Gail's Blog

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.,...