August 23, 2008. Me and Teddy.

Redefining Inside and Outside

When I was still working for a living but had escaped the daily office scene, I used to email my friend at work.  I'd ask him how life was on the inside as if he were a convict in prison and I had been sprung.  I was home, snug as a bug in my home office often working in my PJ's.  I had freedoms he did not.  No one was nearby to eavesdrop on my mutterings.  I could take a break whenever I chose.  I felt freer than my friend.

In truth, it was an illusion.  All of it.  The trip downtown had gotten harder and harder.  I had pretty much run out of steam by then and it was very fortunate for me that the job allowed me to work from home.  My health concerns were not at all why the change was made.  It was just very good timing.

These days, I feel very much like a person on the inside.  My house is my refuge and it's not for lack of character or interest that I don't venture out more.  I am much more able to cope with this than I am with that.  It just is.

A friend and I were emailing back and forth about our limited mobility.  My friend's car is breaking down and she's feeling trapped in city when she yearns for country.  For me, a person who has always had to find a way to get around, it's probably not as hard.  I've never been able to take myself to the country.  I've had to settle for something else, find solace in quiet corners like the gardens in our park or my own home.

Diary, I've been feeling very squirrely lately.  Dissatisfied.  I've even been picking fights around the house.  I'm acting more like the pre PH me than the PH me.  Have I gotten so comfortable being this person that I'm sweating the small stuff again?  The complaints I have are old and moldy.  Nothing new. 

I really need to mellow out.  If I'm on the inside - truly on the inside - I'd better be nice to my inmates.  I think we're going to be here for awhile to come.

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Cold

It's been mighty cold here.  Not teeth-rattling cold in the Mid West sense, but cold just the same.  You have to keep in mind, our homes are not insulated very well and we're just hanging out here.  It's all in what you get used to and you'll just have to believe me when I say it's cold.

Add to that the sniffles.  Allen started to show signs of a head cold this morning.  After I got tired of yelling at him about his lack of attention to hand washing, I gave it up.  I was tired of being angry.  I asked for a truce.  If he's nurturing a cold, I'll have it soon and it will do what it does.  Amen.

The weekend was somewhat of a failure.  We drove down to the Farmer's Market on Saturday and were welcomed by a new "No Dogs Allowed" policy.  There were signs everywhere and the dog cops were out in force. The health department has cracked down.  A pity.  We did not tarry long.  Only three pink lady apples and a small bunch of broccoli made it into our bag.   People can carry around their toddlers in poopy diapers, but we cannot carry around our dog.  How fair is that?

Sunday was a low-key affair as well and today while Allen worked on engineering projects, I finally cleaned off my desk.  It was a work day here at home when it might have been a day out.  If it had not been such a gray and lackluster day, I might have pulled us in some direction, but I was not inspired.  Maybe next week.

The upcoming  work week is a short one.  Allen will be off again this coming Friday and we're having a neighborhood Paella party on Saturday here.  Lots of good food, chatter and good will, I hope.  We'll have time to prepare and shop on Friday and Joanne will be here on Monday to clean up after us.

If I don't fall apart completely, I'll have lunch with friends on Wednesday.  Otherwise there's nothing much cooking here.

Diary, pleas please let me skip this head cold thing.  I'd really like to sit this one out.

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Poles

I hugged and kissed Sunnya after my hair color visit today.  I was not sure how my hair looked, but I rested easy with the knowledge that she had not cut even one hair.  She does a decent color job, but she is not a stylist and as much as I love her, I have been so despairing over my hair, I had to draw the line today.  No snipping.  Not even one hair.

When I left her shop, the sun was still warming part of the sidewalk.  I gravitated to the sun as I walked home even though I was blinded by the light and could hardly see a thing in front of me.

If I had been in Mexico where you cannot count on a sidewalk at all, I would have been in trouble tripping over broken bricks and down pot holes.  But I was in my own turf and I was walking toward the light which was warm and soothing.  I went on memory and instinct.

It was when I turned left at the Cheese Shop to cross the street - a street I've crossed thousands of times - that things got dicey.

 It was not a speeding car or a bicyclist or a crow flying low.  It was a pole.  I walked right smack into a metal pole.  WHAM!

My glasses flew off.  They had taken the direct hit.  I waited for someone to yell, "lady, are you all right?" but nobody yelled.  No one had noticed.  I picked up my glasses and tried to put them on, but they were a mess of metal so I turned around and walked to the optometrist shop a few doors beyond Sunnya's and asked for help.

"I walked into a pole," I confessed.

