What are the Bare Essentials?

I just read a blog about a man who lives in the trailer of the semi he drives. All of his belongings were listed and it's a short list. I live in fairly small space, but have way more than he does. Oprah just had a show about asking people to live with less for a week: no TV except an hour a day; no computer except for homework; no eating out ... It wasn't easy for the two families chosen for the challenge as you can imagine. But after the initial resistance, rebellion, anger and boredom, they seemed to settle into it and ended feeling grateful for the new closeness and appreciation for each other that developed.

I remember what it was like growing up without a computer. I can even remember what it was like when we bought our first TV and watching the test pattern on Saturday mornings before the regular programming began. I remember a time before video games and cell phones and even faxes and answering machines. Wow, I sound like an old person.

But life really was simpler then. We played board games and played outside every day, all day. Anyone remember Uncle Wiggly, Clue, Sorry, Cootie?! Monopoly was way too competitive for me although I loved those little hotels. People got together and played charades and going to the movies was a big deal. Eating out was a very special occasion until I became a teenager, then going to a hamburger drive-in was pretty common, even a ritual among my friends. Having two cars was unusual and the only time we got new clothes was when something was totally worn out or during back to school days. My mother insisted our family of five sit down to dinner together, even after the advent of TV trays. She had this vision of us all sitting around discussing our days, but most often it deteriorated into kicking under the table and remarks about my brother getting a haircut. She did try though and I do know which fork to use and to keep my elbows off the table.

So I think about what I would take with me if I moved into the trailer of a semi. I could get by with a few good clothes: a pair of jeans, a pair of black slacks, a few interesting tops, a warm coat, one pair of comfortable shoes. I would need to have my computer, a cell phone, good light, a healthy plant, someplace really comfortable to sleep. Three or four interesting books. It sounds strange, I know, but I'd have an altar with special objects and family pictures. I guess I wouldn't be happy in a semi trailer really, but it's nice to think about what I can do without and to be more conscious of all my stuff.

Goodbye to Pie

I felt anger when the vet said that my parakeet's lame foot was probably caused by a kidney tumor. I remembered losing Perry, the green parakeet who saw me through my divorce, a second marriage and a move to a new town. He had a stomach tumor at age 7 and died in John's hand at the vet's. We buried him under the eucalyptus tree outside the window next to his cage. Now, at about the same age, Pie had developed a tumor and was probably in pain. He certainly would not get better and when I asked our new vet about euthanizing him, she said it would be the thing to do. It doesn't feel fair that the timing of his loss comes right after John's surgery (which I am grateful was successful) and just as our grandson is in the hospital for his next round of chemo (although, again I am grateful because his PET scan shows he is responding "excellently" to the regimen he is on. The tumor is gone and hasn't returned.)

So I wonder if Pie is some sort of sacrifice I'm being asked to make for the health of my beloved husband and grandson. We still have Apple, the mate we bought for Pie, who turns out to be a boy. He seems a little confused and maybe a little happy to be the one and only. No more competing for food or treats. When I lost Perry, I didn't have another bird to fill my house with song, so I am happy to have Apple. But she doesn't sing like Pie. I still miss his voice. We buried him in the back yard overlooking the Bay with a spray of purple orchids that a friend brought John when she visited the other day. His marker is a fairy with translucent wings that my daughter gave me. She'll stand watch over his spirit as he flies free of his cage.

Home from the Hospital

Our experience of John's surgery was much different than we expected. We arrived at the hospital at 1 pm Friday for 3 pm surgery. As we waited in pre-surgery, our daughter Kara taught us how to make a friendship bracelet out of the lining of a Coke bottlecap. She had packed a bag full of distractions for the waiting room. John was visited by the head nurse, the anesthesiologist and the surgeon before surgery. The nurse asked if he had any body piercings and he said, "Not yet." His anesthesiologist looked at his chart twice and had trouble believing he is 70.

After he walked off with the anesthesiologist to the surgery room, my son, Daniel, Kara and I went to the waiting area in the lobby of the hospital. Less than an hour later, a physician's assistant we had gotten to know during his earlier hospital stay, came out with a smile on her face and said it was all finished and he had done great. It was 4 pm. They wouldn't let me into the recovery room until 7 to have a quick visit. He was more alert than I expected but still a little groggy. He gave me a big John smile and told me he felt like Tom Terrific. Sometime during our wait, a patient in a wheelchair started playing the piano in the lobby. Her blues style was professional sounding and we felt as if we were at a concert or a nightclub. By 9, he had a room on the seventh floor and an 80-year-old roommate who looked much younger.

