Back on Track

From letter dated January 3, 2000

I return to Palo Alto the 18th of this month for surgery the 24th. I will be in the hospital for three to five days, then have been told to stay for six weeks before risking the arduous trip back to Central America. I feel like The Man Who Came To Dinner.

Carli and Tom are vastly relieved that I am switching my medical base from Atlanta to Palo Alto. Carli is looking forward to having me under her control during my long recuperation.

Assuming all goes well, I return to Belize the first weekend in March.

 

From letter dated January 12, 2000

I am rapidly becoming the person people would least like to be around. This happens every time I wind up for a departure. It is more extreme this time because I will be away longer than usual. I have to tie up all loose ends in my Air France operation so that Alex has no surprises when he steps in. I have to make sure that the house is supplied. I am living for the moment when the plane door closes and all my worries are beyond my control. At that point I may have time to concentrate on the reason for the trip.

 

From email sent January 29, 2000 to family and close friends

You have no idea how much your messages of good wishes, hopes for a rapid recovery, and suggestions for managing my recuperation have meant to me. They warmed me before, during, and after my surgery. I will write personal messages to each of you in the days to come. Meanwhile, I hope you will accept this acknowledgement of how much support and comfort you have given me.

Carli and Tom are delightful, stern “caregivers.” I consider myself an ideal, cooperative patient. Carli not only has doubts, she manages to express them vividly when she thinks necessary.

Progress is slow—which I expected. I have had a couple of rough days with muscle spasms. The nurse who gave me my final instructions before leaving the hospital told me to expect them. I wasn’t listening, but fortunately, Carli was. Medication I was confident I would not need has helped. Meanwhile, I finally notice a slight improvement in my general strength. Not that I’m doing anything requiring strength except getting in and out of bed.

 

From email sent February 8, 2000 to family and close friends

Several of you have asked for specifics about my surgery. I asked Dr. Shuer three separate times to describe it, and each time he slid past the question and out of my room. Tom later described him as virtually catatonic when it comes to conversation.

Dr. Shuer is a handsome young man with an astoundingly fine reputation. He is very pleasant and concerned. But talkative, no. When I saw him last week to have my staples removed, I told him, “You are not leaving this room until you describe in full detail exactly what you did.”

The young intern who was in the room with us flew out. Dr. Shuer grinned and gave me a long medical sentence. I told him it didn’t mean a thing to me and to put it in English. By that time, the intern returned with a mock-up of a spine. Dr. Shuer gratefully took the model and showed me where he had carved away bone and possibly softer material that had been pressing on the sciatic nerve.

If you remember your anatomy, the front of the spine appears solid with bone separated by discs. The back, however, is open, somewhat as if you crooked your fingers and spread them apart. It was obvious that the doctor could reach in “easily” to cut away bony growths as necessary. I had kept thinking that he would have to saw through the spine to get at the problem. Wrong again.

When I told the story to Tom that night, he was vastly amused at my forcing the taciturn doctor to tell me exactly what I wanted to know.

 

Progress report: In general, onward and upward. I crashed Thursday for no discernible reason and had to go back on medication. It lasted less than twenty-four hours. My niece Katy had warned me that this would happen, but I had been feeling that tiny bit better each day, so I wrote off her warning / advice.

Friday I was back on track. It was Carli’s birthday, and I was delighted to be here, both for myself and because Tom is in Florida for a conference. We had a pleasant day. Tom left Carli a box of See’s chocolates (to die for) and we managed to make substantial inroads before the evening ended.

 

As it happened, the night of the Super Bowl, we decided to order dinner from “Waiters on Wheels.” Carli has a thick brochure of fine restaurants in the area who offer food from their regular menus to be delivered. When the brightly uniformed man delivered out food, he was practically tongue-tied over the exciting game. When he learned that we had not been watching, he replayed the key points with gestures. We were in hysterics. He was absolutely delightful.

For Carli’s birthday on the Fourth, I suggested that we have a Waiters-on-Wheels dinner. The same man brought it. When Carli opened the door, he remarked, “We’ve got to stop meeting this way.” We told him how much we had enjoyed his replay of the game, and I proceeded to overtip him. When he thanked me, I answered, “We like you.”

