food, glorious food

Many thanks to Vance and Libby Morrison for stopping by with a load of food for dinner (and, quite possibly, several meals beyond!). We appreciate their visit, as well as the kind efforts of the Congregational Care Council, which has scheduled these weekly drop-offs.

I have to apologize, though, because I keep forgetting that Friday is the drop-off day, and I often end up prepping dinner. This isn't a huge problem: I simply need to mark Friday on my calendar as a special day. I'll get things right eventually.


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not very verbal

Dad took Mom to her radiotherapy treatment today (as he did yesterday), so Sean and I drove over to a chain store in Fairfax called Wegmans, which sells groceries and specialty products for a decent price. When Sean and I came back from shopping and saw Mom again, she was completely nonverbal. After some prodding on our part, it became clear that Mom had something in her mouth-- fish, as it turned out (I discovered this only after Sean and Dad had left the house). This is, again, another example of perseveration: Mom had chewed the fish, but instead of swallowing it, she had kept it in her mouth like chewing gum. I hope you don't find this image too gross, but truth be told, I found it a bit funny, if for no other reason than that Mom's taciturnity had nothing to do with a new cognitive issue.

In other news: Mom is going to be inundated with visitors tomorrow. I need to check with Dad, but I think she's got at least three different visits in the works. Then, on Sunday, Dad and Mom will be heading back out to Lusby, Maryland, to visit with Mom's friend at her Cove Point beach house (doesn't "cove point" sound oxymoronic to you?). A busy weekend ahead. I'll probably spend my Sunday either sleeping or trying to catch up on a mess of long-neglected transcripts.


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so it went like this...

According to Dad, Mom's 9:30AM appointment ran until about 10:15AM. Dad had apparently called the radiology department last night about rescheduling Mom for an earlier time; he and Mom went to radiology after the visit with Dr. Leiphart and snagged a noon radiotherapy appointment. Dad and Mom hit lunch after that, then came home. Dad went right back out to perform some errands. He's home right now (4:30PM), but is going out again to do more errands while I watch over Mom.

When Mom and Dad were out, I managed to get the laundry done, and also mowed the front lawn. When Dad went back out, leaving Mom home with me, Mom started puttering around the kitchen, ultimately spending two hours obsessively wiping the counters and the sink. She also did a few dishes, but because of her perseveration (a mental tendency to linger over or repeat ideas, utterances, and actions), she left the water running a long, long time. I'll have to do a better job of curbing some of Mom's stranger tendencies.

Dad's heading out to do more errands, and I need to start thinking about what's for dinner. We're finally done with all the hot dogs and hamburgers, and we just finished off a major load of salad.

Ah, yes-- Dr. Leiphart. He's apparently happy with Mom's healing, and he wants to see her again on August 13. Mom is supposed to finish up her daptomycin regimen at the end of July; her radiotherapy is in full swing, and the chemotherapy is supposed to start sometime in early August, if I'm not mistaken. Dr. Leiphart answered a question I had about the phase shift in Mom's chemotherapy schedule; as you'll recall, I had wondered about what was to be done, now that the two therapies are no longer in tandem. The answer is that Mom will not make up the chemo she's missed. In other words, she'll resume chemo in early August, finishing it up in tandem with the radiotherapy. Dr. Leiphart believes that Mom's chemo can't be made up as if it were missed coursework. When radiotherapy ends, Mom will have her one-month break, but during that break, she'll have her new synthetic bone flap put in.

I hope we speak with Dr. Meister about all this. I'm vexed that Mom is being deprived of her full chemo regimen. The doctor's rationale, according to Dad, is that giving Mom the full six weeks of chemo will be ineffective because it won't be happening in conjunction with the radiation-- the two go together. But if that's the case, then (1) why is Mom supposed to take the Temodar over the weekend, when radiotherapy doesn't occur, and (2) why will Mom be taking Temodar for several months after her one-month break? The doc's answer doesn't make immediate sense to me, which is why I need some clarification. I'm not pretending to know more than the doctor, but as things stand, the information I have doesn't add up to a coherent picture.

Aside from the above concerns, though, it appears that Mom is back on track, therapy-wise. I imagine she'll have her PICC line removed at the end of July or in early August, once the daptomycin regimen is finished. It'll be nice not to have to tiptoe around Mom's right arm all the time.


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...without yours truly

Mom went off to her appointment with Dr. Leiphart without me: Dad's acting as Mom's chauffeur and on-the-road caretaker today, for reasons I don't feel comfortable mentioning in public (don't worry: it's not internal family conflict). I doubt that Dad and Mom will be returning from the appointment to spend a bit of time at home; Mom has her regular radiotherapy appointment at 2PM.

I, meanwhile, am taking care of some laundry and mowing the front lawn. It's a hot, humid day, with a chance of rain. Lovely.

More later.


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appointment

Tomorrow, Mom's going to be out for most of the morning and early afternoon, as we have to take her to a 9:30AM appointment with her neurosurgeon, Dr. Leiphart. One thing we'll be wanting to ask him is whether there's going to be any effort to get Mom back on an in-tandem routine: per the doctors' orders, she still hasn't restarted chemotherapy (Temodar). I'm worried about this because, according to the original treatment calendar, Mom was supposed to have a month off from both treatments. As things stand now, Mom is about a week ahead with radiation. Will this mean that Mom will have only three weeks' rest before the resumption of chemo (radiation ends after the initial six-week treatment period), or will she receive a full month of rest, thereby distancing her from the last day of radiation treatment before she resumes chemo? Perhaps Dr. Leiphart can help us in this matter, or maybe he can refer the question to Dr. Meister, who's in charge of Mom's chemotherapy.

We also need to start thinking about taking Mom back to MD Anderson and NCI so that those facilities can take their respective MRIs. The plan was to do this during Mom's one-month break from therapy, but we need a clearer idea of the treatment calendar before we can take Mom anywhere.

Mom's also got her regularly scheduled 2PM radiotherapy appointment, so we'll be tooling about the area for a few hours, and won't be back home until mid-afternoon.


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while I was at home

Mom went to the hospital without me today: Dad drove her. As before, she was in and out in a flash. Because we're still at the beginning of the radiotherapy calendar, Mom hasn't shown any ill effects from treatment. We've been told to expect such effects (fatigue, hair loss, etc.) around Week 3, i.e., about two weeks from now.

Mom's appetite seems to vary from day to day. Yesterday, she was voracious, eating both a large lunch and two substantial dinners (she often wakes up too late to eat breakfast). Today, she hasn't eaten much lunch at all, and I suspect she won't be wanting much for dinner, either.

Meal prep remains an interesting part of my day. My role as the house cook is well described by the Marine Corps mantra I heard in Clint Eastwood's "Heartbreak Ridge": improvise, adapt, and overcome. I follow the vagaries of Mom's appetite, suss out what she's in the mood for, and adjust her menu accordingly. The same goes for Dad, who seems happy to eat a steady diet of bland cold-cut sandwiches. Were Dad left to his own devices, his menu would never change, and he'd be fine with that. I try to change things up as much as I can, but Dad's and Mom's tastes rarely coincide when it comes to food, often resulting in the need for two completely different menus.

Such is life. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.


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how to help Mom

I should write a book and sell limited-edition copies of it for $1000 a copy. Ted Kennedy, who has the same type of tumor as Mom, is doing just that, it seems.


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well, well!

An American friend of mine, who lives and works in Seoul, just wrote to say he got married in Manila to the Filipina love of his life. Tom shuttles back and forth between Korea and the Philippines, so I'm not sure whether he's planning to uproot himself from the hustle and bustle of Seoul life in order to take up residence in Manila or somewhere else in the Philippines. I wish Tom and Sherny the best, whatever they decide to do.


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Bonne Fête!

J'aurais dû écrire tous mes blogs en français aujourd'hui-- c'est le 14 juillet, après tout. Mais au lieu de faire ça, je me contenterai de gribouiller cette petite note juste pour dire "bonne fête" aux Français qui célèbrent ce jour.

Liberté!
Egalité!
Fraternité!


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itchy hands

Today, we arrived at the hospital about the same time as we did yesterday, but we left around 2:15PM. I was sitting in the waiting room, facing away from the hallway that Mom usually pops out of, when Mom was led out by a nurse. I didn't know Mom and the nurse were behind me until the nurse called out, "Son!" --not knowing my name. It occurred to me that I had actually heard the nurse talking right before she'd called out son, and that's when I realized the nurse had asked Mom what my name was. Mom either couldn't or wouldn't say. Perhaps she hadn't understood the nurse's question, which is why the nurse ended up addressing me as "son."

Mom's been walking around the house a bit more these past few days, and her hands are all over everything. She walks into the kitchen and often tries to clean things up as she can, but she needs to be supervised: she'll wipe a surface with her hands instead of using a cloth, or she'll try to wipe the interior of the kitchen sink with a dishcloth. Yesterday, she saw a pan full of strawberry sauce and she tried to scoop it into a plastic container full of mi-yeok (a type of seaweed). I stopped Mom in time, and she exclaimed, "Oh, what am I doing?" It's amazing how compartmentalized the brain can be-- one part can realize that another part is doing something wrong.

Right now (4:30PM), Mom's sitting and talking with Pastor Kim, who's visiting. As has been true for at least the past week, she seems to be conversing on more than a rudimentary level. The exchanges remain fairly basic, but now Mom is able to elaborate on her initial thoughts. We celebrate what progress we see.


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off soon

Mom received a visit from the home care nurse this morning. The nurse re-dressed Mom's PICC line (this is done weekly) and performed her usual battery of checks. In all the hubbub, though, Mom apparently didn't eat any breakfast. When lunchtime came around, Mom was hungry, gobbling everything in front of her.

