You know how the brain takes you back, suddenly to a moment in the past. The year I graduated from high school, I returned to my birthplace for the first time since my 18 month birthday. Yes, I said 18 months old. My only memory of the islands is green grassy areas that went on for miles…. well, I was only a couple of feet tall then!
The old brain took me back to a wonderful concert at the Waikiki Shell. If I was under hypnosis I would probably remember all of the acts. The one that stands out is Don Ho. He was such a cool guy that when he sang this song, it was for me and me alone. I don’t remember it often, but when I do, it elicits some feelings I haven’t allowed myself to feel since that summer… it was 1965 when I was 15 — yes I graduated at 15. More on that educational mistake later if I care to think of it again.
Anyway, here’s a tribute to Mr. Ho who happens to be singing the song… in his later years, of course. When I heard him, he was much more vibrant — and alive!
I was, after all, in love with someone that summer. It was a young man who was my age, but was only going to be a sophomore in high school. He was a friend of my cousin, but will remain nameless to protect his innocence!
I see he was born in 1930. Means when I saw him, there was a mere 20 years between our ages. His voice came over as a vibrant 35-year-old’s should. I was hooked. Of course now, I remember that I lost my class ring in the surf at Waikiki. Also got a painful sunburn that year, and had to sleep in the bedroom with three twin beds — my two boy cousins in the other two beds. One was my age, one was older. The bigger, older one had the biggest feet I had ever encountered. My calves often intersected with his feet. I swear they stretched from my ankle to my knee. I may be short, but there are quite a few inches between those aforementioned places! Not pleasant.
This is how I remember Don Ho…
my boy Don
Later…… wonder what the brain will dredge up tomorrow!
Well, friends, yesterday marked the 8 month point since my total abdominal hysterectomy. As always, I will mention my gynecologist and surgeon, Mark Seaver, M.D., at Kaiser Sacramento, who was the most gentle of gentlemen throughout the entire process. As many of you know, I had been suffering needlessly for several years with incessant bleeding and all that goes along with that, and was adamant that surgery would never be a part of my life.
I tried everything from Mayan massage to acupuncture, healing thoughts to meditation…. mind you, I do believe, and always have, that everything I have done has helped me in one way or another. Seriously. In a way, it was sort of a grand preparation for the surgery.
As I have said many times, before I decided on surgery, everyone I spoke to was totally against surgery, had pronounced to the world that they would endure until the bitter end. That was my stance, too, until I met Dr. Seaver. My first appointment was January 2008. When I saw the “WHEW” look on his face as he probed my innards feeling for the size of the uterine fibroids, I perceived a hefty oh-dear-me as he completed the probing and removed his fingers from my hoo hoo (I use various names for vagina, as you will see) and his hand from my belly.
He gave me the news that there was a bowling ball sized fibroid either inside or outside my uterus that was causing all the unnecessary bleeding. Yes, the bleeding might slow down with medication or the fibroid may lessen in size over the years, but the bleeding will continue. The only cure — and my ears perked up here — was to remove the offending fibroid. And my heart sank.
Cut it out? Remove the thing that I had grown so close to — that had made my belly stick out so bulgingly for so long?
I pictured a bowling ball inside me. When I held my hands out in the shape and size of that humungous spherical thing, I was appalled. For the first time, I really considered surgery. Yikes! Cut me open and rip the thing out? I would never survive.
I left the office pale and fighting the fact …. facing the fact that it was either bleeding and discomfort for the foreseeable future or one quick trip of the knife across my lower abdomen to release that bowling ball. Gave myself a few months more of agony and blood loss (and a two week vacation + meetings with several new potential mates) to make the final decision that I was going to let Dr. Seaver take the plunge.
I would have the surgery. The date was set in early September 2008 for the 29th of that month. Three weeks! Good grief!!!!! What to do, what to do. When I started telling people, for some odd reason every one to a person had gone through the surgery or had witnessed someone close to them who had. All positive. Where had these people been all my life?
Three weeks passed quickly, not without time spent at the attorney’s office creating a revokable trust, and sending emails to all my friends and family, asking them to start thinking positive thoughts, please, about the upcoming (no longer impending) surgery. Gave them the date and time for special thoughts, prayers, meditations. I truly believe that helped greatly. Think what you like, but do that if nothing else in preparation. It does help to ask for the same during the recovery period….. which will be the rest of your life.
