Sylvia's Journal

A full week of vacation, with nary a look into my Outlook in box – this is unchartered territory. I loved it. Although the week was full of rain and overcast skies, vacation it remained and included some spectacular meals, good company and a little too much wine.

Wednesday evening our house guest cooked a Bolognese dinner that required some extra mouths. They arrived as if summoned. Our new neighbors showed up with a box full of chocolates right after dinner and shared with us their plans for the house. To our great relief they are not tearing it down although the renovations and additions will probably produce some construction noise during this summer. The only summers without construction noise were the ones we missed.

Thursday we cruised the Essex River and landed on a sand bank for a light lunch followed by a swim until the sand bank disappeared. In the evening we had cocktails at Tessa’s tiny deck, followed by a Rudder dinner in Gloucester where Steve joined us.

Friday was for forgotten vacation projects, a last chance. I removed the runner that Rita (from Rwanda) and I braided many years ago, removed the dog hairs on the back and stitched back together the loose strands. We had one pair of Sita’s in laws over for cocktails and sat outside until the mosquitoes took over the place. We had our first corn of the year, not quite local, and more scallops and shrimps, a summer meal that I can repeat over and over again.

And now it is Saturday and we are going to see our grandchild again, after two weeks. That will be the grand finale of my vacation week.

Tessa had given Axel a surprise Father’s Day and Birthday gift: a ticket to the Beach Boys concert on Boston harbor – a trip down memory lane, even more so for him than for me. We were there with hundreds of other baby boomers, but also children and grandchildren of baby boomers – a truly intergenerational event.

Our memories of BB songs ran along separate lines – by the time we met the BB had faded into the background, so we had no ‘our song,’ as undoubtedly some of the other boomers had.  Axel’s  memories were Californian indeed while mine were of an entirely different Dutch variety. What did I know of surfing, little Deuce Coupes and California girls – half a world away?

This morning we went to MGH for Axel’s first post-op visit. We didn’t get to see the top doctor, he does the surgery – his assistants and fellows do the rest. We received the pictures of what the surgeon found inside Axel’s shoulder: a tear, a loose flap and arthritis; the first two were fixed, the latter was not, could not. The source of his acute pain prior to the operation was clear and has been mostly removed. The doctors considered his progress better than average and told him he can start physical therapy tomorrow and only keep the sling on for another two weeks. They also recommended he keep sleeping in the recliner for another 2 weeks. Things are looking up!

This evening we met our new neighbors. We like them. They are not going to tear down the house and build a McMansion. We are very grateful.

Our kitchen was built, as part of a whole house remodeling/repair, nearly 20 years ago. And so we are learning about the life span of things as once by one pieces of our kitchen are falling apart. It is now the turn of the refrigerator which appears to be in its death throes. A loud rattling sound resonates throughout the house as the poor thing is trying to keep its cool.

And so Axel and I went on a refrigerator hunt, first on the internet and then by car. It was not a great way to spend a precious vacation day but it was urgent enough, what with summer coming and refrigerators not something you have wrapped up at the checkout counter and put on your car roof. We heard about a 10 day delivery wait and keep our fingers crossed.

With the rains we have not had to water our garden and window boxes much but it has been disappointing to our visitors who are anxious to be in and around the cove like we did on Sunday. Yesterday’s dreary morning weather indicated a trip to the nail salon where my sister and I had our toes painted and our feet massaged. For the planned cocktail party (“meet the sister and brother-in-law”) the weather changed after an entire day of rain. We enjoyed a glorious evening outside, drinking GTs until the mosquitoes chased us in.

Axel is still sleeping in the recliner downstairs. I have moved off the couch and have swapped my single-occupied king size bed for the full-sized one in the guestroom with our visitors who needed a bit more space. Axel is hesitant to try flat-sleeping again after two failed attempts last week.

Every day we are hearing stories from people who, either themselves or someone they knew, had a rotator cuff operation. Some reports are decidedly discouraging (two months sleeping in a recliner has been the most terrifying of them all). And so I have settled into the room that first belonged to Axel (in his youth), then Sita and then Tessa (in their youth). It is small and cozy, and best of all, it looks out on the cove.