We're off to the hospital in a little bit. Dad's napping, so Mom and I might sneak off without him.


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an inside glimpse

I've been hesitant about showing my readership some of the more candid moments that have been immortalized by our cameras, but in reviewing some of the pictures Dad has taken (his camera contains hundreds of photos that he apparently hasn't downloaded to his hard drive), I found a few that might give you, Dear Reader, some idea about the cast of characters swirling around us as this cancer drama unfolds. Two of the photos also show you how Mom looked until recently, with her head heavily bandaged. The fourth photo, which shows Mom gingerly gripping a baby's hand in one of her own, choked me up a bit: it says so much about where Mom is, mentally speaking. Mom can no longer express complex thoughts; it's quite possible that she is no longer capable even of entertaining such thoughts. She is, however, still able to respond properly to the simple things in life. She no longer does so with the same light that used to inhabit her eyes, but in a sense, the light is still there, visible in her outreaching hands.

The first photo is of Maqz, Sean's chihuahua, dozing blissfully in a sunbeam. Maqz has been a part of Mom's life for a few years, now; she loves that dog. It's a shame that she hasn't seen Maqz since early May, but our caution about infection has played a role in Maqz's absence. At some point, though, we do want Maqz back in the house.

The second photo is of my i-mo (pronounce it "ee-moh"), i.e., Mom's big sister, who left the Houston area to visit us for two weeks. She'll be back here again sometime soon, I think. I've written about my aunt before; she's one of the major characters in this story.

The third and fourth photos show Mom with one of her oldest friends, the lady whom we kids always knew as "Miss Lee ajumma." Even after all these years, I still don't know her given names. That's true for a lot of Koreans, who address friends and relatives by using titles as a sign of respect. The baby is Ziggy, Ajumma's grandson, the son of her second daughter. Also shown in the final picture is Ajumma's youngest daughter.

I hesitated about showing the pictures of Mom, but the way that these images pulled at my heart impelled me to share them with you. They're just moments, of course-- here and gone-- but they retain a certain quiet beauty. Kudos to Dad for taking such great shots.

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views of the completed ramp

Here are six views of the completed wheelchair ramp. Enjoy the rigorous perpendicularity, the subtle sloping.

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done in a flash

Today's trip to the hospital went by so quickly that it was almost as though we hadn't even gone. I left home with Mom at 1:07PM; we drove through decent traffic and arrived at the hospital at 1:38PM, walking into the radiology department around 1:42. At 1:50, a staffer came out with a wheelchair for Mom and took her back for her treatment. By 2PM, Mom was done-- poof. We checked out and were back on the road by 2:05PM. Incredible.

Fairfax Hospital has done this before, I noticed: they'll sometimes take a patient early if they have the time to do so. That's a very good thing, in my opinion, and I thank the hospital for taking the opportunity to be more than prompt when it can be. I know there'll be days when treatment will occur late, but thus far, after four treatments, Mom has started and finished early 50% of the time. Not a bad track record.


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...and away we go again

Mom and I will be leaving for the hospital at 1PM again today. Dad has a 2PM dental appointment, so as happened this past Friday, it'll be just Mom and me in the van.

Thanks again to all the people who helped us out, physically and emotionally, this past weekend: Ruth Guirard and Mrs. Kopf, Pastor Jeri and Bill Keezer, the MVPC team and the Home Depot team. The previous blog post is a tribute to the ramp builders; as you'll see, there's no photo of the completed ramp. I'll slap that up later today, along with a few other photos I stole from Dad's camera.


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many thanks

The following pictures of yesterday's wheelchair ramp construction are brought to you by Dad. On behalf of our family, I'd like to thank the following folks.

From Mount Vernon Presbyterian Church:

Mike Frady
Don Dickstein
Bill Kennedy
Eric Frady
Nat Wheeler
Pastor Jeri (who watched over Mom and ran a hardware errand)

From the local Home Depot:

Tony Barnett, manager
Alvin Hughes
Bryan Thomson

Watching the wheelchair ramp's progress throughout the day was impressive. The above-pictured guys (plus Mr. Barnett, not pictured) worked all day in the heat and humidity to complete the project, and the end result (which I tested by riding a wheelchair down the ramp myself) was marvelous.

My thanks as well to Pastor Jeri, who played a major role in getting Mom out of her hiding place inside the house, so that Mom could watch the project firsthand. That was, for me, a major turnaround. At first, Mom hadn't wanted to come out at all, so self-conscious was she. But there she was in the afternoon, first leaning against the deck railing with Pastor Jeri, then sitting on the deck in a folding chair, magisterially surveying the proceedings. Quite a sight.

Special note: Dad not only helped me with the cooking by baking two cakes and doing all the grilling: he also helped the workers as he could. Paying everyone back by feeding them was the least I could do. I'd also like to offer a long-distance thank-you to Bill Keezer, who wrote this tribute to our family.

Thank you. All of you.


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late risers

Dad says he woke up at an uncharacteristically late 8:50AM today. I woke up around 9:30AM, but didn't get out of bed until sometime after 10. Mom didn't get out of bed until close to lunchtime, and she doesn't appear too hungry at the moment: she ate only part of her lunch. We don't force her to eat, but at the same time, we worry that she isn't taking in enough nutrition.

Mom's leg seems to be doing better. When she wears white pants (as she often does), we occasionally see spots on the back of the left thigh where the harvest site has been weeping a bit, but over the past week, these spots have become increasingly rare. That's another reason why we want Mom to keep eating: the nutrition helps her heal. (Because Mom ate so little for lunch, we're giving her vitamins.)

We're all moving around a bit sluggishly today; Dad's back is hurting him, and even though I had the luxury of staying indoors while everyone worked, I'm still a bit tired from yesterday's food orgy. My brother Sean is here right now, but he'll be leaving soon to play in a opera-- one that was just composed, libretto, music, and all.

I'll be back later today with some pictures of yesterday's project, which was indeed completed by evening. A tribute post is in the works.


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busy

It's been a busy Saturday. I've been inside, prepping food for a crowd and watching over Mom. Dad's been outside, moving tables, doing the burger and 'furter grilling, and helping the workers. Pastor Jeri stopped over for a bit, as did at least one of the workers' wives. Mrs. Kopf also stopped by with yet more food. The wheelchair ramp construction crew, about ten strong, has been out in the heat all day, toiling ceaselessly.

Progress on the ramp seems brisk to my untrained eye. I'm definitely having flashbacks to our recent renovation; the back yard is once again filled with people, lumber, and equipment. I'm not sure whether the ramp will be finished by tonight, but with so many people on task, it looks as though the team will succeed in making this a one-day affair.

Our family's thanks go out to all the people who have contributed to today's work. Thanks especially to Dad, who's been almost literally moving mountains to make things as smooth as possible for the workers. Last night, Dad even made two of his famous rum cakes, which were a hit during the 2PM break today.

More later. Break's almost over for me.

UPDATE, 3:56PM: Dad says a storm is moving in, which might cut things short. The ramp has definitely taken shape. I'm marveling at how fast this was done, as opposed to the construction of our deck, which took months. Many hands do indeed make light work.

I also wanted to note some good and bad news on the Mom front. Bad news first: Mom remains forgetful, and she also exhibits some of the obsessive-compulsive behavior we'd been warned about, behavior that normally accompanies damage to the frontal lobe. The bright side is that, when Mom toddles into the kitchen and starts cleaning something, she really cleans it. On the not-so-bright side, it's often necessary to pull Mom's focus away from one activity to get her to focus on something else. The other bit of bad news is that Mom's balance remains precarious. She can walk, but today she had trouble turning around while in the kitchen. I'm being a bit negligent, right now, by typing this update: Mom is outside with Pastor Jeri (Mom enjoys her company; I'm glad Jeri came back to see her), but Dad is helping the guys, which leaves Jeri to watch over Mom.

The good news, though, is that Mom is trying to re-engage with normal, everyday activities: putting on makeup and working in the kitchen, for example. Today, Mom de-stemmed and washed a bunch of strawberries; this was a huge help to me, as it allowed me to get dessert out to the crew in a more or less timely manner. She also washed dishes and trays after lunch was done, which was also an enormous help. Mom is still shy about appearing in front of people in her helmet, but that's changing. The fact that she's out there right now, watching the construction happen, is a testament to the diminution of her self-consciousness.

I'll end this update with a special note of thanks to Mike Frady and his work crew, as well as to the crew from the local Home Depot. Dad has taken down everyone's names and has shot some pics of the ramp-in-progress; either tonight or tomorrow, a post specifically dedicated to today's construction will be written. I still can't get over how quickly the ramp is forming.


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gracias, comme toujours

Many thanks to Mike Frady and Don Dickstein for stopping by and dropping off supplies for tomorrow's rampfest. Our back yard is starting to acquire an Amish ambiance, as if we were setting up for a barn-raising. At the same time, I'm being reminded of how the yard looked back when renovation was in full swing.

Thanks, as well, to Ruth Guirard, who came by to drop off enough food to feed an army. We'll definitely enjoy the rice, beans, and salad. Thanks, too, for the raspberry vinaigrette: my favorite salad dressing.

Dad came back from an errand at the local Home Depot on Route 1, and told me that the manager-- a gent named Tony, who became familiar with Dad during the madness of our of September-to-March renovation-- decided to donate a mess of supplies to us: material to build a stairway off the wheelchair ramp, as well as a shower chair, a "bath transfer" chair (it straddles the bathtub's edge, allowing the user to sit on it and swing safely out of the tub without falling), and grab bars to allow Mom a chance to stand up in the bathroom without fear of collapsing. The price tag for all this would have been over $200, possibly over $300, but instead, it was all free.

People are something else.