I felt like a damned fool, a blind fool which by the way, I am.

Diary, if you could see what I see...  Or better yet if you could see what I DON'T see when I walk along the street, you'd shudder.  I go on a wing and a prayer. 

On a sunnier note, my hair looks great!  This getting rid of the gray makes all the difference.  Even a so-so haircut looks good when the hair is vibrant.  I love it!

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The Class of Two Thousand and Something

In school, we're identified by our year of graduation.  We're in a course of study and at some point - usually within a short span of years -, we graduate.  I suspect, behind the scenes, our PH docs categorize us in a simimar fashion.

PH has a known set of problems.  First this happens, then that happens, and so on and so forth until the patient dies.  Doctors cannot say for certain how fast things will occur -  too many variables - but these things will occur and that's it.  The End.  Final curtain.  Over and out.  Ten-four..

I've been avoiding doctors and I will continue to do so.  I don't want to be prodded and studied for what amounts to nothing, but I am noticing some deterioration and it has had me in a funk.

I feel more sluggish than I did a year ago, markedly so.  I am leadened.  I know I will deal with heart failure a time or two before this is done.  I don't mean to be heavy handed here, but I think I'm entering a new phase of PH.  The next phase.

If I were to see my Stanford doc right now, she would smile broadly and tell me I'm doing great (right on schedule) and when I'm ready to try a high-powered drug, we'll do it.  But honestly, there is not much out there.  I'm not at all ready for Flolan.  Will inhaled Illoprost be available anytime soon?  What about inhaled N.O.?  I cannot qualify for any clinical trial.  It's bleak.  Really bleak unless some new drugs are approved.

Allen was home today.  He ran an errand or two at my request, but I never left the house.  Earlier this week, I was walking in the neighborhood and it was slow going then, but today I just felt like being in.  No pep.

I've had Allen extend our diningroom table all the way in preparation for tomorrow night's neighbor-fest.  Friends will come with raw ingredients - saffron, clams, Valencian rice and more - for a big pot of paella.  They'll also bring appetizers, desserts and wine.  We'll all cook and chat over finger food and finally sit down - knee to knee - around a slightly too-small, unstable oval oak table in our diningroom.

I think I can handle this level of activity and I'm looking forward to it.  Good energy and friendly faces working together.   At the end, a cooking lesson and a big pot of paella too.

Diary, I usually avoid medical talk, but I can't avoid it forever.  This is, after all, a diary about living with PH.  The subject has to be broached sometime.  And before you write to tell me I should be seeing the doc about my sluggishness, give it up.  When it gets really bad, I know what to do.  But thanks al the same.  (Irene, this means you).

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Paella and Sangria

It worked out well.  Lots of people - ten in all - came together to make a main dish and it was a great success!  Sangria - when it's good - is deliciously light and fruity.  Zinfandel wine (real Zin, not that white stuff) with a bit of brandy and triple sec, fresh orange juice, lemon juice from Madeline's much maligned lemon tree, ultra fine sugar with slices of lemon and orange to add a bit of visual interest.  Dilute the chilled liquid with a little ice and it's ready to go. The tangy beverage filled a lovely Williams Sonoma "punch" bowl.  It won the praise of most.

 I contributed the sangria along with chicken liver pate, sheep cheese and crackers.  Others brought olives, Spanish sherry, cilantro hummus and pita to scoop it up, a salad, cake and chocolate mousee.  We munched and slurped while we chopped, sauted and bickered over what to do next.

In the end, it was a great meal and very satisfying.

Today I divvied up most of the leftovers and either Allen or I delivered them personally.  Two clams per parcel.  A lot of flavorful rice with shrimp and whatever else happened to get caught up in the scooper.

We'll get together every few months, I expect and I hope we ocok together again.  It was a great experience. 

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His Wally-ness

We're lucky to have an emergency animal care facility three blocks from here.  There are only two in the City.  We needed them tonight.  Wally was screaming at me.  Something was wrong!

We took him to a fly-by-night card-table operation yesterday to get a low-cost vaccine.  This evening, I jumpted to the conclusion that he had been poisoned, but then I remembered something.  He was fine when I let him in this morning.  He was full of wally-ness.  But by this afternoon, he was a wreck.  And when I tried to touch him, he seemed to favor his left paw.  A fight this morning in the wee hours? 

Wally's English is poor.  It's horrid, in fact.  I could not make sense of his yowls but clearly he was a P.O. pussy cat.  "LEAVE ME ALONE," he snarled and spit.  Sadie's barking made it worse.  Much worse.

