Point to join Sallie Craig, Douglas and their two friends Danny and Parker for a sail out of Manchester Harbor. The Hubers had won the sail in an auction for the Esperanza Academyl in Lawrence last year.

The weatherman had predicted storm and rain but it was the only time we could all get together and so, unfazed, we congregated at one of the more stunning houses on Manchester’s inner harbor. Douglas had quoted Axel’s most favorite saying: “there is no such thing as bad weather, only in appropriate clothing.” Hence the slickers and sweaters.

For an hour or so we beat the prediction of 70% chance of showers as we sailed fast over enormous swells with Douglas steering an obstacle course between lobster pots. After that the rains came and we all changed into our gear. Photographically this made us a much more interesting bunch because of the bright colors.

Our host Dave, who, we think, had not expected this prize would ever to be cashed in, and certainly not with yesterday’s weather predictions, served us wine, shrimp, cheese and other goodies that he handed us from below deck while we swayed back and forth with the waves. He was a gracious host and let total strangers sail his 43 foot yacht, occasionally nudging them this way or that. He embodied what, in my mind, good coaching and mentoring is all about; something about keeping an eye on the big picture combined with a good dose of trust and the joy of seeing others do well.

We arrived back at the dock just when the light started to fade. Wet and cold we were greeted by mosquitoes that must have learned that the dock is a good place to wait for food. For our own sustenance we proposed dinner at our house with the very appealing attraction of a roaring fire in the new fireplace; it was instantly accepted.  We cobbled together a dinner and toasted to our new friendship and a wonderful sail, then sat in front of the fire and discussed the state of the world.

It wasn’t until everyone had left and we considered going to bed that the phone rang with Kabul on the line. I had entirely forgotten that I wasn’t done with the workday and that there was one more meeting, with my Kabul colleagues. The call lasted until after midnight.  And now off to our next adventure: a wet and wonderful weekend on the Cape with Alison and another goodbye.

Between migrating to my new computer and talking with folks in Afghanistan on the phone, most of my day was spoken for. Much of my mental energy these days goes into ‘anticipating.’ Trying to image what I need to have taken care of, fixed, understand, settle or get within the next 10 days. It’s exhausting, all this anticipating. Luckily I am fairly good at it. I am from the school that tries to always have at least a plan B and C on the table. But this does make the anticipating more complex.

I received the sad news, via facebook (where life truly happens in front of your eyes) that my friend Carol lost her 29 year old Ashby in a car accident. I Googled his name, all the social networks showed up – he was a very social creature. In between I found a report from the Nevada State Troopers that a young man named Ashby had rolled over in his car and that he was, despite his seatbelt, killed on impact. As the report said, no way anyone could have survived on the driver’s side of the car. His passenger apparently did survive and was released from the hospital shortly after.

I first met Ashby when he was 11, in Bamako. Hardly sticking above the dashboard of his mother’s old clunky station wagon Peugeot, he drove us along the Niger River to a lovely island where we spent the night, surrounded by snorting hippos. I was rather taken aback that I was being chauffeured by an 11 year old but he was good, albeit a little too fast for my liking.

Carol and her family are of the type of people whose lives are intense, sometimes dangerous and never dull. As a result they have had more than their share of sorrows and scares that went along with the high peaks that you see when people live their life to the fullest. This is the abyss that comes after the peak. I can’t even begin to imagine.

My network of contacts in Afghanistan or with people who are here and have connections continues to grow. Word is spreading that I have entered the Afghan ecosystem. I received a call from Rachel from Groveland, a friend of a friend. She rattled off a list of names of amazing Afghan women she knows, hosts, or has worked with. They are all, in one way or another, involved in changing the lot of their sisters. I am entering this web of connections that is expanding at dazzling speed yet I know I am barely scratching the surface. Maybe it is because of this that I am hopeful about my sojourn in Afghanistan.

Most of the bad stuff we hear or read about involves men as agents and women as victims; but what I am discovering is a whole other universe in which women are the agents and, as far as I can see, no one a victim. The work is done by extraordinary women, quietly and only noticed by people who are inside this intricate web of relationships. I hope that Axel can contribute during his time over there to bringing some of this to the surface of the American consciousness.