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garrulous

The trip to and from the hospital was pretty straightforward. Driving and parking weren't a problem, and Mom's session began promptly at 2:10.

Mom and I had arrived about 25 minutes early, and the waiting room was fairly full. We found two chairs against the wall, separated by a small table on which were piled some magazines. Before I sat in one of the chairs, I asked the lady next to it whether anyone was sitting there and hoping to come back to it.

Little did I know that I had flipped on a switch. From the moment I addressed the woman until Mom came back out from radiotherapy, I was subjected to an constant stream of verbiage. The discourse ranged over a variety of subjects, with special attention paid to the virtues of marijuana over cigarettes ("What I wouldn't do for a doobie!"). The lady noted that marijuana is easier to grow and process than tobacco-- a fact I knew from seeing the news about foreigners in Korea who stupidly attempt to grow their own weed. She also (1) told me I needed to get Mom enrolled quickly in various "Life with Cancer" programs, (2) gave me advice on where to find the best wigs and bandannas for Mom, and (3) told me something about her own cancer.

Though I was a bit turned off by how chatty the lady was, I also saw that she was a kind soul and very well-intended. With nothing to do other than wait for Mom, I sat and nodded politely as my interlocutor talked and talked. When Mom came out of therapy and we ambled off to the elevator, I turned and waved to the lady. She's in her final week of radiotherapy; I wish her well.


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birthday

Happy Birthday to Madame Landgrabe, my French teacher for two years in high school, and my semblable in terms of worldview. Thank you for always believing in me.


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bustle

We're going back to radiotherapy today for the second time. As happened yesterday, we'll be leaving at 1PM.

Some of the gents from church who will be working on the wheelchair ramp tomorrow are supposed to stop by today and drop off building materials. I'm not sure when this is happening, but it might occur while we're out of the house.

Later this afternoon, a member of the Congregational Care Council will be dropping off food (cf. last Friday), so I won't have to worry about cooking dinner. Again, our sincere thanks to the church for this show of support.

The builders coming tomorrow should know that we're planning on grilling lunch and dinner for them, so they needn't worry about hunting around for food during their breaks. Thanks in advance for that ramp!


UPDATE, 11:55AM: Thanks, Pastor Jeri, for contacting Mr. Frady. He called me and we've worked out a rough schedule for today. Dad's planning to stay home while take Mom to therapy, so Mr. Frady and Co. can drop off building supplies with no worries. Someone will be home to meet him.


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back already!

The lady who led Mom to her radiotherapy treatment told us that Mom wouldn't be getting a new mask made. Sure enough, Mom popped back out of the treatment room almost as soon as she had gone in. I barely had time to read a few poems out of a Shel Silverstein collection (A Light in the Attic). Dr. Tonnesen also came out, and he barely had time to speak with Dad and me about Mom. He expressed pleasure at Mom's progress, noting that Mom's renewed interest in making herself up bodes well. (Actually, Mom has been self-conscious about her looks this entire time, even when her mind was foggier, but it's only been over the past week or so that she has actively tried to make herself up on a routine basis.)

Mom had no real complaints about the experience this time, so I imagine that there were no problems during the treatment.

And now we're home, finishing up a very late lunch. The back yard has been mowed, and I'll be spending the next little while planning lunch and dinner for Saturday. I understand that five guys from church will be coming over on Saturday at 9AM, and they plan to make the ramp in a single day, assuming there's no problem with the weather. I'm therefore planning to make lunch and a probable dinner for everyone.

And that's where things are at the moment. Mom's watching her Korean channel, I'm typing away, and Dad's running some errands.


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mowin' and goin'

I'll be mowing the lawn from 10:30 to about 12:30. We'll be leaving home around 1PM or 1:20PM at the very latest so as to have Mom at the hospital in time for her 2PM appointment. She might be getting a new radiotherapy mask today. The last mask was made back when her skull was a full dome. Because the shape of her head has changed, a new mask might be necessary. Today's procedure might therefore take longer than a normal radiotherapy procedure.


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thwarted

We were supposed to take Mom over for her first radiotherapy session at 2PM today, but Mom, who had wanted to shower, chose to perform her ablutions far too late in the game: 12:30. Because Mom moves at an understandably glacial pace, a shower is a large and involved project for her. We had intended to leave at 1PM for the hospital (squeezing in a quick lunch before setting off), but Mom wasn't finished showering by then.

Dad also blames himself for having abetted Mom in her poorly-timed endeavor. He's been letting Mom sleep in on the assumption that the extra time in bed is allowing her to heal. I think Dad has a point, but Mom's need for sleep must also be balanced with her need for both increased physical activity and adherence to a proper circadian rhythm.

Mom is generally off to bed around 11PM and has, for the past little while, been waking up in the very late morning-- usually after 10AM. That's about 11 hours of sleep per day, not including long afternoon naps. We need to be more assertive in making sure that Mom gets up and takes care of herself in a timely manner, moving along from point to point on her daily schedule without slacking. When life slides too far out of rhythm, the body is affected. That, I think, is the flip-side of Dad's concern for Mom's need to sleep. Sleep shouldn't dominate her schedule, just as it shouldn't dominate the schedules of healthy people.

Assertiveness in dealing with Mom is becoming more important as Mom regains a measure of will. The problem is that, given the damage to her frontal lobe, she is experiencing no corresponding return of her logical faculties. This means we may have to treat Mom like a child, occasionally blocking her desire to fixate on this or that item, or to remain in one place for an over-long period. We-- Dad and I-- need to do a better job of viewing Mom's radiotherapy appointments as sacrosanct, which is what they are. For my part, I sleep only 6-7 hours a night, but I may have to wake up much earlier to provide an example for Mom. (As a night owl, the thought of waking up early pains me.)

So while we might, in some measure, fault Mom's slowpoke ways for today's missed appointment, the primary responsibility falls on Dad's and my shoulders. We need to be ready to push Mom, and if she becomes crabby in the process, well, that shouldn't deter Dad and me from doing whatever needs to be done to get Mom to her appointments on time.


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thanks again

Once again, many thanks to Dale Molina for making the long trip all the way from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to visit Mom. Thanks as well to Rhee Burke for coming directly over from work to see Mom. She appreciated both visits, as did the rest of the family.


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chicken scrawl no more

I tried a writing test with Mom today, asking her whether she could spell out the word ajumma (aunt) in hangeul, and whether she could write her own name in both hangeul and Chinese. She did all this, and more: not content simply to write ajumma (Dad keeps mispronouncing it as ajima), she also wrote ajeoshi (uncle), halmeoni (grandmother), and halabeoji (grandfather). Most striking was that her script looked almost as it did before April 16-- clear, neat, and lucid. This improvement matches the improvement we've seen in Mom's ability to recall people and events, though she can still be shaky about such matters as her previous meal. Mom's nowhere near full speed in terms of conversation, but she's making a real effort at listening, and does interact in slightly more than rudimentary ways, sometimes even offering a concise opinion when called upon to do so.

We need to enjoy this while it lasts. I don't mean that in a sad or cynical way: we often forget that every moment needs to be enjoyed while it lasts, cancer or no cancer.


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visiteurs

Mom's got quite a few people to see today. Our family friend Dale Molina arrived at 11AM and has been regaling us with tales of her life in the Civil War town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Sometime in the next hour or so, a home care nurse will be stopping by. Later today, at 5PM, Mom will be visited by a Korean friend, Rhee Burke. I expect Mom to be quite tired by the end of the day.

Saturday, a team of folks from church will be over at the house, constructing the wheelchair ramp. Assuming it doesn't rain too much (Weather.com is predicting "isolated" and "scattered" thunderstorms for the weekend), I hope to do a bit of grilling. Nothing fancy-- probably just burgers and dogs, along with soda, chips, and some healthier options.


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bone flap and other matters

The news I got from Dad just a few minutes ago is that Mom's synthetic bone flap won't be put back in until two weeks after the end of radiotherapy. I'm relieved: I had worried that the docs might want to do some something crazy, like installing the flap during the six-week radiotherapy period, when Mom's ability to heal will be diminished.

Some other doctors have chimed in about Mom's situation:

Dr. Yoho (infectious disease specialist): Hold the Temodar treatment until after Mom finishes the daptomycin regimen.

Dr. Mirali (plastic surgeon): Mom's ready for what's to come.

Dr. Meister (medical oncologist): As Dr. Yoho said-- hold the Temodar.

Dr. Leiphart (neurosurgeon): As noted in the first paragraph above, the bone flap won't be put in until two weeks after the end of radiotherapy.

Dr. Tonnesen (radiation oncologist): Will call back (later today?) with the new radiotherapy schedule. Mom might restart as early as tomorrow.


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nope

No radiotherapy for Mom today. Instead, we ended up sitting and talking with Mom's radiation oncologist, Dr. Tonnesen, about the need for him to coordinate with the other docs in order to reestablish a treatment calendar and begin treatment. I was a bit taken aback, as I had thought-- erroneously, as it turned out-- that the docs had already planned this out, and that today marked Mom's return to the treatment that had been interrupted by her severe MRSA infection.

Dad mentioned to Dr. Tonnesen that he'd been having trouble contacting Drs. Meister (medical oncology, Temodar treatment) and Leiphart (neurosurgery). Dad had tried to get in touch with Dr. Meister over the past week, and had tried to get hold of Dr. Leiphart over the past two weeks. Dr. Tonnesen apologized to Dad for what must have seemed like "being abandoned by the system." I saw the apology as good customer service: mollify your customer. I didn't, however, see it as a promise that things would be better from now on. Few large bureaucracies improve that quickly.