When Allen walked in the door, I directed him to take Sadie to Elen's.  She would hang out there until we knew what was up.

We put Wally in the carrier and walked him to the docs tonight mingling all the way with neighborhood diners.

Wally got a pain pill and antibiotics again - the same liquid he took some months ago when he had a high fever.  He had a fever again, but a low grade one this time and that left leg seems to be painful to him.  Must be a bite.

If Wally were not such a restless cat, I'd make him a housebound feline.  He won't have any of it.  He's bored as it is.

Well, we do the best that we can with Wally.  My parent's were fond of taking the "want and see" approach and that never seemed to work out well.

Like I told Allen on our way up the street, "it's only money."

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Lumpless in San Fran

I was awakened this morning by the phone when I should have been up sipping my coffee on the kitchen desk stool in front of the television set.  I heard the message machine click to life and I identified the voice as the administrative assistant for my primary care physician.  Yadda yadda.

When I finally listened to the message, my heart began to race like Seabiscuit's when he was crossing the finish line at the Santa Anita..

"Dr. Yau would like to see you about your mammogram."  I was instructed to call and interrupt whatever the assistant was doing.  It seemed like such an urgent thing, it had to be bad.  Supremely bad.

It is the lymph nodes.  Something going on.  When can you come in?

I chose today.  Later.  I called Madeline and left a pathetic phone message.  " I know you're busy, but I need to see my doctor and I would appreciate the support.  Do you think you could take me?"

Of course.  She picked me up at 2:30 for my 3:00 appt across town.

Dr. Yau pushed and prodded but found nothing in the lymph nodes to cause alarm.  There were no lumps, no bumps, nothing to fret about.  She was surprised to see me so soon.  "It was not an urgent thing." she said.

"Dr. Yau, I have a very low tolerance for bad news these days." I reminded her.

She ordered some blood work and a chest X-ray and I skipped out the door feeling unusually light of being.  Madeline and I celebrated over an early dinner at Vivande on Fillmore Street, a good and expensive eatery.   My treat.

Maybe my X-ray will show something or maybe it won't.  Maybe my blood test results will start a dialogue.  Can't say for certain.  For now, I feel like I've dodged a bullet.  I was trying to imagine a life dealing with cancer on top of everything else and it made me nearly crack.  Just imagining was too hard.  Just imagining...

A neighbor just had a healthy baby boy, a friend is about to have her five-year cancer-free check-up, and I - as far as I know - have healthy lymph nodes.

This may all be happening in the briefest moment in time, but it's all good news, right?

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Re-Training

For a while now, Sadie has been waking us up around 3 a.m.   She's learned over time that if she licks our faces and causes a ruckus, we'll do anything to get her to settle down again.  Allen usually takes her outside to do her thing and then she always gets a handful of kibbles which she eats on the bed and finally she settles down to chew on a chew stick.

We've tried guilting her, yelling at her, denying her, but she just keeps sneaking licks, emitting little yips and bugging us until we give in.

I decided the other day, something had to give.  I was going to play hardball.

I retrieved the large cat carrier from the basement.  For a short time when we were trying to train Sadie, she slept in it at night.  I put the little crate on the floor next to our bed.

Last night at 3 or wo, i heard a yip and in a flash, I had a dog face in my own.  It only took one lick and I was up, but this time Sadie did not get her way.  She got plopped into the crate and the door was secured behind her.  No kibbles.  No trip to the back yard.  ]

"Go to bed Sadie,"  I yelled.

She yipped, waited and yipped again.  In all there might have been four or five yips.  She knew it was no go.  There were no more yips.  We slept peacefully after that until Allen let her out at 5:30, his usual rise and shine time.

A victory!

We may have to keep the crate in the room indefinitely and Sadie may escallate the yips one of these days to raise the ante.  She's welcome on the bed as long as she lets us sleep through the night.  New rules here.

I'm feeling pretty smug today.  I realize it's just a start, but it was so easy.  Gotta love that Sadie.  She just needs a little direction, that's all.

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Re-Thinking or What A Difference A Day Makes

I've lost the good feeling I had from yesterday's narrow escape. Dr. Yau called a while ago. The X-Ray showed my heart is enlarged.

To the best of my knowledge, it had not been enlarged before this, but maybe so. I suspect now that it was enlarged at the time of my last echo when the doctor in charge thought there was a mass somewhere. It was probably just my big old floppy heart taking up a bit more space and pushing here and there.

That does explain the increase in edena.

No matter what I do, I cannot put a good spin on this. I know that people can be in heart failure for a long time before they give up the ghose but...