 

I was determined to accompany Carli on her traditional Saturday trek. She and Tom always have breakfast at a charming little donut shop run by an amiable Vietnamese couple before doing their weekly grocery shopping at a nearby supermarket.

This was the first time I tried putting on my heavy surgical stockings when I dressed, and it was not a shining hour. It was not painful, but my incision and surrounding traumatized area felt seriously abused. As for me, once this tropical flower was encase in elastic, regular stockings, silk undershirt, slacks, blouse, and wool sweater, she felt as if she had volunteered for a straight-jacket. I suspect I walked very much like a small child encased in snow regalia.

The expedition was a pleasant venture out into the world and not especially wearying. On the other hand, I was delighted to get home, toss clothing in all directions, and resume my accustomed gown-and-heavy-robe costume. The fact that I took a long, pleasant horizontal nap in the afternoon had nothing to do with my morning exertions.

 

Last Sunday, when Carli and Tom had season tickets for the ballet in San Francisco, Tom’s daughter Kris and her husband Derek offered to babysit me. I was delighted at the chance for a long visit with them both. Kris had planned a surprise late-birthday party for Carli with just us that evening. She topped our informal supper off with a delicious birthday cake. When Kris asked me earlier how many candles she should put on the cake, I replied, “Just enough to look pretty.”

I have sat up typing this for as long as I am allowed to do and have run out of material at the same time. Lucky timing.

 

From letter dated March 11, 2000

My convalescence was easy, thanks in large part to Carli and Tom’s warm attention. Carli was equally diligent at making me rest and at seeing that I took walks as I progressed. I loved being with them and did my best to allow them as much privacy as I could. They are wonderful hosts and delightful company. Imagine one’s mother-in-law moving in for seven weeks the way Tom’s did! He is a perfect dear.

 

My last week with Carli and Tom was hectic, with final checkups with both the neurosurgeon and the retinologist.

And then there was packing! You would think that with my being confined to the house most of the time, there would be no chance for my belongings to outgrow my suitcases. Guess again.

Think catalogues. I spent most of one day packing, and at the end, I was exhausted physically and emotionally, but was elated at my success—until I opened the closet door and found a box of miscellaneous purchases I had overlooked. I spent another day reshuffling. Back-ordered towels and wash cloths arrived at the last minute when I really didn’t want them to complicate my project. I would not have succeeded without Carli’s intervention. She thought of places to tuck things that never would have occurred to me.

The final complication was that I thought I was leaving on the Friday (when my flight was), but I left Palo Alto on Thursday. Carli drove me to an hotel near the San Francisco airport, where I prefer to spend my last night. I take their shuttle to the airport in the very early morning and fly all the way through on Continental. This means that I can be home the same afternoon, and I can safely check my overstuffed luggage through to Belize. Getting up at 3:30 am is a small enough price to pay.

Tom joined us at the hotel when his plane arrived from Washington. We walked next door to one of their favorite restaurants for dinner. Mid-evening, they left me back at the hotel.

 

Carli and Tom insisted that I use wheelchairs on my trip home. I agreed, realizing that I could not cope with what I had to carry. Continental was helpful in arranging for me to use Frequent Flyer miles to upgrade to Business Class the whole way, so the trip was not nearly as tiring as I had feared. I considered it justifiable self-indulgence.

Alex and María met me at the airport, of course, and we talked our way back to town. Three large dogs were ecstatic to see me after my having inexplicably vanished from their world. It was wonderful to be home, much as I had enjoyed being with Carli and Tom.

I returned to a three-day weekend in Belize. Then came the shocker. I went in to my Air France desk brightly Tuesday morning, worked happily at going through the papers Alex and Dwight had left neatly organized for me, and fell apart at about 11:00. I came home, fixed a glass of iced coffee and collapsed in my recliner. I was completely wiped out. María and Alex absolutely forbad my returning to the office in the afternoon.

So that has been the pattern all week—about three hours of happy work in the morning then an afternoon of resting at home. I considered drifting into a Deep Dark Decline. However, a niece by email and friends by telephone—all far younger than I—have assured me that it had taken them six or nine or twelve months to recover full strength after surgery. I feel much better about my slow progress now.