Dr. Tonnesen also said that the chemo- and radiotherapy didn't have to be in total lockstep, which is a significant departure from what we had heard before: in all previous talks about the two therapies, we had never heard that a variation of more than two days was permissible. Today, however, the doc said that one treatment could be delayed for as long as a full week after the other treatment had begun.

It's hard to know how exact a science all of this is. While I sense a general overlap between and among different doctors' opinions on GBM treatment, things almost always get fuzzy when it comes to the specifics. Part of this may be because each individual is different, making it difficult to predict how any given course of treatment will end up. The fuzziness might also be attributable to the natures of the many types of cancer out there, and the fact that even a specific subspecies of cancer will vary according to the individual, as NCI's Dr. Fine had said regarding gliomas.

The end result of all this uncertainty, alas, is a sense that all of us, even the scientists, are fumbling around in the dark when it comes to certain kinds of cancer. "I wish I had a magic wand that could heal your wife," Dr. Tonnesen told Dad today. "Chemotherapy and radiation destroy fast-growing cells, but they don't heal. What we need is a healing wand."

I keep hoping for some sort of nanotherapy to appear-- some lotion containing nanorobots that slip through the skin's pores, then swarm toward a given cancer and kill it, perhaps releasing healing enzymes along the way. But such a solution isn't going to happen in Mom's lifetime, which is, to put it politely, a real shame.

Anyway, the upshot of the visit with Dr. Tonnesen is that we have to wait for some calls to be made, for the docs to confer with each other (since they haven't done so yet, despite all the time that's passed since the MRSA issue began), and for a new treatment calendar to be laid out. Once the docs settle on the new calendar, I assume our family will receive a call informing us of when the first day of resumed treatment will be. So for now, Mom will stay on her daptomycin regimen, which finishes out at the end of July.

More news as we get it.


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resumption

Mom's in-tandem chemo- and radiotherapy treatments resume today. The chemo can be done at home, as it's Temodar administered in pill form. The radiation requires a trip to Fairfax Hospital; today's session is at 2:20PM, if I'm not mistaken.

Mom might have to have a new radiotherapy mask made; if this turns out to be the case, we're hoping that she won't suffer the same discomfort that preceded her second, third, and fourth operations. Her head wounds all appear uninfected this time around, so she ought to be fine. Last time, the tightness of the mask was an issue, perhaps because she was already infected. It may also have been the case that the mask irritated Mom's head wound, leading to the serious infection.

I wonder: if they use the same mask today, will we have to warn the docs to make sure it's been sterilized? Well, I imagine we'll warn them whether we have to or not.


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thanks and apologies

My thanks and apologies to the Baumanns, who kindly dropped off a great quantity of Korean food (which I have sampled-- it's excellent!) today. Mom was asleep when the Baumanns arrived, but she'll appreciate the fantastic dinner ahead of her. Everything looks, smells and tastes wonderful. It's too bad Mom wasn't awake to greet her visitors, but there will be other opportunities, I'm sure.

Thanks, once again, to Melinda Mason and to Cheong Burns for their delicious food. As Melinda predicted, Dad was a fan of the chicken.


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tacos

Today, I'm hoping to prep one of the easiest meals in my ever-increasing repertoire: tacos. I've done tacos since forever, and I make them Amurrican-style, i.e., as a bastardized version of Tex-Mex. Today, I'll be cheating and using pre-made taco seasoning; in Korea, I always made my own seasoning.

I'm hoping my brother David can make it here for dinner; Dad knows how much David enjoys tacos, so this meal is primarily for my brother.


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how the Fourth went

I wish I could say more about how well Mom did during her time at Cove Point (Lusby, Maryland), but in truth, I spent most of my time as far away from the party as possible.

The long-time friend who invited Mom to the beach house party, whom we've known since my childhood as "Miss Lee ajumma," had invited several guests, starting with her three daughters. Two of them are married; one of the two has a cute little son who is just starting to toddle around. The youngest daughter has a significant other; all the relevant men were in attendance, along with the second daughter's aforementioned son, Ziggy. Ajumma had invited two other Korean ladies (friends? relatives?), as well as a neighbor from northern Virginia. With my parents and me there as well (Sean arrived later in the day, driving separately), it was quite literally a full house.

Mom seemed to be in good hands with Dad and the other guests. Almost as soon as I had arrived, Ajumma's eldest daughter told me about a lighthouse located a short walk away; I immediately set out for it, and ended up spending a few hours seated on crumbled seashells, staring out at the horizon and acquiring a lovely sunburn-- one the likes of which I hadn't had since stopping the walk.

Why the antisocial behavior? Well, I've never been one for parties, and I was feeling even less celebratory yesterday, given current family circumstances. I don't begrudge anyone else their merrymaking, but it just wasn't for me. Also, as an introvert, I've never relished the thought of going somewhere to meet a group of largely unfamiliar people. Even Ajumma and her family, despite being longtime friends, are at best a peripheral part of my life: over the past few decades, I've seen them only once every few years. As far as I was concerned, my main purpose was to drive the parents to the party and back home. If I'd had my druthers, I'd have been home alone, clearing my head, not traveling and attempting to look happy for others' benefit.

So sitting at the beach for a few hours (we arrived a bit after 2PM; I didn't make my way back to the beach house until after 6) was my compromise, my way of satisfying my own needs and of not stepping on other people's toes. I was the designated chauffeur and I didn't want to be a party pooper for the other guests, but at the same time, I've never enjoyed small talk and simply wasn't in the mood for interaction. Quietly separating myself from the proceedings seemed to be the best choice, which is what brought me to the very tip of Cove Point.

Had I been more of a beachgoer, I would have realized that even sitting by oneself on a patch of sand is no guarantee of solitude. In Korea, such a strategy might work, because most Koreans will leave strangers alone (unless they're looking for a free English conversation session), but in America, strangers often say "hi" out of the blue. I ended up meeting eight dogs and their various owners. One gent, Eric, stood and talked with me about various topics, including religion, for a while. Eric is retired from the US Air Force and now lives in the Cove Point/Lusby area with his wife, working as a contractor for the Navy. He told me that he was "on a quest" of sorts, having been raised Catholic but having dropped out of the fold.

I mentioned my background in religious studies, and my specific interest in Buddhism and issues related to religious diversity. "Do you think the Buddhists are on to something?" Eric asked. I told him that there was a lot in Buddhism that I found both interesting and enriching. Eric told me about his own research into the life and thought of Gandhi, whom he saw as a good example for us to follow. "Religion is about living life for others," Eric said.

While we were conversing, Eric suddenly stopped in mid-thought and exclaimed, "Hey-- a shark tooth!" He reached down, grabbed the tooth, and handed it to me. "It's a fossil, probably millions of years old," he noted. Then he added: "If you believe that sort of thing." It turns out that Eric has Christian friends who are young-earth creationists, i.e., they probably believe the earth was created in 4004 BC and that dinosaurs were destroyed in the Deluge. I consider this garbage, and told Eric I had no trouble with the existence of fossils dating back millions of years. Eric seemed reassured that he was talking to someone rational.

Eric's dogs, a beautiful black border collie named Sam and a 15-year-old cocker spaniel named Abby, were the first to greet me. Sam got to me first, sniffing me out as I sat cross-legged while facing the water. Abby ambled up soon after. Later on, a dog named Baxter bounded over to me. Baxter was a jowly boxer who lunged for my plastic water bottle and began to chew it into a mangled mess, covering me with drool as I played fetch with him. Baxter wasn't Eric's dog, but Eric and his dogs knew Baxter well. The boxer's family showed up a few minutes later, and we talked briefly.

Sean arrived around 4PM, ate a mess of kalbi (marinated Korean short ribs), then wandered along the beach to where I was. He and I retreated to the sea wall close to the Cove Point lighthouse. While we talked, yet another dog-walking family came our way-- this time with five dogs. One of the most fascinating dogs turned out to be a cross between a basset hound and a Labrador-- a "bassador," according to the mom in the group. When I first saw the long-bodied, stubby-legged, large-headed dog, my first thought was that it looked like a giant dachshund, or a dachshund that had been crossed with a Corgi. It was a bizarre sight, but the dog moved with the the un-self-conscious nonchalance of a being that doesn't know it's the product of two very different worlds.

Sean wandered back to the beach house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As the afternoon crept onward, I began to realize that the number of biting flies was on the increase, so I eventually started back toward the beach house, too. I met some partiers along the way, including Dad, who turned around and walked back to the house with me.

By the time I returned to the festivities, it was about 6:15, and I hadn't eaten. I sat in the house's porch, staring out at the water and the bayside flâneurs. Sean settled into the chair next to mine; we talked a bit, and then the porch began to fill with all the guests I hadn't spoken with. They all turned out to be great people; I regret not having been more talkative, but they seemed fine with my initial taciturnity. I generally talked when I was asked direct questions about my experiences living in Korea and walking in the Pacific Northwest, but by the time I had become a bit more animated, it was time for us to leave (Sean had left earlier to meet up with another group of friends). In the meantime, I learned a bit about my interlocutors, and a good bit about what life is like in Charlottesville, Virginia, a town I've enjoyed visiting, but which I barely know at all. I also found out that the fossilized shark tooth I'd received from Eric was a dime a dozen: there was an eroding cliff face down the coast that was releasing shark's teeth into the water; they were regularly washing up on the shore, and people picked them up all the time. So much for my diabolical plan to sell the tooth on eBay for $5000.

Dad did Mom's PICC line antibiotic treatment promptly at 8PM; he's been great about doing that, and about taking care of Mom's dressings. According to Sean, Mom had spent time both on the beach house's living room couch and at table, listening to the conversation happening around her. Mom looked happy when I saw her, a huge plate of fruit in front of her. I never did eat any kalbi, but did grab some kimbap and a few cherries. It a shame I didn't take advantage of the hostess's largesse: I'd heard that she'd bought thirty pounds of kalbi, which meant well more than two pounds of meat per person.