I'll have to start taking heart meds of some sort, I expect and my avoiding the docs days are probably over for good.

I'd like to type a long string of swear words here, but I won't. I'll spare you.  I'm thinking them.  You better believe I am..

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In the Face of Adversity

I've got my head on straight again more or less.  I'm no longer freaked out by my latest medical news.  I've talked to a couple of people who have compromised hearts.  It can go on for a long time.  I will try to get an appt for an echo up at U.C. to drag an an appt to see my Stanford doc asap. 

The most troubling thing for me is the way Allen received the information.  He's as cool as a cucumber.  "I have to wait and see what this means," he said much too casually.  I wanted to strangle him.  I still do.

When I feel particularly teunous, I have no shoulder to cry on.  That's how it feels to me.  Anything uncomfortable for Allen is played down.  It has to be.  Nothing else is allowed.

When my mother was dying, my father left me alone with her.  Allen was at work.  I had to hold it together, talk to the doctor moments after her heart stopped beating.  We pretended nothing had happened when we got back to my parent's home.  I made lamb stew for dinner and dad went to bed early.  It was several months later, on a sunny day in my own little backyard that I broke down.  I was alone then and I just let it all out, big slobbery runny nose sobs. 

We're pretending that it's business as usual here and I wonder diary, what will have to happen before it's not.  It may be time for me to find a good therapist.  I have the name of a guy across the bay and I am going to think long and hard about giving him a call.  I don't think I can handle Mr. cool and any progression of my disease.  I need an outlet.

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Solar Power

I accepted an invitation today to run errands with a friend and her mom.  I did not need to go anywhere, but I had spent a couple of dark and gloomy days mostly inside.  I needed to get out of here.

It was a dry and mostly sunny sweater-perfect day, the first in awhile.  It felt wonderful to have the sun on my face again.  There really is something to this sunshine deficiency thing.  May be time to investigate the need for supplemental vitamin D.

I should have been bone weary when I returned home.  We had been in and out of shops and I had two heavy bags of stuff to carry in.  But after I got over my initial shortness-of-breath and put down my bags, I felt energized.  Solar powered.

Tonight, I'm wearing down at the usual rate so will be tucked in before long.  Just had to write tonight to say life is not all despairing.  We have some things to work ou here, but there have been little snippets of sunlight here and there.

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Breezy

We've had some developments in dealing with illness around here making the mood decidedly lighter and sunnier.  The weather too has changed for the better  Today was sunny and breezy. Tiny seedlings and pollens filled the air - achoo, achoo, achoo.  And later, a bonus.  A wheeze.

We got into the car and headed to the edge of this continent, a couple of miles northwest of our house.  I wanted to visit the gift shop at the Cliff House at Land's End where tourists usually flock to visit the historic restaurant and stare out at Seal Rock.

It was unusually quiet out there today.  Renovation work has started on the old buildings and even though one of the diningrooms is still open, it is a pretty sorry place right now.  The tour bus area is inaccessible and parts of the building have been razed.  From the looks of things, it must be off the city tour for the time being.

As it turned out, it was a failed trip.  The gift shop had next to nothing.  The shelves were nearly empty.  No tourists, no stuff.  Slim pickings.  We settled for a walk along the beach instead.

Tonight we rented Open Range and invited Elen, our elder neighbor, to watch with us.  An okay movie if only I could believe the characters instead of imagining Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall patting each other on the backs.  On the way out the door, Elen started to complain, "I feel so restricted!" she said emphatically as she tried to get her stiff left leg to cooperate.

Poor Elen.  She doesn't get much sympathy from me when she speaks up about her declining health.  She's still better off than I am and she's thirty years older. 

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Who Is This Woman?

Allen took a handfull of photos when we were out walking last weekend.  It was a day much like today weatherwise and it was hard to take a bad photo given our location.  A couple of the shots were of me and Ms. Sadie with the city skyline or bridge in the background and these were the worst.  When I look at my likeness, I no longer see me anymore.  I see a woman who's gone to pot.

Not so very long ago, I wore expensive duds, weighed about ninety pounds and always had a neat, trim and stylish haircut.  My clothing of choice now is roomy and comfortable to match my roomy and poochie middle.  My hair is awful and when it whips around my face on a windy day, I look a fright.  

If my mother had been alive to see sweatpants worn out in public, I think that alone would have done her in, heart disease or no heart disease.  And to think this has become a staple in my life now.

When we went to buy a baby gift a couple of days ago, I spotted sweatpants in the corner of the children's store.  The large size usually fits me fine and when I picked them up to check out the sizing, Allen suggested I get the medium.  I got two pair in size large and took the fleecy pants home.  My old sweats have seen better days.