It has had Barbie dolls hanging by their necks from the ceiling, a witchcraft shrine, and purple walls (1993). Now it is painted in a subdued olive color with cream trim. The paint streaks on the hardwood floor are a reminder of Tessa’s artistic expressions. It’s a room full of creative and happy free spirits.

It is summer, really summer; the kind of timeless summer weather with swimming in a not too cold sea, rowing, kayaking (all possible with a less than perfect rotator cuff – mine, not Axel’s), seafood, picnics sitting with our legs dangling over the large granite blocks that make up one of many picturesque new England harbors; and my sister visiting with her husband. And vacation.

Last year at this time I had returned to Kabul without Axel. Kabul was painfully in our conscience this weekend with the attack on the Spooghmay resort on lake Qargha. We had spent some time there on a quiet Friday during Ramazan 2010, we the only ones wanting a meal. I imagined the families spending a nice day by the water – there aren’t all that many nice places to go to, near to Kabul. The fathers were killed first, the panic, I can just imagine. The perpetrators said they were targeting the Kabul elite, with elite being equated with depraved. Cambodia chased away its elite and is still paying the price for it. I am intensely sad; and worried for our brave Afghan girls coming to study here. Will they be marked upon their return? All this makes the question whether it is good for the Americans to withdraw a very complicated proposition.

The best possible news of the world reached me today via Skype from Jo who told me that Z and F got their passports with the much coveted visa for the USA. They are leaving Kabul on Saturday. What an adventure! I can’t wait to reunite with them. They will attend an English immersion program in Rhode Island and then go off to their respective high schools. Their victory is a reminder that perseverance pays off.

Two other people I know have applied for a Fulbright Scholarships, one has been rejected once but is trying again (and I told her, again and again and again!). Another young colleague of mine applied for a fellowship that my organization makes available competitively each year. He got rejected last year and this year he got it.

I have to think this positively about my painful joints, shoulder and ankle, and expect that one day things will be better. Now with Axel incapacitated my right arm/shoulder is doing double duty – I should ‘baby’ my right arm, but when you are right handed this is a bit of a challenge.

A heat wave has come over us. We are lucky to be living by the sea where there is a breeze and (very) cold water. Our beach and Singing Beach seem to be the only ones on the North Shore not invaded by stinky red algae that have drifted in, allegedly released unintentionally by a ship/ships coming from Japan; an equally unintended side effect of our consumption of Japanese products that come by boat. Once it has dried on the beach is smells like sewerage. We are told it is not a temporary condition.

Axel is improving day by day, off the pain pills now. This meant he could have a glass, two even, of cold beer on his first outing. We met an informal group of French and Francophones who live on the North Shore and who are getting together monthly to chat in French and meet new people. The waitress was rather befuddled by all these requests for drinks in French – it’s hard to switch languages all the time.

I skipped three days of writing – a sign of too much. I was halved. Part of me wanted to be in Easthampton, helping Sita and Jim adjust to their new life, stitches, hematoma, feeding troubles and all; part of me needed to be with my hubby, sleepy, drugged and partially immobilized – one was nursing B (for baby) and the other nursing A (for Axel). Of course I did nursing A. Others were available to help with nursing B.

Friday was a hard day for Axel, especially when the regional block began to wear off and the newness (and discomfort) of having your best arm immobilized began to hit him. He is still sleeping in CP’s recliner and I continue to sleep on the couch next to him. I actually like this sleeping downstairs, it feels rather camp-like – if we wanted we could sing Kumbaya in front of the fireplace and then pull a blanket over our heads.

In a moment of denial I had paid for 4 high priced tickets to Cirque de Soleil for a performance the day after Axel’s surgery– the price of the ticket paying for a food project that is near to my heart. Axel was in no shape to go with Steve, Tessa and me. I invited Pia to come along and join us, which she did. It was a fabulous show, reminding Tessa and me of the Chinese acrobatics show we had seen in Bejing many years ago. The only downside of the whole event were the most uncomfortable seats.

