Gail's Blog

  Since the last blog post, I’ve had my right hip replaced, resulting in a lung clot and bleeding that required four units of blood and a stay in ICU. Recently, I finally had that pesky tricuspid valve replaced and developed pneumonia while in the hospital. I was intubated several times. Because intubation can be damaging to the esophagus, the surgeon cut a tracheostomy in my throat. Apparently, I was very bad post surgery, trying to karate my way out of ICU, and pulling out various gadgets attached to me. One doctor told me they took care of this behavior with some good drugs!   I was in INOVA Fairfax Heart and Vascular Center! First in ICU and then Telemetry. The nurses were so very good at their jobs and friendly, too. But since I had a trach, I couldn’t eat or drink food or water. I was fed “food” (formula for adults),crushed meds, and water through an NG tube, This was the hardest part of my hospital stay. People always malign hospital food, but INOVA’s is very good! I wa...

This morning, I entered the parking lot of Mount Vernon Hospital as I usually do, and cruised for a spot. Normally I find one after a bit of looking. Not today! One of my pet peeves, the huge SUV's that have exciting names--"Explosion" for example--were cruising with me, blocking me, backing up to go another way, and generally being too gigantic for such a small lot. There were small cars, too, that would drive in and catch someone leaving, but I'd be on the other side of the lot! I'm thinking, "I've been cruising here for twenty minutes and you just come in and  steal a spot out from under me?" I got mad and thought of giving up and going home, but I didn't really want to. I even prayed for a parking space Finally,  I called the rehab gym to ask what I should do. The nurse told me to try the street. Now I am rehabbing after a month-long stay in the hospital for open-heart surgery and resulting pneumonia. I never drive to street parking and walk ...

My BIG MEDICAL MESS was about this:  I had my hip replaced in Georgetown Hospital, and they kept me one night, shifting me to I NOVA Fairfax, Telemetry Unit, which was my home hospital. There they found a pulmonary embolism, started pumping me with blood thinners (Heparin, to be specific) and found that my hemoglobin was dropping like a stone. The trick was to thin my blood without driving me into hemorrhagic shock. In spite of their efforts, I fell into it, anyway. INOVA Fairfax they saved my life again. The first time was almost three years ago when they brought me out of cardiogenic shock , something people survive 50% of the time. Both times I was a guest in CICU, or Cardio Intensive Care. The hip was still in "screaming pain", as my friend, Jeanne calls it from experience, but after they allowed me out of bed (I did get really good at bedpans), and I had physical therapy, which is God's gift to all of us, I was finally transferred to a state-of-the-art intensive re...

  Don't be Perturbed! Try Physical Therapy I just read this article about perturbation training. It is basically that you train in doing a balancing exercise with unexpected challenges. Without knowing it, I had some of this training when I first joined Gold's Gym, some years ago. My trainer had me stand on a bosu ball, and while I was jogging in place, he would throw a ball to me to catch. It was tough, and I didn't always stay on the ball, but it was a graduate course in balance.  I loved training at the gym, but since my heart transplant in October, 2018, and then hip replacement in July of this year, I have been being a good girl (as I should be), going carefully, slowly. My transplant team forbids gym attendance, because of the virus. Imagining walking into the gym with a KN95 mask and hand sanitize and checking in has been a constant daydream lately. I would walk over to the "guys' side", which is theoretically for everyone, and do my routine.  As it is,...

  I am two years, five months out of my heart transplant. My life is far different than it was before. At first I found things to do, driving to have lunch with friends, going to pick up my sweet grandson from child care once a week for a "date". Going to the gym to see my trainer, working hard. Realizing that getting back in shape would be more of a stretch than it was getting there in the first place!  This was pure bliss. Then there was COVID. I could go outside, but couldn't drive anywhere that ended up inside, like the Safeway, Sherwood Hall Library, or to my daughter's house. The only place I went was to the transplant center, and that was a big outing! During that time, I fainted several times, once outside my house. Standing on the driveway, I thought I was at a delightful garden party, until I hit the pavement. A woman was walking past our house. I could see her alarm, then hesitation about coming over to help. She had on a mask, and I didn't. Even when a...