Around 8:25, we said our final goodbyes to the younger generation and started for home. Ajumma and the other ajummas had left earlier.

As we drove home, Dad turned to Mom and asked her if she'd had a good time. Mom nodded, tired but happy. My own mood throughout the day mattered little; the important thing was that Mom had had fun. From what I saw of her, she seemed thrilled to be in that animated, multigenerational swirl of family and friends.


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(shark?) tooth found by passerby Eric, owner of two dogs

Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Happy Fourth!

It's already July 4 in Korea, so to my Yank friends there I say: HAPPY FOURTH! Long may you kill, grill, and eat your fill!

To fellow American readers here Stateside: HAPPY FOURTH IN ADVANCE! It's likely we'll be motorvating out to Maryland tomorrow morning; one of Mom's friends has a beach house in Lusby. The fresh air, good conversation, and companionship will likely do Mom some good.


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food, glorious food

What a windfall: two loads of dinner came today courtesy of (1) Melinda Mason from church and (2) Mom's good friend Cheong Burns. Thank you both! We're now set for several meals, and I can cater to both Western and Korean tastes without having to do much prep at all.


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3 meals for 3 people

Cooking in my household can be an exercise in diversity awareness. Mom's tastes have been changing, but she still strongly prefers Korean food; Dad doesn't eat spicy food, and often prefers good ol' Amurrican food, i.e., the bland-but-delicious fare you can get at a diner. I'm the closest thing to an omnivore in the house, and even I have my hangups: I dislike large-cut onions in most non-Korean dishes (in Korean soups and stews, the onions are generally cooked until their flavors have emptied into the surrounding liquid), and am not a fan of coffee and coconut. When David comes over, I have to remember to avoid tomatoes and most seafood; when Sean is here, dinner needs to be Atkins-friendly, which means prepping something devoid of carbs.

I've found that it's often easier to prepare separate dishes-- mini-lunches and dinners-- than to force everyone to eat the same thing. When I make my spicy cucumber slaw, for example, I know that it's pretty much for Mom and me: Dad won't take the spice, and the sugar content, though small, makes it inedible for Sean. David's not around often enough for dinner to have tried it too many times. If I make sandwiches, I know they're primarily for Dad and me: Mom prefers food with some actual pep to it, and unless I start buying spicier ingredients to "go all Bobby Flay" with my sandwiches, Mom won't touch them. But simultaneously making smaller quantities of each food, though a challenge, seems to be the way to go, and it's good training for yours truly, because the different dishes often require disparate techniques in their preparation.

Such is life.


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...and we're back

Dr. Yoho thinks Mom simply needs to finish her dapto regimen. As far as he's concerned, there's no problem with her beginning in-tandem therapy while she finishes the antibiotics. In other words, he's given her about as clean a bill of health as can be expected. Mom's head and leg wounds seem fine to him, though he clucked a bit over the continued bleeding from Mom's leg wound and asked us when our next appointment with the plastic surgeon would be.

Next steps:

1. Restart chemo- and radiotherapy on Monday.

2. Call Dr. Mirali's office (he's the plastic surgeon) and set an appointment with him or with one of his colleagues for sometime soon, just to allay any fears that Dr. Yoho might have (the doc didn't voice anything explicit, but his question about the plastic surgeon was a red flag).

3. Make sure the home care nurses (and the Inova health system) closely monitor Mom's blood count during the 6-week blitz.

4. Start thinking about when Mom should have another MRI done.

5. Put together info packets for MD Anderson and NCI to keep them up to date as to Mom's condition and where she is in her treatment schedule.

6. Contact Dr. Leiphart and/or Dr. Tonnesen about Mom's bone flap. Dr. Yoho felt that she was ready to have the synthetic bone put in soon, but my gut tells me that it would be better for her to do this after the six-week phase is over. The problem is, as always, that Mom is going to be extremely susceptible to infection during this period. Cutting into her scalp sooner, rather than later, strikes me as risky; the timing is awful. The flip side, though, is that Mom's level of immunosuppression might actually be lower at the end of the six-week session, making bone flap replacement inadvisable at that time. Dr. Yoho seems to think that immunosuppression won't be a huge issue if the replacement is done sooner. In any case, we're going to consult with other doctors before anyone cuts Mom's head open a fifth time.


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Yo-ho-ho

We're off to visit Dr. Yoho, the infectious disease specialist, today. The appointment is at 1PM, so we're leaving around noon. This is an important appointment, as Dr. Yoho is the one to determine whether Mom is truly ready to restart chemo- and radiotherapy. Mom is scheduled to restart these things on Monday, July 6th, but this is changeable pending Dr. Yoho's verdict.

Assuming we get the all-clear, life will once again be about taking Mom to the hospital five days a week for six weeks. Chemotherapy will be seven days a week during that same period. I have no idea whether Mom will be continuing her antibiotic regimen while she's also undergoing in-tandem therapy; up to now, my impression has been that the daptomycin has to stop before therapy can begin. This puts Mom back in a delicate position, as the in-tandem therapy will lower Mom's blood count and generally make her more vulnerable to infection. Let's hope she'll be able to make it through six weeks without acquiring a major infection.

More on today's appointment later.


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companionship

Many thanks to Kay Wood for stopping by and sitting with Mom for a while today. Mom definitely enjoyed the visit.



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ever heard of GEMM therapy?

My dad spoke with a friend in Hawaii who directed him to a site about a form of treatment called GEMM therapy, which is supposedly applicable to a variety of degenerative disorders as well as different cancers, including glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), my mother's cancer.

Skeptic that I am, I'm looking for information about the disadvantages of this treatment method to balance out what the GEMM therapy website has to say. A quick Google search shows that it's hard to find any naysayers, which automatically makes me suspicious. Any treatment touted as a flawless miracle is probably not flawless.

A search at WebMD.com produced zero results for the search string "GEMM therapy."

UPDATE, 3:49PM: A link from Alan Cook that debunks GEMM therapy.


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Mom watches "The Incredibles"

Mom can no longer follow a movie's plot the way she used to; this is one of the effects of damage to the left frontal lobe. She tends to be more tactile now, fascinated by the heft and texture of things, but when it comes to watching a story unfold, she's more responsive to the emotional dimension of the story at any given moment than she is to the story's more abstract issues-- its themes, for example, or its sly references to other stories on film or in print. The plot might build up to a crescendo, but Mom can no longer appreciate the buildup, as she can't retain the sequence of events that give the crescendo its impact.

It was, therefore, a bittersweet experience to witness Mom watching "The Incredibles," my favorite Pixar film. She was already a bit sleepy before I started the DVD, and she drifted in and out a few times over the course of the movie. Some events startled her, mainly because she'd forgotten why the event was going to occur. Because of her blunted affect, i.e., her reduced ability to feel emotions, a lot of the humor was lost on her, too. Nevertheless, while Mom was awake and watching, she seemed, on some level, engaged with the proceedings, often staring at the TV in almost childlike wonder.

It's too bad Mom's no longer able to have a discussion about anything; it would have been interesting to compare this American-style portrayal of family life with a hypothetical version of "The Incredibles" made by Korean scriptwriters and filmmakers. I asked Mom a simpler question instead: "Who was your favorite character?" Mom couldn't say. As with so many yes/no and "Wh-" questions, she started her response with "Well..." then faded into silence.

Sometimes I think it would have been nice to have more video of Mom from before all this happened. Now, sadly, I know that from here on in, such videos won't be possible. This is the Mom we have, and barring a miraculous recovery in her brain, this is the Mom we're going to have. Such a Mom has her merits-- in her reduced state, she seems more at peace with herself, for example-- but counting one's blessings in such a situation is a bit like losing nine fingers and being thankful for having retained the tenth.

Still, it's important to remember that regret and vain wishfulness serve no constructive purpose. Mom-- this Mom-- is here with us now, and she still loves us, just as we love her. That's what matters, because that's all that can matter.


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less talkative

We continue to worry about Mom's lessening verbosity. We're not sure what to make of it; today's home care nurse apparently did neuro checks ("What's your name? What day is today? Where are you? Follow my fingers with your eyes," etc.) and came away wishing that Mom had done a better job with them.

Mom had suffered another skin rash for a bit, but today it seems to have gone away. She doesn't show signs of any further wound-related infection, as far as we can see. If something's going on in her head, it's most likely a function of the tumor's activity.

Externally, what we see is that she's less verbal. For all we know, Mom is quieter for internal, mental reasons. Dad wondered, yesterday, whether Mom has gotten sick of us asking her with our own neuro-check questions, but in truth, we haven't been questioning her much. My brother David just texted a few minutes ago to suggest Mom might simply be bored. She still presents as aphasic and shows continued signs of perseveration (previously mentioned here), but she watches TV, walks around, does puzzles when she's sitting in the bathroom, and is otherwise about as functional as we can expect of her.

I have no idea what's happening. Perhaps we're just reading too much into her current quietude.


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ramp

We're going to be visited in a few minutes by members of the church who will be measuring out the space in which the wheelchair ramp will be placed. It seems strange to talk about such a ramp when Mom is doing so well with walking, but it's important to realize that we're seeing only the upward side of the rocket's trajectory: eventually, there will be a decline, a return to earth, and the ramp-- along with the wheelchairs (we have two now)-- will make more sense.

It's my understanding that we have a timeline for ramp construction: July 11, which is either a start date or a start-and-completion date. As always, we're thankful for the enormous amount of help and love we've received. Dad noted with astonishment that this ramp is going to cost us nothing, which is nothing short of amazing.

On a related note: thanks, as well, to Mom's friend Mrs. Kopf, who helped obtain the second wheelchair that now sits in our dining room.