Saturday was better for patient Axel and Sunday even better but Monday proved a bit of a set back with nausea and a bit of depression. He slept most of today while I resumed my regular work, one room removed, at my stand up desk. Later, after reading the patient information that went with the nausea medication, we realized that it was rather potent and explained the sleeping. We are having way too much pharmaceutical potency in our house. I understand the necessity of painkillers but I don’t like these substances one little bit – I remember the horrendous withdrawal from Oxycontin five years ago

Tessa went to Easthampton on Sunday leaving the dogs with grandma. We had a visiting dog and a strong and healthy arm/shoulder to throw the sticks to Chicha who was otherwise rather displeased with her boring grandparents.

We skyped with Easthampton, peeking into the bedroom of Sita and Jim, seeing auntie Tessa at work with an eye dropper putting tiny food supplements into Farro’s tiny mouth and Sita with breast pumps and all. We miss them but Skyping helps and so did Tessa.

I skipped my shoulder doctor’s appointment after learning from the physical therapist yet another twist on the status of my rotator cuff. The irreparable tendon was not the infra spinatus but the supra spinatus, the one that stabilizes the rotator cuff, among other things. Finally the pains and problems with my right arm are explained, and also the bleak future. Not a full recovery after all. I have to teach other muscles to take over from the damaged one, starting with the exercises I had to do after my rotator cuff operation three years ago– I guess Axel and I will be PT-ing in tandem soon.

Hospitals are becoming a tad too familiar these days. I spent the morning in various cafeterias of the vast medical-industrial complex that is the Massachusetts General Hospital while waiting for the call from Post-Op that Axel is ready to go home. The assistant already called that ‘he did beautifully,’ during surgery – a funny way to describe the behavior of someone who was put to sleep. As long as the surgeon did ‘beautifully,’ I am happy.

I stayed with him during the Pre-Op procedures, some repeated for the second time because the EKG and blood work done at Beverly hospital some weeks ago never made it to the MGH file of Axel.  It’s a different system and they compete heavily, clearly at the expense of collaboration. I left him in the care of various doctors and nurses when drugs started to drip into his veins.

My first stop was a windowless basement cafeteria. Across from me a cluster of workmen were eating their breakfast while griping about the unfairness of the 500 dollars a week payment one was making to his ex. It was funny to hear their indignation about the rules of the game – created to protect women. They talked as if they were the victims and were getting themselves worked up into a frenzy of ever greater victimnesss and other disgruntled dads to get the child payment rules off the books. Life is terribly unfair.

They were followed by two very tired Haitians who didn’t want to talk with each other (one crossed his arms and put his head down) while the other talked in fast Creole to a compatriot someplace else. The next round included only one person; a woman who acted as if she was there with someone else, an imaginary friend I presumed. She was very animated as she talked into the air, laughing loud from time to time, then looking very worried and scratching her head. It was all both sad and entertaining, making the surgery minutes pass faster than if I’d been in a waiting room.

In another cafeteria a group of MBA students or accounting firm consultants, dressed to the nines, where working hard on spreadsheets on their IBM laptops while simultaneously working their i-Phones and –Pads – something Very Important no doubt. But then again this is an important place. I am wondering about these spread sheets, the two sides of the balance sheet: expenses and revenue (both sides seem very well populated with Big Numbers).

The post op time was longer than I was told by the surgeon’s assistant – not 30 minutes but, according to the grey-haired pink-clad volunteer, but 2 to 3 hours. I was starting to get bored.

I decided to check the statistics on overweight and obesity as this is a hot topic these days – 66% of the American people are overweight and about 30% are obese (BMI over 30).  So I did a home-made survey of ‘the American public’ that walks the halls of the hospital – since it included sick people, cured people, women going to have babies and those who had them, people coming for surgery and people with casts around various body parts, families of sick people, students, volunteers and personnel I figured it would be a good representative sample of New England people.

I sat myself at the entrance of the long hallway that led to various parts of the hospital, medical, administrative, food service and teaching areas. I counted how many people passed my chair in a minute (I did several rounds of counting) and came up with an average of 35 people per minute. Then I counted people who were overweight and obese – I eyeballed that – and also did several rounds – it was always 5 plus or minus 2. Five years ago a survey of Massachusetts’ approximately 5 million adults showed that 37% were overweight and 22% obese, one in two above the normal weight range – with this ‘normal’ already becoming abnormal. My ‘survey’ five years later showed some improvement.  I hope I was right.