By the next morning, he was sitting up and eating a clear liquid diet and had gotten up with help from his Nigerian nurse, Owen, at 3 in the morning. That day we walked four or five times up and down the hall. Two days after his surgery, he was on his way home. If the original surgery hadn't been cancelled, he would have had traditional surgery instead of laproscopic and his recovery time would have doubled. Now it's his first full day home and he's happily doing the crossword puzzle and the parakeets are clucking and chortling now that their flock is back.

After canceling all my organizing clients for the past two weeks, I'm looking forward to getting back to two of my favorites the end of the week. I had to also cancel going to the NAPO conference in Reno but I'll get the tape of the keynote speaker, Peter Walsh, author of It's All Too Much. I learned a lot more by staying home and taking care of my partner. And the biggest lessons were about gratitude and compassion.

Learning to Wait

We were ready to go to the hospital Monday for John's surgery for a benign stomach tumor when we got a call that it was postponed because the surgeon wasn't feeling 100%. Personally, I'm glad he doesn't do surgery unless he's feeling perfect but it threw us into a waiting mode that was uncomfortable. We knew we had a date for the 16th at the latest, but he was trying to find an earlier time. Then we got a call that it would be tomorrow, Friday, with a new doctor. We looked him up online and were satisfied that his credentials looked good and we liked the looks of his photo.

Got up this morning, had our oatmeal and smoothie and prepared for the day. When I went to make a phone call I heard a beep that let me know someone had called last night during our walk; I hadn't checked the voicemail. It was a nurse from Kaiser telling us to come in at 11:30 today for surgery! After a number of phone calls we learned that the surgery is, indeed, tomorrow. So now we're back to having a relaxed day.

Also yesterday our grandson was going in for a new round of chemo for his lymphoma. We got a call from his dad last night that his blood count was down and instead of chemo, he'll be getting a transfusion today. We saw him on Sunday and it's difficult to believe he needed this because he was having light saber fights with his brother and jumping around like the energetic 5-year-old he was before this journey began. It's not unexpected for him to need a transfusion and it just means a slight delay in the chemo.

We're getting a big lesson in waiting. Surrendering to what is instead of what we want it to be. While I wait during the surgery, I'll be distracting myself with knitting a scarf, a book called The Memory Keeper's Daughter, a book of Sudoku that my friend, Marion, gave me. And sometimes just being present with what's going on in my body. And breathing and trusting.

A haiku: Simply Trust: Don't the Leaves Flutter Down Just Like That.

A Trip to the ER

After a five day retreat with Threshold Choir in Healdsburg filled with singing, good food, new friends and camping in a VW van, I came home in time to call 911 when my husband passed out on the way to the bathroom at 3 a.m. We spent 12 hours in the ER and he had many tests before learning that he has a benign stomach tumor and will have surgery Monday. The night in the ER was a particularly busy one and at one point we had to be moved to a different room because they were bringing in a woman who had just given birth to her baby at home and had developed complications.

At one point, when I walked out of John's room, I bumped into one of the choir members I had been on retreat with. She is a hospice nurse and was there because one of her patients was having difficulty breathing and a family member had called 911. Helen came into John's room and we sang him a beautiful song, the words a haiku: Simply trust. Don't the leaves flutter down just like that. Later, Helen asked if I would sing with her at her patient's bedside because the family was falling apart. It was my first experience of singing for someone who was dying.

I was impressed with the great care John got even though the nurses were overworked. Each one treated him with respect, care and some humor when it was called for. In a strange coincidence, our neighbor across the street was taken to the hospital the day after John with chest pains and she was in the room directly above his.

I was set to go to the national conference for professional organizers in Reno next week where the keynote speaker is Peter Walsh, author of Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? Instead I will be hanging out in my husband's room at Kaiser. I am grateful to all the caregivers, the doctors, the nurses, the orderlies who have taken such good care of my husband. And to my family and friends who will be sitting with me Monday as we wait for good news of a successful surgery.