When people ask if I’m back to 100%, it’s difficult to respond. Yesterday’s 100% is not today’s 100%. I still have numbness above the bikini incision about three inches. Below and to the side are fine. The scar that started out as a black line is now a pale pink line. The hair they shaved has grown back in an odd pattern — age-related, I think. There are still intermittent twinges around the scar site. I still have a mite bit of pms each month — look out everyone!
By and large, I am the person I was. I don’t use half the toilet paper I used in those days before September 2008; I have no need for the pads or tampons from the olden days. Heavy sighs of relief can be heard each time I approach that section of any store.
And for those of you interested in libido… it is very odd. There are times when I would give my life for the feel of a live one in my vuh jay jay and all that goes along with it, but surprisingly to me there are other times when I would kill anyone trying to approach it. Now what a dilemma for the partner, eh? Read my mind, brother, I need you today…….. or read my mind, brother, if you come close to me I will kill you!
I believe that’s one of the issues with me pursuing any partner right now. I feel quite unsettled hormonally even after 8 months. I can hear you say, “Hormones, now she’s blaming her erratic behavior on hormones.” You know, it may have been hormones being produced by that monstrous fibroid all along. Anything that can shoot out enough estrogen to make your body do what it does is mighty powerful. I yielded to my fibroid long enough. I will never look back, except to help others with my experience.
By the way, I understand from my parents and son who were waiting for me to get through the surgery (incidentally was 2.5 to 3 hours), that Dr. Seaver told them it was two large softball sized fibroids which he cut apart into smaller pieces in order to keep the incision as small as possible. Too bad. I wanted to see that bowling ball in all it’s glory!
I still have moments of really ecstatic highs and impressively base lows. From what I gather, that is normal life. We’re not all even keelers after all. What a concept!
Perhaps the future will bring something different in the way of a telepathic partner, but right now I exist on my own. Today brings a trip to a neighboring town to pick up unwanted shelving from some friends who are moving soon and a possible bite of lunch with my son who will go with me to pick up the shelves. Tomorrow brings a full day of whatever I choose… oh I do have to transport someone to the dentist in the morning. Before and after that, the day’s mine. The future? Of course if would be grand to share life and all it has to offer… all I have to offer… with someone. We’ll leave the door slightly ajar for that.
A treat here from Audrey Auld Mezera… you don’t necessarily have to take the words literally from me. It’s merely a nice rendition at an at home party.
I’m just too tired after getting up at 5am to write about this being the hysterectomy + 8 months day. I promise to dream of it tonight and write in the morning.
Wishing for a real night’s sleep. Best I can muster is about 4 hours at a time. Maybe one day I’ll really try a hot shower followed by a nice cup of chamomile tea. Yeah, and maybe one day I will have a person to prepare that tea for me and have it waiting after my shower.
I am such a freaking romantic even though I try not to let anyone know!
How could I remember the words to a song that I knew when I was 13? The brain is an amazing thing.
Was just watching disc 2 of season 5 of Lovejoy…. yes, he’s still lovely is Lovejoy, when I got an email from a friend who is moving away from the area. I was multitasking by looking for shelving units for my fabrics on the IKEA website, when her email arrived saying she had 2 shelves from IKEA that they were not going to take with them.
Yes, baby jj. It’s time for us to read YOUR blog! I sometimes wonder how well I know this man (yes, I know he is a man — and what a man). I’m a little (as a good friend says once in a while) torqued up about life right now. It is an awareness that things are changing, a realization that things you were expecting to happen might take longer than you thought. Right now, I’m lost in nowhere. Where’s that, you might ask. Hell, if I knew I’d either try to enjoy it or attempt to get out of it. I’m in a vacuum…. a void. I can see light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s just a little sliver.
There is little music in my life except the radio in the car. I never have listened to music much at home, even though the shelves of cds might cause one to think otherwise. No gigs, no playing oboe or singing. What a different life it is. I no longer have the energy to be a go-getter in the music world. It’s time for me to be the one who is merely a part of a group, not the leader.
I’m not so sure how much I like the interaction of the people at the pottery class. I know who is going to talk about what, how long they will talk, and why they are talking. Sussed way too soon.
One more half day at work tomorrow, then I’m off ’til next Tuesday. I would be happy if the temperature were in the low 70s rather than the mid to high 90s. It is not my ideal time right now. And it’s only May.