I moved to the family waiting area where clumps of somber and not so somber friends and family members were waiting for someone, just like I was. A volunteer with a dog made the rounds. He explained they do that two days a week for a couple of hours. The dog and its (volunteer) owner visit patients and family members – I think this comes from research that animal contact speeds up recovery. The whippet did tricks for us: praying/kneeling, a little pirouette and standing on his hind legs. He got rewarded for each trick but didn’t really warm up to people – I think you need labs or yellow dogs for this kind of work, not the nervous skinny whippets or breeds like that.

We finally got home 11 hours after we left the house. Axel is settled into CP’s old recliner, a fire in the fireplace, a mystery on TV and painkillers every 4 hours. The hospital gave us a cooler that pumps icewater into a bladder that is draped over Axel’s shoulder, a pillow and he got to keep his johnny. I am sure it is all on the bill.

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From the pink plastic upholstery (so very familiar from a week at Mass Memorial 5 years ago) to the cluttered O Mansion is a matter of light years. From the tension filled days  and nights at the Cooley Dickinson hospital, waiting for Farro and then bodies to heal, to the energy-filled room of 5 MSH teams that are coming together around a shared vision also feels rather far apart.

Axel and I said goodbye to the new threesome on Saturday afternoon, with some difficulty as our lives had been intertwined so tightly for the last few days. Manchester by the sea provided some solace – beautiful weather, a garden awash in healthy looking greens and friends with a boat that allowed us to enjoy the beauty of the Essex River off the charts. The weekend was relaxing and joyful – we will be riding this tidal wave of joy for some time to come.

I left early on Monday morning for Washington again, the second time in two weeks, to facilitate a retreat for five teams of colleagues who have recently been grouped under one new VP. I knew few of them, the reason why I had agreed to this assignment even though it was close to Farro’s birth. Some of the team members work in my office in Cambridge – I had seen them in the hallways – but we didn’t know each other and neither one of us had made the introduction overtures.

The first day has been completed and after redesigning day two I walked down through Georgetown with a colleague to the waterfront and enjoyed a seafood meal in the warm evening breeze. At times like this DC seems like a very nice place to live.

Back at the mansion we had some time to explore this wicked weird place that consists of 4 enormous adjacent and connected stone row houses full of hidden passageways (I was told the FBI was housed here once), bookcases that are doors that open onto other mirrored doors. Every nook and cranny is filled with bric a brac, books, and the kind of stuff you find at junkyard sales. It is actually an indoor junkyard as everything is for sale. Small items have stickers with prices and large items are listed on a sheet in each bedroom (my bed, dresser, couch, chairs are all for sale). Bedrooms not occupied are open to be explored and everything can be touched. Here and there are posted signs ‘this is not a secret door – look, it has a handle’) for the counting explorer.

Each bedroom has a different motif – there is the jungle room, the navigator room and 23 others. Some have Jacuzzis or steam rooms. My room has a country motif. My bathroom is black (must have been a different motif before) with an abundance of non-matching pastel pillows and a giant beaded pink bird (850 dollars). I slept like a baby in an enormous feathered bed.

Breakfast is a do-it-yourself affair in a large kitchen that resembles Sita’s and Jim’s because there is so much stuff. It’s hard to figure out what is decoration (and thus also for sale) and what is for use by the guests. A large refrigerator and pantry is stocked for guests’ use. I made a waffle and a big mess in the process. That’s when I would have prefered a regular hotel where the waffle was prepared in a kitchen by professional staff that also cleaned up the mess.

Our ‘conference’ room is a chandeliered extravaganza, a Baldwin piano and a china display cabinet that is one of the hidden doors. As if so designed, the walls are obscured by some sixty large pictures of men, women and children in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Darfur (Photographer Chip Duncan) – a fitting backdrop for our work with these ultimate beneficiaries looking at us and asking, “is what you are doing here helping us in any way?” I wonder how many of these people have died since they were photographed and whether what we do will save the lives of those who have survived so far under the most dire circumstances.