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success, more or less

Dinner was generally a hit tonight. Mom liked the taste of the chicken, but didn't go for the peanut sauce, which is too bad, because that sauce was a labor of love. She and David ate all of the Korean-style pickle salad I served (my take on Korean oi-kimchi); David and Dad ate all the chicken they were served (alas, Dad also seemed to avoid the peanut sauce), and everyone enjoyed the dessert, which was a lame-looking but tasty riff off tiramisu: sponge cake soaked in cream and alternately layered with chocolate mousse, the whole thing dusted up top with a cherry-chocolate powder-- the latter being from that lovely NALC gift pack we'd received a few weeks ago. The dessert looked rough and was closer to a parfait than to a true tiramisu, but it tasted mighty fine.

In other news, Mom seems less verbal these days, a fact that's worrying Sean. I don't see an obvious problem right now; Mom hasn't taken the initiative in most conversations since this whole mess began. Some level of passivity is therefore expected. But because Sean seems to be picking up on a potential problem, I'll be more mindful of how Mom is over the next few days. A constant worry for me is the return of the tumor. As you'll recall, the only thing that's been done to the tumor, thus far, has been the debulking on April 21; the two days of chemo and radiotherapy hardly count. While the docs assure us that regrowth isn't likely for months, I remain nervous about the sheer length of time that has passed since the debulking operation.

As always, a lot to think about. Meantime, it's enough for me to plan the next meal. As the English-language sign inside Hwagye-sa, a famous Zen temple in downtown Seoul, says: "All 24 hours of the day, don't make anything." It suffices to keep one's mind in the present without carving the world up into this and that and what if and what next. In making mental boundaries, we often end up creating more stress than we might be alleviating. Of the many boundaries we create and maintain, the biggest and most pernicious one is ego: the sense of me as opposed to everything else. As much as I hate Mom's cancer, that hatred doesn't really help matters: it's just a function of ego. The question before us at every moment is, as the Zen masters routinely ask, "What are you doing now?"

Echoes of this can be found in Christian thought. I'm wary of books that turn Jesus into a Zen master; original Buddhism is roughly a half-millennium older than Jesus, and Ch'an Buddhism comes into the picture about a half-millennium after Jesus, which excludes Christ from the Zen dharma lineage. Nevertheless, if the scriptures can be trusted, Jesus did say things like, "Let the dead bury their dead," a pronouncement that any Zennist would appreciate because it cuts off attachment to the past. He also said, by way of cutting off attachment to the future: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow-- they neither toil nor spin. Yet I tell you that Solomon in all his glory was not clothed as one of these." Sometimes the un-self-conscious act of living, of just being present, is far superior to our normal mode of self-conscious, divided-mind conduct. This isn't to say that toiling and spinning don't have their place-- they obviously do-- but it does mean that all that we do requires our full presence in this moment. Even consideration of the future must be done with this in mind. What else is there but the present, after all? The past is gone; the future isn't here. All we have is now.

So: what are you doing now? Now, I'm typing. The keyboard is black. Click-click-click at 50-60 words a minute. And what about Mom's cancer? I suppose it's busy cancer-ing. And we-- Dad and I, and David and Sean? We're here to respond to it in whatever way the moment calls for. One step at a time. Right now, that response is: click-click-click.


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dinner

Dinner tonight promises to be a chicken satay with peanut sauce, rice, Korean-style cucumber salad, and Western-style tomato salad. I might also make some more "adult" fruit salad (i.e., fruit salad that makes use of some leftover alcohol... we're not a drinking family, so we have gift bottles all over the house and in our fridges).


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quiet

It's been a quiet day, with Mom favoring her leg as much as possible. We're letting her do whatever she feels is necessary to avoid pain, because in her case, pain avoidance coincides with proper healing of the harvest site. She's watching Korean TV, occasionally nibbling at lunch, and sipping at her various drinks. I'd almost say she's living the high life... were it not for all the other problems.

I'll be leading her physical therapy again later today. Leg lifts! Knee raises! Work those calves!


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going home in a few minutes

Mom's having her wound re-dressed and I'm waiting in the parking lot for a call from Dad saying that it's time to come pick them both up at the ER entrance.

Mom's wound is simply super-irritated. She's to go back to the Xeroform dressing and must keep her leg elevated so as to avoid further pressure and friction. Inconvenient, but not tragic. About what I expected, but I'm glad we did this.


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in the ER waiting room

Sean came by just as we were pulling out of the driveway around 3:30PM. We left late because Mom ate lunch slowly (as we'd wanted her to do), from about 2 to 3, and I did dishes and washed up before we took off. As I wrote before, we didn't see the current problem as a dire emergency, but we did feel it was serious enough to warrant a doctor's attention. Where else to go on the weekend if not the ER?

As it turns out, the ER sees the situation similarly (i.e., things aren't dire), so Mom, Dad, Sean, and I are here in the waiting room, waiting for a proper berth.

This is our second time in the waiting room today: Mom had been checked in earlier and had been led to a triage station, where a nurse briefly looked her over and took some of her vitals. Mom's blood pressure was great (something like 108/60-something), and her pulse-ox was a stellar 99%. Her heart rate was around 90, but this is partly attributable to her walking around, an action that still requires effort. The triage nurse is the one who asked us to go back out to the waiting room; that now brings us up to date, as I'm in the waiting room, typing this.

Unless the docs discover something serious, I doubt this trip will end up being much more than an info-gathering excursion, a way to learn how better to take care of Mom's leg wound. Dad's worried about possible reinfection, which is a legitimate concern, given how much the color of the wound has changed. However, it's also possible that the darkening of the skin from pink to beet-red might be a natural part of the healing process for this sort of wound. Not knowing what's what, we're taking what we hope is the most prudent course. Given Mom's previous experiences with infection, we don't want to take any chances. Better to err on the side of paranoia.

We're a bit disturbed that the professionals all believed Mom was ready to go-- ready for showers, ready to sit on chairs and couches, etc. We were under the impression that Mom simply needed to have her wound dried-- just once-- with a blow-dryer set on "cool," and she'd be fine. As it turned out, her wound is leaking both clear fluid and blood (serosanguinal exudation), and Mom has been in obvious pain.

At a guess, this is what's going to happen tonight: Mom will have her dressings redone (Dad used nonadhesive dressings after Mom got out of the shower); her wound will be examined and pronounced non-critical; we'll learn more about how to dress Mom's leg and what dressings to use, and we'll be told to keep her thigh elevated so as to avoid any pressure against it. I'll be curious to hear how this will work when she needs to use the bathroom, as it's difficult to sit on that particular throne with one leg elevated.

I plan to ask about the possible utility of aloe vera, and whether a Bactine spray might help in any way. Sean is here, as I noted before, and he tends to ask intelligent questions, too. Whatever happens, we'll come away from this more knowledgeable than before.


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Mom and the black rim

Mom's had sponge baths since April 16, but today she had her first bona fide shower, and as far as her leg wound is concerned, it didn't go well. The bandage that the home care nurse had applied yesterday was extremely hard to peel off and caused Mom a great deal of pain, according to Dad. The shower's warm water eventually helped to strip the thing off, but Dad saw that the rectangular wound on Mom's thigh was now rimmed in black. I asked Dad what the black rim was, and he said "dried blood." Poor Mom vomited twice from the pain of removing the bandage; we're thinking about taking her to the ER if things look grim (to be honest, they don't: there's no further sign of infection). Dad, meanwhile, is going to apply non-adhesive bandages to Mom's leg. The plastic surgeon had felt that Mom's leg was ready for exposure to the air and that she would do fine with showering, but this doesn't appear to be the case.

UPDATE: I saw Mom's wound up close. No longer a raw pink, it has instead become mostly beet-red in appearance, and does indeed show blackness along its edges. It doesn't look infected, but we're taking no chances. Mom will be going to the hospital after she finishes lunch.


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the second half of Mom's day

How Mom spent the rest of her Friday:

Promptly at 3PM yesterday, Mom underwent physical therapy, administered by yours truly, based on some photocopied sheets given to us by the therapist who had come by two days ago (she'll be back on Tuesday). Lots of leg-lifts and toe-to-heel rolling.

Pastor Jeri came by not long after and spent about an hour with Mom. (Pastor Kim had come by the other day.)

Around 8:10PM, I dealt with Mom's PICC line, giving her her evening dose of daptomycin according to the SASH protocol: saline, antibiotic (the dapto, in this case), saline again, then a heparin flush. Mom had forgotten that I had done this for her three times before, so she was initially worried about whether I knew what I was doing.

Not long after that, Dad came home and we all began watching the musical "Moulin Rouge" together. We were right at the part where Nicole Kidman's character, Satine the courtesan, was thrashing about in fake sexual ecstasy when there was a knock on the door: Pastor Jeri had returned, this time with a sumptuous bouquet she had received from a wedding party.

An interesting day, all in all.


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many thanks to the Browns

We're enjoying a very nice meal provided by fellow congregants, the Brown family. Many thanks, Frederick and Linda, for some beautiful chicken, rice, beets, and salad.


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wound care

We've been a bit worried about Mom's tendency to touch her various wounds, especially the raw area on the back of her left thigh. One consequence of Mom's tumor and various surgeries has been an increased preference for tactile stimulation: her fingers love to explore the world around her. At one point, this resulted in her dabbing at her leg with toilet tissue-- a big no-no, as the tissue can melt and become stuck on the moist surface. Even though the plastic surgeon declared that area safe for exposure to the air, it's obviously still very painful for Mom, and it still oozes. Even if she weren't dealing with brain-related problems, Mom would probably feel some urge to touch or otherwise pick at that area. I know I would.