In unpacking tonight, I found a folder filled with many profiles of the men I met over that two year period. It was sort of depressing, and sort of illuminating at the same time. Obviously attracted to the same man over and over, I glanced through the file, eliciting memories by the dozen. Then I put it aside for the time when I need that blast for the writing I plan to do over the next year. What format, you say? Who knows. Who rightly even cares at this moment.
I have unpacked five boxes in the past two days and have two large black garbage bags of crap I no longer want in my life. Only a couple of things I can even take to work for the recycle table by my desk. It’s been there for over two years, with varying degrees of success. Hey, I think it was 7 boxes. Yay for me!
It’s but 8:20pm and I am so relaxed I’m falling asleep. I’ll stop for now.
Yes, friends, it is a day for celebration. I had given up on my two slim boxes of shoes. I had found all the other like boxes, filled as they are with a plethora of fabrics of all textures and colors. The shoes were literally hidden by larger boxes piled atop them, and leaning over their edges.
It was quite a maneuver to get them out of their hiding place. But with some assistance, I managed to find seven (some a little stinky from age) pairs of Birkenstocks. You see, as you might have read earlier in this tome, I have been wearing those blighters since I was 16… when they first arrived in Sacramento. Yes, I did go through my Earth Shoe phase, but returned to the Birks just as every woman of questionable sexuality started sporting them. Am I of questionable or ambiguous sexuality? A subject for yet another time.
These days, I must admit that some of the pairs are actually Papillio, the brand of Birkenstocks that have a slightly lower arch, for those of us with aging feet and lowering arches. I am now wearing my very favorite pair. I am closer to the ground than in my SAS sandals… perhaps an inch closer. I like that. I know the other box contains more Birks and a couple of pairs of black flats from orchestra concert days, and perhaps an old, but still usable pair of New Balance walking shoes… hmmm………. balance — walking. What a concept!
I am now going to rest in my bedroom and finish watching Elizabeth — The Golden Age, one of the films I couldn’t find for months after returning from Oklahoma last year, and which I paid for, and am now keeping to watch over and over and over. Or perhaps I’ll give them away eventually. At any rate, it’s time for a quick feet up period.
Did I mention that it’s nearly hysterectomy + 8 months? I will write on that on Friday, the 29th — exactly 8 months to the day since the surgery.
I will no longer grace the annals of those shoeless amongst us. I will have a new pair each day I go to work for the next few days. Now, I must also see to clean clothing! But ahoy, mates. Shoes are found, and I’m happy.
Be certain, I will not go to Raley’s in the morning until possibly 9am any longer. Today, I bought a whole grocery cart full (small one) of goods, pranced up to the checkout…. oops… is the store closed? Nope. Lights on, people with carts… hmmm…
Oh lord. The only checkouts open are the self serve. One of the reasons I pay above average produce and other prices is for the customer service here. What should have taken 5 minutes took 20 minutes. I mean, why should I have to look up every morsel of produce I buy? That’s why I pay the big bucks. So the little helper monkey (one for four self serve checkout spots) has to come rescue me first to tell me how to look up produce not on the list, then how to deal with something that won’t scan.
Ok. So I see several “guy” types come in for one or two items. They scan and are away in 2 minutes. Bollocks. I’m going to write to Joyce Raley Teel about this. I am a very loyal customer, and so are all the people who live in this area. So I go in at 6:30am to beat the crowds on Memorial Day. Hah! Made it out at 7:45am, after that self serve checkout ordeal. And then forgot the flowers. I will do without for a few days.
I am not a young woman. If I had feigned stupidity, I would have had all the help in the world. I’m not ready for that, yet. So I left, taking my own cart out to the car — refusing help by one of the lowpaid lackeys.
On the way home, I realized that my book on cd is due at the library tomorrow. So I decide to drive around… toward the library, hoping that the 10th cd will finish just as I arrive at the library. Not to be. I passed by the library, on up a mile or two, turned left, another mile or two, back south a mile or two, and it finally ended. Needless to say, my enjoyment of the conclusion was limited by the forced car time. But I always get library books and cds back on time. I know. Obsessive compulsive?
Have I ever taken discs into the house to finish? Did once. Kept walking out of the room it was in, and missing stuff. You’re a captive audience in the car. Can’t walk away unless you turn off the juice. Now I have to listen to music again until I get back to the library. Boo hoo.
When I got home — oh before that — stopped by Ettore’s, a lovely bakery and breakfast place. Treated myself to breakfast which I brought home and ate. Scrumptious! Have a fruit tart from there for later. Hardly ever get there early enough for those lovely things.