It has been almost a year since I had a procedure. As I stop my car, this procedure comes to mind. When I walk, it comes up in my memory unbidden. I find myself getting angry at myself sometimes because my mind is slower, or my body is slower, than they used to be. "Getting old, Gail", I think to myself. Then I think of the procedure. It was, basically, a bomb going off in my life. A year ago, October 5, 2018 to be exact, I had a heart transplant. I was suddenly very, very sick. I had had lung issues, and was seeing a pulmonologist, for about a year. No matter what he did, what therapy I used, I still could barely breathe. I still was tired, and SOB (no, not that. Short of breath). Finally, I went to a follow-up appointment with him. Before he even could examine me, I vomited and staggered, and was ordered to lie down. The doctor hit a device on the wall, and tersely talked into a receiver. An ambulance was ordered, and the EMT's came quickly. Every time I tried to si...

"You can't say no to me.  I'm on Anti-rejection meds!" It has been almost a year since I had a procedure. As I stop my car, this procedure comes to mind. When I walk, it comes up in my memory unbidden. I find myself getting angry at myself sometimes because my mind is slower, or my body is slower, than they used to be. "Getting old, Gail", I think to myself. Then I think of the procedure. It was, basically, a bomb going off in my life. A year ago, October 5, 2018 to be exact, I had a heart transplant. I was suddenly very, very sick. I had had lung issues, and was seeing a pulmonologist, for about a year. No matter what he did, what therapy I used, I still could barely breathe. I still was tired, and SOB (no, not that. Short of breath). Finally, I went to a follow-up appointment with him. Before he even could examine me, I vomited and staggered, and was ordered to lie down. The doctor hit a device on the wall, and tersely talked into a receiver. An ambula...

You may wonder what a bagel has to do with cultural appropriation. I'm going to explain it. First of all, my Jewish mother, who never put an "s" on the word when it was plural, took us across town to buy "good bagel" when we were young. Not Lenders, the only supermarket bagel at the time, but the real thing. The bagel shop we visited was in the heart of Cedar Center, in Cleveland Hts, part of The East Side. We watched the workers boil the bagel in huge vats of water before baking (the only way to make good bagel). We bought sesame seed, plain, poppy, but NEVER fruit flavored or chocolate! It was unheard of to pollute a nice Jewish bagel with fruits. Onion, maybe. Never fruit. I thought fruit in bagel was barred by kosher law (it wasn't). We would take our treasures home to an almost all Catholic neighborhood on the West Side.  Now, bagels (note the "s") are ubiquitous. I had a manicure, once, from a Thai immigrant who told me she ate "Ame...

When Star Wars debuted in Cleveland (Star Wars: A New Hope), My husband and I were in the midst of moving from our delightfully cozy world to a new one. He had been offered a job in Washington, D.C. This was a difficult move for me, as my family was in Cleveland, and I had never lived anywhere else. We had a two bedroom apartment in an old but tony suburb. It was large and spacious, with wood floors and a fireplace. The ceilings were at least ten feet high, and the place was within walking distance to Shaker Square, home of the Shaker Rapid Transit. The Rapid still had its 1930's cars with windows that opened.  It went straight down to the Terminal Tower, now known as Tower City in the heart of downtown Cleveland. We had many friends from the Cleveland Institute of Music, and from Trinity Cathedral where we were paid soloists. Our situation was as perfect as possible. My husband received an offer he couldn't refuse, so we prepared to move. The night before we drove to D.C.,...

Christ Church, Alexandria, VA. In this sanctuary, both of my children were baptized. One daughter was married here. We look forward to baptizing our grandson here, also. My husband and I have been members since 1977, when we came from Cleveland, Ohio. A choir member at our old parish suggested Christ Church, having visited as a tourist. The Christ Church choir director just happened to have openings for both a baritone and alto soloist (paid soloists being the thing in many Episcopal churches). So we sang in the choir for many years, and my husband still does. In the beginning, all of the exotic southern culture involved in living in Alexandria felt like wearing new, slightly itchy clothing. We found ourselves living in a foreign country that spoke a version of English. Some people drawled, like in the movies! Others, being transplants like us, did not. As for food: Just as casseroles, I'm told, are the holy food of Methodism, ham biscuits were here. Church receptions al...