I'm sorry to say, the sweats fit just fine, the large ones.  And if I'm not careful, I'll be back to buy the extra large ones next time. 

P.S.  I've posted a good photo of the bridge we took when we were walking along Crissy Field last week.

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Flexibility

I took my glasses back to the optometrist again today.  The pin fell out on Saturday and the lens dropped in my hand.  Allen tried to put them together using his tiny computer screwdriver, but it was stubborn.  He thought the screw was stripped.  I limped along with an old pair.

The screw was not stripped, it needed to go in from the bottom of the frame, not the top.  That took just a few minutes to sort out.  Then I walked on ever so slowly so as not to huff and puff.  I had to return the movie too.  Another few blocks in the warm sun.

I am dreading my 6 minute walk next month.  It used to be so easy and now...well, it's not nearly the same.  I used to clip along at a pretty good pace and hardly get winded.  I got very winded last year and had to turn the gas up.  This time, even more gas may not quite do the trick.  My decline will be measured and we'll have to talk about it.

Poo!

In the meantime, I'm going to make an effort to slim down a bit.  Given that I have practically no self control, this may be a mere pipe-dream.  Still, I plan on giving it a go and a lot of thought.  I picked up the 3-lb weights tonight and pumped while I watched television.  I did my back exercises this morning.  I touched my toes a dozen or so times.  I walked to run errands, but I ate too.  Yes, I ate.  How does one ever get ahead?

Later this week I'd like to visit the California Historical Society downtown.  Talk about ambitious!  I spotted a wonderful book the other day I'm told they will have and probably lots more cool stuff.  I'll only attempt the trip if I'm feeling particularly well.  I'll play it by ear.

I play everything by ear now.  Flexibility.  That's just the way it has to be.

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In The Garden

Yesterday when I swept my little deck, I could not help but notice the garden.  Much of the ground cover has died off; leaves from the trees were everywhere.  The pretty leafy ferns have blown their seedlings here and there and there is stiff competition for air and light.  It was a sight.

When I crawled out from under the comforter this morning, I knew I had some energy to burn.  I had no excuse today worth beans.  The weather was spectacular and I had no plans.  I strapped on the knee pads, pulled on a pair of garden gloves and picked up the bucket.  Time to pull it together.

It was pleasant being out there in the warm air with Sadie and Wally for company.  I let my mind wander as I puttered and Sadie and Wally's antics made me laugh.

Wally must have been cut off from passing through Elen's yard because he stuck around.  He entertained himself by tormenting Sadie.  First he would run through the yard, feign a tackle and then race off with her on his tail.  Then he'd jump on the fence which drove her nuts.  He did this over and over again sometimes disappearing from sight for a few minutes.  Sadie would run along the fence looking for a way through.  He always gets the best of her. 

In the course of three hours, I rescued the little mirror plant - a gift from my mother's friend Cess - which was being dwarfed by a renegate Boston fern, cleared Mr. Kitty Carlyle's grave and did quite a lot of cliping even though it's the wrong time of year for such things.  I swept the brick path and picked up buckets full of dry leaves, plucked tiny weeds and fertilized and watered.  There's still more to do, of course, but it looks one hundred percent better now.

If the weather holds, it would be a good time to buy some new ground cover and flowers for the garden this weekend.  If we don't move when it's in good shape, we'll just have to start from scratch again at a later date.

I garden, therefore I am.

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Tickled

One of my PH friends came by today for lunch and a nap.  She's spending much of her time at UC on the hill with her sick grand daughter and needed a place to crash.  I've offered my guest bedroom to her many times over the past year and today she took me up on it.

After she had gone, I pulled out the check books and paid a few bills.  I had to walk an oversized envelope to the P.O. for weighing anyway so thought I might as well pay a few odd bills at the same time.

We had to get in line at the P.O. for awhile.  Ignoring the No Dogs Allowed sign as I always do, I carried Sadie in and held her with my left arm so that she was facing forward.  After we had stood there for about ten minutes, I reached around my back with my right arm and tickled Sadie's toes, a little tease to pass the time.

Sadie did a pretty fair impression of Linda Blair; her head spun around, her mouth dropped open and she stared at the guy behind us.  She looked him up and down, up and down.  She thought he had tickled her foot and she wanted to know why.

I was grinning from ear to ear by then.  I wanted to belly laugh but I kept it in.  A lunatic and her little dog in the P.O. line.  Local color.  Instead I whispered in her ear, "it was me Sadie.  It was me."