The home care nurse who came by today said she would call Dr. Mirali's office to find out what, if anything, should be done about Mom's leg. Mom's head remains lightly bandaged, mainly to keep her fingers away from the incisions and to pad her head so that it's less painful when she wears her helmet. For the moment, Mom's leg is the only pressing issue. So far, no infection, and no other problems to report.


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what Mom eats

It seems that Mom's tastes have changed-- a natural consequence of all this activity in and around her brain. Mom's not as into spicy foods as she used to be, and she seems to have acquired a sweet tooth. At dinner last night, she enjoyed a mild Korean soup that had been thickened by rice until it was almost a juk (porridge). She then gobbled a simple dessert I'd made: fresh, spooned-out mango and vanilla ice cream. The remainder of the previous night's soup served as lunch today, but Mom didn't touch her spicy panchan (side dishes). Despite Mom's new preference for the milder and sweeter, she still seems to enjoy the usual list of Korean stews-- the various tang and jjigae she grew up with and used to make for us. These stews tend to be on the spicy side, but in the grand scheme of Korean fare, they're not the spiciest items on the menu.

I'm curious how she'd react to a meal that resembled the bland hospital food she'd been eating for weeks, but I'm not going to engage in cruel and unusual punishment.


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the mortal contemplate mortality

Both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died today. Mom had been watching the news, and I joined her during dinner to see both the NBC tribute and Access Hollywood's salute to Farrah.

I asked Mom what she thought of Farrah's death; she said, "Well... we all knew it was going to happen."

Today, June 25, is also a significant day for Koreans, who know it as "yuk-i-o," or six-two-five, the date of the start of the Korean War in 1950. People on both sides of the Pacific have reasons to contemplate mortality, I guess.


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the neurologist says...

We're back from our visit to the neurologist. Dr. Benson saw a lot of improvement in Mom, especially in contrast to how she was during her most recent stint in the hospital-- weak, barely able to talk, etc. The doc did emphasize, though, that his role was to "bring reality" to the situation, to remind us that this particular form of cancer is aggressive and that, ultimately, the outcome will not be a happy one. He also asked us whether we were looking into experimental treatment options-- a question he couldn't have posed out of idle curiosity, since he's the doctor who told us about the spread of the tumor across the corpus callosum to the other side of Mom's brain.

I assume, therefore, that Dad and I will be talking, over the next few days, about eventually having Mom revisit MD Anderson and NCI. Dr. Benson made the common-sense remark that, whatever treatment route we take, it needs to be one that maintains quality of life as long as possible. Why bother seeking experimental treatments that will lead to nausea, loss of appetite, reduced cognitive ability, fatigue from traveling around the country, etc., if they do nothing to extend life and improve its quality somehow? We have a lot to consider.

All the same, Dr. Benson concluded-- after running Mom through the usual neuro checks-- that she has improved to a point where he doesn't need to see her for a few months. I had to go out and get the car while Dad checked Mom out of the office, but I think the next appointment has been scheduled for late summer or early fall. A lot can happen between now and then, especially with the specter of infection always hovering in the background, but it seems that Dr. Benson isn't counting on that being likely.

One final observation: Dr. Benson noted that Mom was having trouble following some instructions during the neuro checks: she would fixate on some element of the instruction to the exclusion of another element. For example, "Hold your head still and follow my finger with your eyes" produced a response in which Mom held perfectly still, using her peripheral vision to follow the doc's finger instead of moving her eyes.

The doc told us that this and other behaviors exhibiting fixation and repetition fall under the category of perseveration, and it's to be expected of someone with frontal lobe damage. Another example: when the doctor asked Mom about the respective ages of her children, she knew that I was 39, but when she turned to look at Sean, she struggled a bit and then said he was 39, too. It was obvious she knew this was the wrong answer: at one point she corrected herself, erroneously saying Sean was 33 (he's 29). The doc said that this situation likely wouldn't improve, given the nature of the damage, and that we should be patient with Mom, allowing her to move and think at her own pace, putting 2 and 2 together as she can.


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today's schedule

For a sick woman, Mom seems to have a movie star's schedule.

11AM: Visit from two of Mom's Korean friends.

1:30PM: Leave for 2:30PM appointment with Dr. Benson, a neurologist assigned to Mom's case.

2:30PM-3:30PM(?): Appointment.

4:30PM(?): Arrive home.

5PM-ish: Visit from Pastor Kim.

A lot for one day.


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Mom and David's moment of dokusan

Dad had a good laugh when my brother David came over last night. David is tired from working two jobs, but he always finds the energy to inject his bizarre sense of humor into a given situation. Last night, he opened his eyes wide and addressed Mom in a serious, stentorian tone, like a royal subject addressing his queen, booming, "What's new?"

Without missing a beat, Mom looked at David and fired back, "What else is new?"


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the plastic surgeon's verdict

Good news: the plastic surgeon, Dr. Mirali, determined that Mom's scalp and leg have been healing nicely. Mom therefore had her main stitches removed; the remaining stitches are designed to be absorbed by the body. Mom's leg can now stand to be exposed to air; no more need for a Tegaderm covering. We will still be applying loose dressings to Mom's head and leg, but only for Mom's comfort. he big news is that Mom can finally step back into the shower. No more freezing sponge baths!

Mom is now strong enough to get and in out of the car almost unassisted-- this includes the walk from the house to and from the car. She did great today going to the doctor's office and back, and not long from now, she'll be visited by two health care personnel: a home care nurse and a physical therapist. Things are looking up for the moment.


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doctor and nurse

Mom has an appointment with the plastic surgeon today at 10AM. Later in the day, a home care nurse will visit. Here's hoping that Dr. Mirali thinks that Mom's scalp is making progress. From what I've seen, all the wounds still appear clean and uninfected.


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a day to relax... for some of us

Mom's still doing well. Her daptomycin pushes are happening more or less on time; she's eating more at meals; her balance, strength, and coordination continue to improve; her conversational ability is becoming more extensive as her active vocabulary returns.

Yesterday, Mom had quite a few visitors stop by in the afternoon. This made her day, but it also tired her out: she was asleep before dinnertime, and missed the huge meal that I and my brothers had prepared for my dad. Mom's friend had brought over jjajang-myeon for us, but no one ate it: I had already planned to make yesterday's dinner, and Mom, who would have preferred Korean food, was zonked out. (The noodles will serve as lunch for Mom and me today.)

Today, no nurses will be visiting Mom, and we aren't taking her to see any doctors. Nurse visits are Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday; doctors' appointments are Tuesday and Wednesday this week. Today, Mom can relax.

I'm planning on mowing both lawns today; I'll start after lunch. It promises to be an all-day project, mainly because our mower is the type that shoots clippings into a sturdy attachable bag. This bag, which isn't very big, requires frequent stops in order to be emptied, thus increasing the amount of mowing time. Because of the rains lately, I haven't had a good chance to attack the front and back yards in weeks, and it shows: our many weeds (normal grass is hard to find) are taller and more lush than they should be. I imagine I'll be working until close to dinnertime.*

Dad says he might walk Mom out onto the deck to watch me work. I think it's a good idea to get Mom out and about. Her only other big projects today are (1) getting her head and leg dressings changed, and (2) getting her 8PM daptomycin push.

Right-- I'm off to make lunch and tame our greenery.

---

*Way back in the old days, our family had a different mower-- the kind with no bag. I didn't realize it then (I was in junior high), but such mowers get the work done a lot faster, as all you have to do is push. The main disadvantage is that, if the mower blade happens to bite into a random stone, the stone is likely to fly out from under the mower, zinging dangerously off to who-knows-where.


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French advice about Dad

I wrote my French friend Dominique back on April 19 to tell him about Mom's brain cancer and about the upcoming operation (April 21). What he wrote on April 20 is relevant to Father's Day:

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salut kevin,

les nouvelles ne sont pas très réjouissantes chez toi. il y a quelques années (peut-être 10 ans), une tante de Véronique avait une tumeur au cerveau. C'est toujours inquiétant lorsqu'on parle d'un problème au cerveau. Sa tante a été opérée et va très bien aujourd'hui.

Nous pensons bien à vous tous et embrasse ta maman de la part de toute la famille (et de ma part en particulier!). Prend soin de ton papa aussi, quand Maman avait son cancer parfois j'avais l'impression que c'était Papa le malade car tout le monde demandait des nouvelles de Maman, Papa se retrouvait parfois un peu seul, fatigué par le stress, le manque de sommeil, embrasse-le aussi et dis-lui qu'on pense à lui.

tiens-nous vite au courant de la suite

à très bientôt

Dominique

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TRANSLATION:

Hi, Kevin,

The news isn't very happy where you are. Some years ago (about 10 years), one of Veronique's aunts [Veronique is Dominique's wife] had a brain tumor. It's always worrisome when it comes to brain-related problems. Her aunt was operated on and is doing very well today.

We're thinking about all of you; kiss your mom on behalf of our whole family (especially me!). Take care of your dad, too. When Mom had her cancer, I sometimes had the impression that Dad was the one who was sick, because everyone was asking after Mom, and Dad found himself somewhat alone, tired from the stress and from lack of sleep. Give him a kiss, too, and tell him we're thinking of him.

Keep us current as to what happens next.

Talk to you very soon,

Dominique

I don't know how good of a son I've been toward my father, but I and my brothers appreciate his love and care more than words can say. Dad is the one keeping track of Mom's meds and medical records. He's the one making sure the living room is prepped with medical supplies when the home care nurses show up. He's the one handling most of the phone calls from family friends, and he's the one who steps up to arrange all the doctor appointments. He works alongside me to take care of chores like yard maintenance, dish-washing, floor cleaning, and so on-- all without complaint. Dad is quite literally the first responder should anything happen to Mom during the night: I sleep downstairs in my dungeon. I can only imagine how hard all of this is for him as a husband, watching this terrible thing happen to his wife. Dad has thanked me repeatedly for staying home to help out instead of continuing my walk; I don't think I've thanked Dad nearly as much, if at all, for everything he's done.