So now it is our fault that so much gas has been consumed, and that we will cost the country so much in Social Security. That we paid into Social Security all these years, and that our parents embraced consumption, and schooled us in it, are not relevant. We tried. Ours was the first Earth Day (the year I graduated high school).We marched against the Vietnam War. Many of our brothers, cousins, friends died in that war--the last generation to be drafted. We rebelled and revolted against our parents' Mad Men values. Yet we are being pilloried in the press and on the web as being greedy, selfish, youth-smitten black holes of consumerism. How did this happen? Why was my parents' generation the "Greatest", when we were also drafted, and also threatened by the world's madness?  I know. They suffered the Depression (mom still saved foil, and I did, also, when newly married). They were terrified of being conquered by the terrible despots of the time. We fear...

Mom as a child. My Mother had a secret war. She didn't take it to the streets, or join with others to wage it. In her heart she held beliefs that were mightily opposed to the popular opinion of her time. She taught me that African Americans were not N****s, as the neighbors said. They were "colored people, or Negroes". They were people like us. But she taught these things quietly, as if fearing someone would overhear. The most powerful, long-lasting oppression she held within her was the oppression of Anti-Semitism . She falsified her applications for work after she quit high school because they asked for her religion. She wrote, "Protestant", instead.  In one of her first jobs she was routinely called the "Jew Girl" . This she wanted to avoid in the future. When I was small, she counseled me to never tell anyone I was half Jewish. We lived in a second-generation Roman Catholic neighborhood in Willowick, Ohio. I told, anyway. I thought, if ...

My mother, before she learned to run like a girl. My mother taught me how to run like a girl. I was outside (we were always outside) playing with girlfriends. We raced each other, and my mom came out from behind the screen door. She said, "You shouldn't run with your fists clenched! You are a girl. You should be more feminine. Here, let me show you." She demonstrated a few adorable steps with hands flapping listlessly beside her.  She stopped and glared at me. "See?" I dutifully practiced, feeling terribly frustrated. How fast can someone run if they to think about how cute they look while doing it? Not very.  I was never able to integrate that pretty, graceful girl my mom had in her mind's eye. And I suspect that those women who were raised in the days of segregated women's and men's employment newspaper ads, and women's news, mostly had difficulty with these superimposed requirements. So when I read Judith Martin's In defense ...

I have to admit that I have been obsessing about my age lately. I've allowed my hair to go grey because I want to dare to be myself, as God has me right now. Yet I am wondering if God cares that I look older than my peers who color. I don't think she does. Also, I am reasonably fit but I still have droopy skin and a crinkly neck. I work with people who are ALL YOUNGER THAN I, a first in my life. I feel alternately hot and over-the-hill depending on how I'm feeling at any given moment. It is unsettling to feel hot when I really am not. Gail as Older Person I simultaneously want to be as fit and up-to-date as possible to offset my age as well as to just be as I am, sinking into comfortable sloth, gluttony, and evil humor as befits my status as a senior citizen. So I'm ambivalent. My close personal friends from high school might remember that I've always been this way. In adolescence I was a hippie (not going into details) but as a performer I was glamorous....

Watching Ken Burns' "The Roosevelts" on WETA was a deep dip into the wise waters of liberal progressivism, While no one wants government to be "Big Brother", and we all have varying opinions on what Big Brotherism is, I have always had positive feelings about the New Deal. My parents' memories of their own poverty during the Depression, and their belief that FDR was responsible for their being moved to the new, clean public housing projects where they met, certainly influenced my thinking. One of FDR's signature programs in the early '30's was the Works Projects Administration. The above is one of the WPA mosaic tiles built into the walls of the North End Pavilion at Spring Lake (NJ) Beach. That pavilion was totally destroyed by Hurricane Sandy. The tiles, we heard, had been removed for safe-keeping before the storm. The new pavilion is an almost exact replica of the old one, which is such a joy to those of us who thought that a new construc...