She did not understand, of course and for the remainder of our wait, she continued to eye the guy behind us now and then.  In Sadie's world if someone touches her, they usually own up to it.  She was very confused.

Diary, I don't have much to say for myself in terms of accomplishments today, but I continue to get a silly grin whenever I think about tickling Sadie's feet in the Post Office line.

ARF.

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A Chocolate Cake Sort of Weekend

It isn't often that I put on my baking hat.  I've never been much good at it and we don't really need the calories anyway, but for Valentine's Day I brushed off my mother's chocolate cake recipe - a very moist cake made with mayonnaise and seedless blackberry jam - and had a go at it.

It was a little touch and go.  The first attempt produced too squat round layers.  They looked more like gigantic cookies than the layers of a cake.  I walked back to the market for a new box of baking soda and tried it again.

I have to say, the rounds were not much bigger the second time so after tasting and approving of the first batch, I cemented three of the layers together with frosting to produce a rather statuesque specimen.  With walnuts on top, it looked very presentable. 

It was a big hit.  An entire homemade cake at the start of a long holiday weekend...  What more could you ask for?

We had sunny bits and rainy bits, a walk in the park, trips to market, Scrabble, cards and movies, and finally a big pot of homemade vegetable soup with Elen's figole (beans and meat) to give it very good flavor.

We're just rolling along here diary, having our cake and eating it too.

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Happy Hair

My bad hair months ended today.  After quizzing everyone I know about their hair cutters and coming up more or less empty, I went out in search of a decent cut today. 

Annette had given me the name of a someone a friend had recently liked, but the salon was very likely the one my mother used to frequent.  It is very near my parent's old home and the thought of tracing my mother's footsteps freaked me out a bit. It was the only solid lead I had been given.

From my experience, stylists hang out in trendy shops in upscale neighborhoods.  They don't usually hang up shingles in run-of-the-mill, nuts and bolts areas like our own.   There are plenty of beauty shops nearby but they are all the ship, wash, set and spray variety.   Not at all what I had in mind.

I stepped aboard the crosstown bus today heading for a salon I used to patronize when I was still working and needed hair to go with business suits and silk blouses.  I did not remember the shop name, but I knew I could find it again. When  I stepped inside and said I would like a consultation, I was told a woman named Brenda had time to see me. 

Within a few minutes I had given Branda the story and showed her a picture of a style I was shooting for.  After she looked at my hair, she said she thought this would work and since she had time, I gave her the okay to cut.  She evened things up as best she could and blew my hair into a neat little bob.  In another two months, she'll have more to work with.

Earlier today I was ready to walk into any trendy place. 

"Please!  Somebody!  Cut this hair!  Please!"

But I think I have a winner.  Brenda is down-to-earth and very easy to talk with.  She works Wed. through Sun. and I can get to this shop by myself without too much effort.

It is a happy hair day in S.F.

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BIG DOGS and little critters

My old workmate, Brian came by yesterday in the late afternoon.  He rang me up to see if I was in the mood for a drop in.  He said he was outside on the sidewalk in front of my house.  He added, "I have a dog with me."

""A big dog or a little dog?" I asked.

"A big dog."  Brian answered.

He assured me that the dog was very well behaved and so I opened the front door with Sadie tucked under my left arm.

The dog and I stood eyeball to eyeball.  The dog was a GREAT DANE, the biggest great Dane I think I've ever seen and it was about 24 inches from my face.

"Wow!  That's a dog!" I offered in disbelief  as I motioned them both to enter.

By now Sadie was shrieking and I had to put my hand around her muzzle to settle her down.  Just then I spotted Wally at the foot of the stairs.  He had come down to take a sneak out the open front door.  He stopped cold.  He just stood there looking at the biggest dog he had ever encountered.  I was more than a little nervous by this time.

Kong, the Dane belongs to one of Brian's flaky friends and Brian has taken over the dogs care for the time being.  Although this dog is no city dog, he'd probably fare reasonable well in Brian's care.  Brian is a physical young guy who loves to run and bike in GG Park and the dog was surprisingly mellow and loving for such a beast.

Diary, I could easily have taken a ride on Kong yesterday.  He weighs about 170 pounds!  It was a kick to have a dog that big around for a few minutes.  He could have easily cleaned off any of my countertops without jumping or straining a bit. 

As for Sadie and Wally?  I held a quivering little dog in my arms for the entire visit.  I positioned her so she did not have to look at Kong.  Wally had all the nerve I would expect of him.  When Kong was laying on his side, Wally tiptoed in to take a sniff of one gargantuan black paw.  Satisfied that this dog was real, he retreated in slow motion around the corner into the diningroom.  One snap, and it would have been all over for either of them.

