Category Archives: Being sick

Carpe Diem

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Tonight SOB (sister of blogger) and I had dinner with our uncle.  He is 81 years-old.  He has been in a slow decline in the last two or so years but able to dance (his life-long passion) and go about his life.

Unfortunately, he has aged rather dramatically in the last month.  So, SOB and I needed to convince him to let us help.  Just when we were bracing ourselves for the image we had, when he walked into the restaurant, the even further downward trajectory was so profound that it was hard not to cry.

He has our aunt, his partner of 60+ years, and he has SOB and me.  There is no one else close by.  (And our aunt has her own medical issues.)

He always said he lived every day as he wanted.  He said he hated going to sleep because he never wanted to end a day.

But living life on his terms and according to his muses often meant that he didn’t show up for his family (his parents or my mother — his sister) in their times of need.

I guess carpe diem means different things to different people.

As SOB and I helped him into our aunt’s apartment building (they have always lived separately), he lurched for the elevator and forgot to look back or kiss us goodbye.

Life on his terms.

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The moment of learning

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DOB (Dad of blogger) brought more pictures of the family from the 1920s to the 2000s.  Quite a span.

I saw two pictures of my Mom attending Cousin Gentle’s Tai Chi class.  She still had hair, so it had to be 1996 or 1997.  It was part of her regimen to control the pain from cancer.  She had such faith in Cousin Gentle, and illness opened her (and the rest of the family) to non-Western medicine.  It was the age of humility for our family.  We learned that being doctors and lawyers was not the only measure of success and that we needn’t exclude ancient practices when western medicine had no answers.

We learned.  We evolved.  We opened our minds and our hearts.  And we resolved we would not close up again when Mom died.  Here are pictures of the turning point of the trajectory of our family:

Together we moved, slowly, in the beat of Tai Chi, to a more open, more humble place.  I remember that time, that moment, when we didn’t have the luxury of smugness and hubris.  We are better for it, although it was sickness that opened our minds, our hearts and our soul.

 

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What life holds in store for us

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I am usually snarky or maudlin or kumbaya in my posts.

But sometimes I am stopped in my tracks.

I have written before that my family is like a clan if you look at my parent’s generation of brothers (referred to as “The Five Brothers”) and my generation of cousins (we refer to ourselves as “The Cousins”). The children of The Cousins are less tied to the clan as a whole and while some are close to some of The Cousins (who are not uncles or aunts) and the last of the The Five Brothers, many are not.

The day before Thanksgiving, the son — whom I don’t know at all — of one of The Cousins was diagnosed with brain cancer.  He is 35 years old and has two little kids.  He had surgery and is undergoing treatment.

At 35, he probably knows that life likely doesn’t hold old age and grandchildren in store for him.  Probably life won’t allow him to see his children grow to tweenage, let alone adulthood.  I hope he beats the odds and life holds all those things for him, along with happiness and love and peace.

Some days you just have to stop, bow your head and be grateful for life, family and shelter — the basics.  And then, whether or not you believe in G-d, you have to pray for people like my cousin.

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My mother’s words . . .

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“My poor baby, if I could have it for you, I would!”

My Mom would say this in a soothing voice whenever one of her children was sick, be it mind, spirit or body.  I say that now to my son whenever appropriate.  And I mean it, for all loving and nurturing, yet practical, goal oriented reasons.

My son had an upset stomach last night (no fever or other symptoms).  He started feeling sick at 9pm when he was already in bed, at around the same time the Jets were a lost cause and Janet2 was cleaning her kitchen floor (because the Patriots WERE OUT OF CONTENTION — these digressions are getting worse).

POB (partner of blogger) and I dutifully took turns in the night soothing him when he woke up and giving him Children’s Tums.  Because I was just recovering from a thrown-out back at around the same time our son got sick, POB did more turns initially.  Each time he woke up and I went in (and freaked him out by yowling in pain), I would rub his head and back and say Mom’s magic words that always comforted me.  He would eventually drift off for 45 minutes or so. And I would roll out of his bed and crawl to my room so as not to scream in pain and wake him.  Of course, that woke POB, so I probably did more harm than good despite all loving intentions.

3am rolls around and he is up and really, really feeling bad.  I go in, because I know POB has to get up in 2.5 hours and I can stretch my alarm until 8am if necessary.  He is really feeling bad and I say Mom’s magic words and, lo and behold, like a miracle swept in from the sea, he vomits all over me and then runs to the bathroom for the other end of the story, so to speak.

Nothing makes you feel more mom-like than having your child yawn in technicolor all over you.  I cleaned up and started to strip the bed and hose everything down.  (At this point, POB was up and ready to crank up the washer/dryer.)

Our son has a strong stomach for all that to have stayed in for six hours.

I couldn’t help thinking that if he were able to give it to me at 9pm, my system would have expelled everything in 5, maybe 10, minutes and we all would have been happier and all have gotten a good night’s sleep.  Instead, today, our wiped-out son stayed home, I was essentially in traction and POB had to be nursemaid to two babies at once.

Do you think Mom ever had the same thoughts about wanting to be sick instead of us, or am I just a diluted (and deluded) version of her?

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All quiet on the Upper West Side

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Our son is sick and so POB (partner of blogger) and I have split the task of caring for him so we can have at least a half-day at work.

Sometimes, the delicate balance maintained by two working parents is thrown off and you have to deal.  I was able to be on conference calls and do some work, all the while hugging and kissing my child and saying things my mother would say, “My poor tsatskela, I am so sorry you are sick.  If I could have it for you, I would!”

Our son wanted to watch a nature video on the Grand Canyon.  So, I am watching as a tarantula hawk wasp (as in insect) paralyzes a tarantula (as in huge, hairy and gross) and drags it off so the wasp’s larvae can feed on the tarantula.  Something small dragging something comparatively elephantine is quite extraordinary.  It is also quite disgusting.  But it is better than a SpongeBob SquarePants marathon.  I am grateful for life’s small graces.

Now, the nature show has moved to the effect of human intervention on the natural course of the Grand Canyon on humpback suckerfish and chuckwallises (sp?).  I keep returning to reading proposed model changes to credit agreements made necessary by the lessons (??) learned in the economic downturn.

Suckerfish and chuckwallises are more interesting.  Now, that is a statement.

We are now looking at the ecosystems of the Everglades.  Two many reptiles and I keep thinking of Horatio Caine and CSI: Miami.  This, I can tune out.  Work wins this round.

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Happiness is . . . predictability

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I was too sick to go to our family 11th night of Hannukah party but I felt like a I was there (http://40andoverblog.com/?p=3114) because, as predicted, my dad did try out his Japanese, my son turned all the bird-nerders on to Chirp, an iTouch app, the latkes were authentic, and Cousin Gentle spent the whole evening talking up the eligible single woman in the room (and of course we have pictures and depending on the number of time she appears in future pictures, we will need to footnote the length and quality of her relationship to the overall clan).

Life is good even though I am still sick as a dog.

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Being Sick, part 2

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So, I opted to get better and not infect anyone at our family’s 11th night of Hannukah blow-out raging party (average age of party rager:  57 years old).

I called over and spoke to my Dad who was brushing up on his Japanese to speak with HOSOB’s (husband of sister of blogger’s) friend who is Japanese.  Uh oh. I told SOB (sister of blogger) to take action shots and possibly video, if things get really crazy.

More to report later.  Now, back to sleep.

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