I'm ashamed to say I don't remember the exact date my friend died. It had to have been in 2008. Maybe someone will correct me. Another family member died a week after her, and it all became a blur. Helen was eighteen years older than I and we met when I was in my early twenties singing professionally at Trinity Cathedral, E. 22d Street in Cleveland. I had hosted a choir party at the house I shared with other students. At that party I got to know Helen and her amazing husband, George (more on that later). Primarily, aside from her honest, direct, passionate personality, I found out that, like me, she was addicted to chocolate. She personally conquered the bowl of M & M's in the living room. She laughingly referred to that event many times, especially when she resorted to Macrobiotics for her Tic Douloureux later. For Helen suffered mercilessly from this little-known neurological illness almost from the day I met her. Helen, George, Ridge (my husband) and I began soci...

I have always been a "P", in Myers-Briggs terminology . I am in love with possibilities, like to take in information rather than make decisions, need to stay with the "spirit" (my interpretation). Having my whole week planned with many things to accomplish feels uncomfortable to me. The coming week is all planned up.  It feels as if I only need to follow the plan and I don't have to make any spontaneous decisions. That's an untenable position for me. Tomorrow I go from school to the Kennedy Center for a class on assessment. Oh, how wonderful, you say! How interesting! Yes, it is. But I don't get to choose what to do at the end of the school day. It is already planned. Tuesday evening I go from school to Reston to work, and then to the childcare center where I'm teaching  Art, Music & Movement this half-semester. How cool! How busy and productive. Okay, yes, but it is already planned. I don't get to make any new creative decisions. Then W...

Emotional exhaustion is pretty common for me. I am a perfectionist, an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person , an INFP, in Meyers-Briggs terminology, and Adult Child of an Alcoholic , so easily co-dependent, and I am pretty emotional in general. I channeled my emotions into singing opera, concerts, working with other artists, and more recently, teaching young children. I get to use my predilection for silly faces, funny voices, puppetry, miming, dancing, singing, etc. to amuse and instruct children who delight in doing the same. I also love to move, to run, to climb. I do yoga with kids. They are so friendly and interested in my own interests. This is the funny thing I learned by switching from teaching in a preschool to teaching in a Child Care setting. The children become intimately interested in you, and knowledgeable about you. They know what you like, and can read you like a book. Witness the boy who constantly interrupts me, jokes while I'm trying to tell the children somethin...

I am keeping my promise to myself to walk/run almost every day. So far so good. On the left is a picture of myself doing my run. And if you believe that I have a missile defense system to sell you (no one wants a bridge anymore). I set out walking one minute, jogging another, alternately. Now I am jogging five minutes and walking one or two. I need to warm up, walking five minutes first. I never needed to do that in my fifties (Ah, the good old days!). My knees complain but not a lot. I sweat and that feels like I'm accomplishing something. Maybe I'm an accomplished sweater now? Or sweat-er. I can be proud of that! I am happy with this decision. It spurs me to use time more wisely. I'm awake at six anyway, thinking about how much I don't want to get out of bed. Why not get up and get moving? So I do. I notice progress. Yesterday I didn't feel like my muscles were on strike, at least a third of the time. During the school week I could go up the two flights of s...

We recently lost Ginger to liver cancer, aka Old Age. Before that her brother, Bear, was also lost to us. He was old, too. It is a difficult transition going from dog to no-dog. Some of the ways I list below: I drop food on the floor and look to make sure someone eats it. Oops! I have to clean it up myself. I come in from work and no one greets me, tongue lolling, eyes sparkling, tail wagging, saying, "Oh my God, you're home!! I thought you'd NEVER get here!" Leaving the bedroom, I don't have to check to make sure there are no dirty laundry baskets around, tempting someone to eat the crotch out of my Victoria's Secret undies. I no longer put the trash up on the sink, or on my husband's dresser. No raider is going to take dirty tissues and God knows what else. In the kitchen we don't put the trash up on the counter anymore. In New Jersey, when Ginger was already old (last summer) she dragged the dog-proof trash can with the locking lid into th...