Brian will rename the dog if he becomes the owner eventually.  I suggested Seabiscuit!

"Here Seabiscuit."

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Lung Doctor

I received a call today from the Chest Clinic nurse at UCSF.  I had left a message for her last week in re: my pulmonologist.  Dr. S is "sick" and has cancelled all appointments.  I'm worried.

I took a long time to settle on Dr. S and we had the "end of life" discussion a couple of years ago.  We were like-minded and I have felt very good aobut being under his care.  It felt more like a partnership.  And now everything is in the air.

Dr. S and I passed a few emails back and forth last week about my cancelled 3/1 appointment.  It's obvious to me and the nurse confirmed it - he desperately wants to work, but cannot.  No one will give a name to his illness and I know it's none of my business, but I sure would like to know what's going on.

A lot of patients are going to be unhappy if Dr. S cannot work anymore.  Besides being a specialist in the area of cystic fibrosis, he is a caring doctor.  I always feel that he sees beyond my pathetic little lungs when he's dealing with me and that he would be there in the flesh if and when I had a problem.  But now?

This little slice of life concern just underscores what we all know to be true.  Life is uncertain. 

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Echo Talk

I walked the twelve city blocks to the Irving Street entrance of UCSF yesterday, headed back into the bowels of the building and took the long elevator ride up to Parnassus Street.  I pittered along at my own snail's pace, eyeing the trains as they passed me by.  They were always an option and that kept me going.

From the elevator which deposited me outside the clinic building, I walked across the street and into Moffit hospital.  I took my place in the third floor waiting room of the echo lab and waited my turn.

I lucked out.  My tech was a woman with a very gentle touch.  She had done my second echo several years ago and I remember her as the best tech so far.   After much talk about our animals, the test was over.   It did not take long at all!

Today I requested the results by fax and am happy to report the conclusions.  There is evidentally no increase in the heart size or deterioration in function.  It's pumping pretty well.  And the pressure is the same as last time - low 40's.  It's called mild pulm hypertension.  No marked change. 

As most of us know by now, the pressure is just one piece of the puzzle.  PH causes vascular changes within the lung itself and I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts, there's been some deterioriation there. A few years ago at rest, my oximeter stayed at 97 without supplemental.  Now it's 92.  Pulm function tests - which I choose to avoid at all costs - is another helpful test in gauging change and the 6-minute walk (which I will agree to) is another. 

But diary, all in all, this is good news and I won't offer you any whining today.  If I can get a move on, I need to buy some fish, play a few rounds of gin rummy with Elen and clean up my dining room table (papers galore).

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Sunday Evenings at Home

Years ago, I was addicted to Masterpiece Theater on Sunday evenings.  No matter what was going on, I had to be home to watch my favorite series.  More recently, it's been Sex and the City.  And now it's gone.

It was time for it to go and I may be the only person breathing who was satisfied with the ending.  I thought they tied up the loose ends very well and yes, it was naughty and bawdy and I loved every minute of it.

That is not to say that I think it was significant, ground breaking or had a serious message for single women.  It's all been done, all been said.  This show was just good fun and not to be taken as a serious piece. 

Last week when the hype was everywhere and the members of the cast were guests on daytime TV, I had the TV on in the background while Elen and I played gin rummy.  Elen made the comment that she had never seen one episode.  Well, I told her, "we'd have to pick you off the floor, I think."

Elen is broad minded in many ways, but the "F" word throws her for a loop.  If I use it to make a point, she gets giddy and nervous.  When she hears it on TV, she clicks her tongue and cannot get past it.  No, Sex and the City was not something I wanted to share with Elen.

In two weeks, the Soprano's new season begins and we've made plans to have some HBO-less friends over for Soprano viewing.  It will be like a little party evry week, I hope with snacks and good conversation.

And this weekend, when two old work friends come over for dinner here, I'll drag out the official Soprano cookbook, red and white checkered tablecloth and napkins we received from Allen's sister for Xmas.  How funny!  A hommage to the show that will start again soon and keep me busy and satisfied on Sunday evenings.

Hey, it's like having a date evry Sunday and it feels good.

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Red Candles and Old Friends

I placed a single small red candle in the center of our round oak farm table last night and stood back to admire my creation.  It looked like a scene out of an Italian movie where food is part of the story.  The large rectangle of piping hot lasagna, the bread sticks poked into a small white pitcher adorned with a black cat, the plate of two different breads, the little bowls of dipping oil drizzled with a balsamic vinegar swirl and the big wooden salad bowl my mother bought years ago at a garage sale all arranged on the red and white checked "Soprano" table cloth.  It was picture perfect.

