Sylvia's Journal

Axel is learning more about what ails him. The symptoms of Vocal Cord Dysfunction (VCD) – an ailment I didn’t even know existed – match his experiences exactly. I wonder if that is what living in Kabul produced. It sometimes is mistaken for asthma and sometimes accompanies asthma, so we are still in an exploratory phase. The amazing, and good thing, about this ailment is that the treatment is yoga, meditation and generally stress reduction. One might think that living in Lobster Cove would, by itself, be a good stress reduction method, but the last years of breathing problems and doing the specialist circuit have been very taxing on him.

And so we are now stepping up the yoga, the meditation and understanding how the brain mediates between a sense of comfort and security and stress. We are learning about techniques that activate oxytocin production (and suppress cortisol production) and are in awe of our clever brains. We are reading about resilience and what the brain has to do with that and begin to see connections that make some far out things less far out; like the team of yoga and meditators that went out some years ago to the US army in Afghanistan. People made jokes about it, but these folks were on to something.

I also now remember how in the 60s and 70s there was much talk about managing your brain waves through meditation and realize we, human beings, have always known how to do this, going 1000s of years back, until specialized medicine promised easier solutions, like popping pills or surgery. Learning to meditate is hard work and long work, requiring perseverance and starting over again. This in itself is a good foundation for resilience, showing that everything is connected to everything and all happens for a purpose.

Yesterday’s dinner came out of the garden, except for the Boca Burgers; the night before it came out of the sea. On Wednesday, when I arrived home, tired and hungry, Axel jumped in his boat and checked his five lobster traps, then returned with one keeper. The lobsters are moving away from shore and something else is eating the bait, so this may have been the last gratis lobster of the summer.

Last night was a land-dinner night. While Axel was completing our taxes, a dragged out and painful chore, I clipped the kale and dug up one plant of potatoes, providing more than enough for the two of us. The leftover kale and potatoes will be transformed into one of my favorite Dutch dishes, Boerenkool, a winter dish that comforts as the evenings get cooler and the nights colder.

I arrived at work yesterday morning to the sad news that one of our Dutch princes has died. It was a blip on the American news scene, not important here, but somehow touched me deeply. Not because he is a prince – princes always die, usually in battle or devoured by dragons – but I remember his birth and I grieve as a mother. He died after 18 months in coma after having been buried in an avalanche, deprived of oxygen for 25 minutes. This happened in Lech (Austria), the royal family’s ski resort of choice.

Sometime in the early 70s I found myself there, resting on the side of the slope next to the royals, including our then queen Juliana who remarked to me that my ski boot clips were loose. I remember blushing and being all flummoxed, the queen talked to me, imagine! With the news of Friso’s passing all these memories came flooding back.

Sita and Jim and Faro had come for a day and stayed the week. Such joy! I didn’t mind the total chaos in the house, the furniture blocking access by Faro to non-child proofed sections of the living room, the child gates, and the plastic containers and wooden spoons all over the kitchen floor, toys in the living room, and Faro dribbling like an ant hither and thither.

Contrary to what I was told, the ankle brace wasn’t in stock when I returned to the surgicare place in Waltham on Thursday to be fitted. The for-nothing-trip made for a very long commute, 2 hours in total, and by the time I arrived home I had to do a real effort to swallow my self-pity and take in the beauty of Lobster Cove on a glorious summer evening.

Sita and Axel had baited the lobster cages that had been sitting idle for 2 weeks. If there had been any lobsters they would have eaten each other and the winner escaped. One flounder didn’t make it out and became our breakfast the next morning.

Our series of 10+ days was interrupted on Friday by all day rains which relieved us of having to water the parched garden.

On Saturday I made good on my promise to myself to go to a yoga class rather than following a video. Axel discovered a therapeutic yoga class taught in town by a very young woman who is exceptionally skilled in coaxing a bunch of old people with all sorts of pains and aches into doing yoga that made us feel good. This is quite an accomplishment I think. My resolve is to go back any Saturday I am in the US.

Later we entertained friends from Holland, who were present in Lebanon all these years ago when Axel and I fell in love. When we have friends from afar we always have lobster. We spent the day on or by the frigid waters of Lobster Cove and checked the lobster traps for dinner. Axel had prudently bought lobsters just in case and that turned out to be a wise move. The traps were empty except for a few small lobsters which we released back into the ocean to grow a bit more.

Tessa and friends joined us on Sunday for a bloody steak dinner which I don’t care about (the bloody steak that is) but the company was great and so this was another busy social night, followed by another one on Monday night, more lobster, old friends from when the girls were small and we carpooled to the Waring School, eons ago.

I have joined an enthusiastic group of 70+ women at the Manchester Community Center who are doing their weekly (scientifically designed by Tufts) weight training to stave off osteoporosis and remain flexible. With all my joint problems this exercise regime seemed like a good idea. I was warmly welcomed as the new (and youngest) girl and everyone inquired at the end whether I liked it. I did, and I will be back. My muscles protested a bit the next morning but I take that as a good sign.

And now it is a week later from the last posting – maybe the first time in 6 years where a whole week went by without any writing. I think it is because I have a very full plate of work all with deadlines this week and coaching practice as garnish in the early morning and late evening. Time to write has fallen victim but hopefully not for long.

On Tuesday I received what may well be the last of many second opinions on my left ankle, this time at the Boston Sports and Shoulder Center. It has nearly the same letters and logo as the Boston Sports Club that is housed in the same building, one side feeding the other.  This time the doctor, his PA and his intern told me there was an alternative to surgery that was better than my clunky and sweaty booda which allowed me to walk New York over the weekend. They did confirm that this would be only a temporary measure and seemed to have no hesitation to recommend ankle replacement over fusion (just when I was about to veer towards fusion).

I went straight to the place that provides the braces but wore the wrong shoes for a fitting. There were all sorts of braces, clunky, plastic, leather, lace-up, velcro-ed, high low. The one I was prescribed made me think of the South African blade runner, slick and minimal, that can be worn with regular shoes. I will go back tomorrow with the right shoes for the fitting. After that I will return to the doctor in a month to evaluate the brace as an interim measure and see whether we should move ahead with scheduling surgery.

An overnight on Goat Island, Newport, Rhode Island, right across the water from the jazz Festival site was the final highlight of our vacation and my three week absence from home. We have friends who have nice places, such as this one. You don’t have to go to the jazz festival as the jazz comes right to you over the water, especially if the wind is right.

We drove by a few of Newport’s famous mansions before heading back home, more stop and go, unairconditioned, unpleasant. We were home in 3 hours and greeted by everyone: two daughters, their mates, grandbaby and friends. We sat down to a meal that brought us the abundance of the see and our own vegetable garden: swordfish kebabs, potatoes, tomatoes, beans, peas, two latebloomer raspberries and one final blueberry. We celebrated Axel’s birthday once more with cider from Virginia and poundcake, berries and much whipped cream.