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I told Sita’s cats, Mooshi and Cortez  that they have a new brother. Mooshi couldn’t care less, he is like the equivalent of a princess (not just a prince).  He may well react like when Tessa was born and Sita realized she was there to stay (“I am very displeased”). I think Mooshi is going to be like that. He remains very aloof.

Neither one of the cats have ever been very friendly with me or Axel – but Cortez has warmed up to me and greets me in the morning, even lets me pet him. He knows something momentous has happened. He showed some interest when I brought back the little knitted baby hat that the new member of the family wore most of yesterday. He sniffed it at from all sides, pushed it around with his paw. Mooshi took one snif and turned away (I think he disapproves).  I left the hat on Sita and Jim’s bed which is one of their favorite places. It is part of a very slow introduction of the new baby to the house. With animals you start with smell.

The birth registrar of the hospital came in yesterday morning with lots of papers. She filled them in leaving the name section blank and then gave Sita and Jim a book with 35000 names. I tried my best, first asking which initial this baby looked like (a tentative ‘F’) and then worked through all the F names. There is one that has everyone’s approval except Sita’s. Since Jim gets the last name this is an important obstacle.  Today the lady with the papers will come in again to see if they made any progress. I think not.

And so we keep calling him baby Bliss. One suggestion was Shere Bliss. It has a ring to it. Everyone is helping with finding the perfect name for this new man in our lives.

All three sets of grandparents have now met their new branch on the family tree and been photographed holding the baby. He is entering into a wonderful big and welcoming nest. I know this is not always the case with newborns. We are all very lucky.

Yesterday evening we left Sita in her room with babe in arms, trying to recoup hours and hours of lost sleep. We moved back to the waiting area where we spent most of the day before, waiting and, to pass the time, working. It still felt all very unreal – June 6 far away; the stresses, the scare when a pediatrician was summoned over the intercom, when some coded color was called – my gut tying up in big knots.

Our new grandson’s entry into the world was a little hesitant. He had to be assisted to get his first breath, clear his lungs and so didn’t get a 10 on his first test (the Apgar test). He spent his first few hours with wires and specialists around him, and his dad. Only in his fourth hour did he get some real quality time with mom. That was hard on Sita. He slept through most of it and didn’t seem to mind the poking and prodding but all the rest of us, his doula, his auntie Tessa and we the grandparents did mind. We watched him through the half closed louvers of the nursery, as if through a looking glass. Was this my new grandson?

Our little man spent most of his first day sleeping and didn’t seem to mind being handed off from one admirer to another. He would startle a little and then snooze again. He spent much time with mom, and dad, skin to skin. It is good that he is oblivious of his mother’s agony as she is adjusting to postpartum-with-belly-stitches and what appeared to be a hematoma. They will stay for a week in the hospital so that the pediatrician can treat the baby for whatever infection his newly deployed white blood cells are fighting. Having ingested meconium he was at risk and this should nip anything untoward in the bud. This healing time is also good for Sita.

I don’t think the new parents mind staying in the hospital with many helping hands for baby and mom, a bed that adjusts up and down, lactation support and Percocet.  Their home is not quite adapted to her special condition and making it so would be a major effort.

During the many hours of waiting I managed to read, breathlessly, the China Study, a book about the links between nutrition and disease that has smashed some of my sacred nutrition cows to bits. I already knew that a plant-based diet is good for us and our experience with the Ayurvedic cleansing and diet has been nothing but positive. But I didn’t know how bad dairy products are for us, the well documented associations between the major diseases of our time. I was weaned on the slogan that milk is good for strong teeth and bones and am now learning about some less than positive effects of calcium that comes from an animal based diet.  I am also learning how about grip the dairy industry has on us, starting early with kindergarten kids and learning resources (free) about nutrition for teachers – with dairy products playing the star and central role. Should we be surprised?

I have also started reading Gary Hamel’s new book (What Matters Now) – a book that is in many ways quite similar to the China Study. If I look at these (and probably countless other books) from a 30.000 ft view I am encouraged – the counter forces to corporate greed, hubris, blatant self-interest are starting to meet their opponents. I am not quite sure how and what role I am to play in this drama, but whatever it is I will take it on, on behalf of baby Bliss and all the new kids on the world block.