My lasagna was a roaring success.  I had layered homemade meaty red sauce, low-fat Ricotta and fresh mozzerella, fresh basil leaves, fresh spinach and hot Italian sausage between large sheets of pasta.  It was loaded with garlic and finished with grated Pecorino romano.  I should have had Allen grab the digital camera for a photo op, but it never crossed my mind.  I called my friends in from the living room and we sat down to eat.

Our guests were old work mates of mine and we don't get together very often.  At first, it was a little awkward but pretty soon there was a lot to talk about.  Even though the hour was getting late, I did not want them to go.  Four hours and one large lasagna later, we said our good-byes and hugged and said we would do it again soon.  It was the best time I've had in awhile.  Loved it.

We had talked about meeting out somewhere, but it would not have been nearly as cozy or relaxed.   When the topic turned to music, I started plowing through my CD collection and we cranked it up.  I produced a fun disco CD which made us all smile, some great slat-key guitar music, a lot of old favorites.  We talked about movies, voting Bush out of office and our new mayor.

I called one of my guests today to thank her for the gifts she brought:  a large coffee-table sized cookbook, a lavender plant, the dessert nobody had room for.  My other friend walked in with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers!  What a haul.  Better than Christmas!

Diary, this was so much fun.  I loved it that my friends enjoyed the meal and both seemed to be having a fun time.  I have to do more of this. 

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There's Something About Wally.

Something is happening to the Wall-man.  Some sort of transformation.  What could it be?  Are his testosterone levels dropping?  Has he been seeing a kitty psychologist behind our backs?  Is this a Wally body double?  Or maybe he's simply bored with being such a stinker?

It started some months ago, but I did not believe it would last.  Instead of yelling and lashing out at me, he'll purr when my pets awakend him out of a sound sleep.  He's been exposing his long lean belly and welcoming pets there too.  I can pick him up now and then without being thrashed..  He asks for more attention.  And every so often, he gets up on the kitchen table when we're eating and waits his turn for a lick at food left on the plates. 

It's a wonderful change and I support whatever it is that has made him lovable.

And speaking of change, Spring is here.  Here!  Today!  It's a gorgeous shirt-sleeve day out there.  After I voted my conscience, I had to sit for just a few minutes in the warm sun.to let it seep in.  Yesterday it was barely fifty degrees and i had the heater blaring.  And today?

Such a deal!

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Incredible, Amazing and Awesome.

I've become something of a social scientist in my upper-middle years.  Maybe it's because I'm doing so little and I have a lot of time to observe what is going on around me  Whatever the reason, I've been  making note of the changes taking place around me.

One thing is for certain.  I'm hopelessly out of step.

I don't walk down the street chatting loudly on my cell phone.  I don't set up my laptop in the neighborhood cafes and I don't use the words incredible, amazing or awesome in every other sentence.

"The event was totally awesome!  We had an amazing time!  The experience was incredible!"  Are these the only adjectives left in the English language?  When did the others fall out of fashion?

We had quite a lively discussion about some of these things with our dinner guests recently.   I think we all felt we had to talk fast and we should have checked the room for listening aparatus.  It's a sign of aging to mock the new ways of doing things, but we were safe this time.  

Nobody has to know, right?

***

Yesterday I had an appointment to meet Allen downtown to conduct some business and I decided to leave a bit early.  I'm not at ease with the notion of taking the train by myself anymore, but I don't want to create barriers where there are none, so I pushed myself to go and to have some extra time too.

I know downtown S.F. very well and yet I'm not comfortable there anymore.  There's no office to duck into, no cafe that I know well.  And there's a lot of walking required.  Sometimes the escalators in the train station are broken and a long flight of stairs is the only way out.  You have to be on your toes, walk with the crowds.  It's hurry hurry hurry.

The escallators were working yesterday making my exit from the underground train station easy.  I was just a few blocks from the California Historic Society gift shop and that was to be my first stop.  After I had picked out a few things to give as gifts, I retraced my steps and headed for a few other favorite shops and had a quick bite to eat among the office workers.  From there I walked a few blocks further to meet Allen.

By this time, I was pooped out.  It was a beautiful day and I had just enough energy to get there, do some walking and shopping and get on a bus heading toward home.  It was tiring and I did not get far, but at least I did it.

Yeah!

Awesome!

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