Ok, so I’m home and find myself squinting while eating and watching tv. I decide I deserve that 19″ tv that I didn’t get at the place where I fell the other day. I go online to Sears.com where you can buy online and go pick up the merchandise around the back of the Arden Fair Mall store. Done it before. What came over me? I see a 15% discount for today only, and go for the 22″ set. It’s a Sylvania flat screen. Right now, I’m waiting for the channels to self-surf. I’ll let you know how the picture is… whether I can read the guide from 6 feet away. Back later…
Here I sit, getting ready to venture out to the grocery store. That fish I took out of the freezer last night was gaggingly smelly so I stuck it back in the freezer after cooking, planning to put it in the garbage outside this morning. I did have the courgettes (zucchini in another language) lightly sauteed in butter with salt and pepper. A few pecans on the side along with a couple of stalks of celery pleased me no end. I can feel myself going back to the old vegetarian times when a piece of fish or something made with chicken stock or an egg was an unknown to me. I was extremely healthy during those times.
So today, I will go to the store before the crowds (best laid plans…) and be home before 7am.
Made a salad the other night with baby spring greens. It was so insubstantial, that it floated down my throat not even touching the sides. Had maybe an ounce of lettuces with a great salad dressing that said “must be refrigerated at all times.” Found it out near the fridge the next morning. Oh well. I’ll put that on my list for today. Or maybe just some olive oil, since I have a bottle of excellent balsamic vinegar in the fridge right now.
Ok, silly, stop talking about it and go to the store. Put a limit on your purchases ($$) and stick to the budget. There’s a budget? Always has been a mental budget. Go ahead, laugh. What is money but paper and mental budgets?
Bye. First time out since Friday. And it’s Monday!
I feel as if I’m in a cocoon. I don’t know if the neighbor with whom I share so many traits (bathroom times, wake and sleep times, etc.) is a man or woman. He/she has parking to the left of the building. Mine is to the right, so I never see him/her on the way to or in the parking areas.
I know others exist. I hear the little girl next door shouting goodbye to her friend across the greenery in another apartment, announcing that she is going to be somewhere for a day or so. Sure that at least 10 of my neighbors, whether or not windows were open heard this little mite and know that they will be away at least tonight.
Most are friendly as they see you at the mail box cluster or on the way to the laundry, but no one needs someone else in their life right now. Each has his/her own agenda; if they have children, the kids follow closely looking suspiciously at everyone, and if not suspicious they are afraid of being left alone. A very strange situation.
I have lived in only one other apartment complex in my life, and that was when I first moved away from home. It was a studio apartment (called a junior apartment in those days) downstairs and right next to the tennis courts in the now medium priced Selby Ranch. It was quite exclusive in those days, right after Robert Powell bought the property from the Selby family. Yes, I remember the days when it was a horse ranch with a very large home and barn on the property. They lovingly built around all the old oaks that were left on the property.
Went over there a year or so ago, and the management is really quite snooty. There are at least twice as many apartments as there were in the old days… the green lawns in the middle of the space with all the oaks is gone. Filled with more units…. I mean condo-style apartments.
Enough about that. I’m still a little confused about living here. I know it sounds silly, but I would like to see the blueprints of the set of apartments I’m in. Just to see which rooms back on to my apartment. It all seems very uncreative. None of the creativity of home living exists on the outside of this place. It all happens (if it happens) inside. I’m fealing dreary about it. Perhaps it’s because I just found a box of hangers and hung them in the closet. Nothing on them yet.
I think there’s some frozen fish in the freezer. That will be dinner tonight with a couple of courgettes, and if I’m really energetic, will throw the bit of dried whole wheat pasta into some water to cook. Right now, fish and courgettes sounds fine. And water, of course. My daily intake has gone up. That’s a good thing.
I spend a lot of time with the blinds closed in here. Countless people stroll, run, or walk quickly by on the sidewalk outside my windows. They have a tendency to look in, look away, look back. I don’t really like people peering in at me, so I may have to rig up some sheers for times when I want full view of the outdoors while the wind whistles through the trees and the like.
Oh go into the kitchen and watch some foolish tv program on your little 15″ screen. I want my bookshelves. I want my books. I need them right now. They will have to wait for this knee to heal a bit more, though. Will I be able to make it here for a year? Well, a year from last April 13th, that is. Yes, I signed a lease.
I know, I know. Relax and get settled in. This too shall pass.
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