Today, I'm making Dad a nice dinner and dessert. One of Mom's Korean friends is also visiting today, around 3PM, to see Mom. Other things are in the works, but we're keeping it simple-- a simple "thank you" for a man whose heart is always, always in the right place.


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Happy Father's Day

To all dads out there: Happy Father's Day to you.


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almost unseen progress

I'm done making and serving a huge fried-rice lunch for the parents; a home care nurse is here to change Mom's dressings and look her over.

The big news, though, is that Mom is now strong and mobile enough to get sneaky. Dad was out on an errand, and I was the one both watching over Mom and trying to prep lunch while keeping Mom in my line of sight. I had to dodge downstairs to grab some frozen items for the fried rice, but when I got to the downstairs fridge, I suddenly heard heavy footsteps on the floor above me. My first thought was that Dad had come back, but with mounting alarm I realized that that wasn't the case: I'd heard none of the upstairs doors open or close. I ran upstairs, and discovered that the living room couch was empty: no Mom. Fearing that Mom had taken a tumble, I hurried down the hallway... and found Mom nicely settled into the bathroom, looking for all the world as if this were how things have always been.

Just yesterday, Mom had been walking, but she wouldn't have been capable of standing up on her own. Today, somehow, within the space of barely a minute, she had levered herself to her feet, ambled down the hall, and taken care of her own clothing upon entering the bathroom.

This is nothing short of incredible, but it's also a sign to me that I can no longer afford to assume that Mom can be allowed out of my sight. She's proven herself capable of spontaneous mobility. Every yang has its yin, and this newest development is no different: it's cause for both joy and caution.


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chaise roulante et condoléances

Our heartfelt thanks go to the Grant family for allowing Dad to come pick up their wheelchair earlier in the day. Mom was busy re-learning how to walk, but Dad and I tested the chair out, and it was great. We're glad to have it around. Mom might not want to use it right now, but we're going to need it eventually.

It's not my place to reveal sensitive matters about another family on this blog, but I do feel it necessary to express my-- our-- sincere condolences to the Grants as they deal with the very recent loss of a loved one. To help us out while they deal with their own pain is... well, there are no words for such compassion.


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thanks and compliments

Many thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Morrison for the great dinner-- especially the homemade apple cake, which was truly delicious.

Thanks as well to Pastor Jeri for taking time out of her busy schedule to see Mom today.


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ambulating

Mom did a great job of walking down the hall from her bedroom to the living room today. She insisted on not sitting on the office chair and being pulled. With Dad's assistance for balance, she made the trip entirely under her own power. She also just spent time talking with a friend on the phone, and when Sean dropped by for a brief visit, she talked with him, too. Pretty damn good.

A home care nurse is on the way to take care of Mom's dressings, check vitals, etc. As always, a busy day.


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gracias

Many thanks to the Morrisons, friends and fellow congregants, for the offer to drop off dinner. As they say in Korea by way of thanks for the meal about to be eaten: "Jal meokgesseumnida." Literally, "(I) will eat well." It's a polite promise to attack the meal with gusto. Eating heartily is, after all, a pancultural way of expressing gratitude to the founder of one's feast.

My students in Korea frequently asked me what the US English equivalent to this expression might be, and I was stumped. I normally responded that, in America, the people serving the meal might say something like "Bon appétit!" which, despite being French, is a rather common expression. The people eating the meal might wait until they're finished before thanking or otherwise complimenting their host. But saying "I will eat well" just before digging in? About the only pre-prandial expression I can think of is, "Oh, this looks/smells fantastic!" or something similar.

In any case, Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, we will eat well. Thank you.


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grasse matinée

Mom's doing something unusual and sleeping in, but Dad's about to wake her up and administer some meds.


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under way

Mr. Frady came by today and spoke with Dad and me about the ramp. It seems this project is now under way, and I once again thank all who are involved in it. Mr. Frady is going to call us back to discuss the matter further, and I imagine we'll settle on a timetable for the ramp's construction then.

Thanks-- from all of us.


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ramping it up

We've got folks from church coming by in the morning to look over our property and see what can be done about building a code-compliant handicap access ramp for Mom and her future wheelchair(s). The construction itself will take place later; I'm not clear on when, but I imagine it will happen soon. My thanks go out to Pastor Jeri for coordinating all this, and to Mr. Frady, his son, and Mr. Dickstein for their kind involvement in this project.

It's late, and my addled brain is imagining the ramp-building as if it were a scene from "The Ten Commandments," with whip-wielding taskmasters and a young Yul Brynner barking to no one in particular, "Let us see if they can make bricks without straw!"


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who is Mom's best friend?

A lot of Mom's Korean friends, especially these days, claim to be her best friend. Mom has plenty of friends, but I've never heard her say that "So-and-so is my best friend," which got me curious. During a quiet moment at the ER the other day, I asked Mom whether she had a best friend, or whether she liked all her friends equally. She said without hesitation that she liked them all equally.

Ladies: on the bright side, this means you can probably still claim to be Mom's best friend, because you're on equal footing with all the other best friends. Less optimistically, what this really means is that Mom is happy with her circle of friends, and that for her, "best" refers to a group that she holds above an even larger group. No single person stands out.

Whether one has a best friend is probably a function of one's personality. Some think it's juvenile to "rank" friends, but others see it as only realistic to point out that, among one's friends, there are only those select few with whom one spends the best quality time, or shares the most private thoughts, or experiences the greatest joys in the spirit of philia. And among those in that inner circle, one stands out as the very best friend. When looked at this way, it's only natural that one friend will be the best. Why not be honest and proclaim this fact?

Mom is an extrovert (at least among her Korean friends; Koreans can be pretty cliquish, and examples of this-- among Koreans of all ages-- are innumerable), which makes it natural for her to have a large pool of friends. I'm an introvert, so I have a notion of friendship that limits, almost by definition, the number of true friends I have.

It's not always obvious which personality type-- extrovert or introvert-- has the richer existence. As an introvert, I tend to think extroverts go broad but fail to go deep: variety at the expense of profundity. I imagine extroverts would claim that all their friendships are equally deep and meaningful, but I have a hard time believing that claim when it's made by someone with 300 so-called "friends." A Korean Seon (Zen) monk who visited our church once explained why most monks* don't marry a single person: their love makes them want to marry everyone. While the sentiment sounds noble, I have my doubts as to whether all celibate monks feel this way.

The "broad versus deep" dichotomy may or may not be a fair division to make, but it does seem to represent a fundamental difference in outlook when it comes to friendship. I was once accused by an out-and-out extrovert of "not giving enough" emotionally. My accuser, a woman I wasn't even dating, was being driven nuts by my combination of civility and lack of sociability, but here's the rub: from my perspective, it's the extroverts who "don't give enough," because it's impossible to tell how deeply they value any given friendship. By not making obvious distinctions between and among friends and acquaintances, extroverts end up with a pile of relationships that seem rather shallow and hollow.

Mom and I stand at opposite poles when it comes to the matter of friendship. She has dozens of friends, but no true "best friends" in the introvert's sense of the term. Instead, she has many friends who claim to be her best (or oldest) friend.

Despite my circumspection toward this type of friendship, this situation gladdens me. As much as Mom is stressed out by the thought of meeting these friends while she's in her current reduced state, she craves companionship and brightens when her friends (Korean or otherwise) show up. She has no lack of callers, and the sheer number of get-well cards she has received from all her friends-- and here I include everyone, not just her Korean circle-- is nothing short of incredible. If Frank Capra had used Mom as the protagonist of "It's a Wonderful Life" instead of Jimmy Stewart's George Bailey, the movie would have had to be much larger in scale. And as the days pass, I learn more and more about the lives Mom has affected.

I might have mixed feelings about what extroverts call friendship, but if the current outpouring of sentiment is any indication, Mom is indeed surrounded by many good friends. As the song from 2001's Baz Luhrmann hit cinemusical "Moulin Rouge" goes:

The greatest thing
you'll ever learn
is just to love
and be loved
in return.

My ruminations on friendship aside, it's obvious Mom is loved in return.

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*Korean monks who marry are most likely holdovers from a tradition introduced during the Japanese occupation (1910-1945). Certain forms of Japanese Buddhism-- not all, by any means-- allowed monks to marry. Some of those tradition-strains survive today in Korea as well as Japan. In Korea, such monks are a small but noticeable minority.


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the little things

Thankful for the little things:

1. We gave Mom a sponge bath this afternoon. When we were done, we set her in the rolling office chair that has served as her wheelchair for the past two days, with the purpose of rolling her from the bathroom back to the living room. As Dad began slowly pulling Mom backward to the living room, I jokingly called out from the bathroom, "Bye! Have a great trip!" Mom's reply as she crossed the threshold and rolled into the hallway?

"Adios!"

2. Before David came to visit tonight, he called the house. We put David on speakerphone since he likes verbally clowning around for the benefit of anyone listening, especially Mom. True to form, David started singing his own twisted, faux-Korean version of "Arirang," a much-beloved song in Korean culture. Mom laughed and responded by faintly warbling the first half of the first verse of the song:

Arirang, arirang
arari-o
Arirang gogae-ro neomeo ganda!

These are the moments we live for.


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thanks

Many thanks to Jan Hamlin for her kind visit, her card for the family, and her most generous gift.

Apologies to Pastor Jeri for sending her away, but Mom's problem occurred rather suddenly, and we're still working on it.


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