I'm just about out of prescription medicine. The cough syrup ran out a few days back, and I'm almost out of expectorant tabs and amoxicillin. The antibiotic didn't do anything: I still have a rattling cough, which has been with me for 23 days, now. Still no signs of pneumonia-- no blood or fever-- and still no headaches or inordinate fatigue. My energy level seems about the same. Nothing has changed in over three weeks, so maybe a lack of medicine won't make much difference. I've also been taking vitamins on the side; I sometimes wonder whether it's more the vitamins than anything else that are keeping me at equilibrium: I was taking them even before I visited that CVS clinic.
We'll see how this plays out. They say bronchitis usually needs to go away on its own, and that it lasts on average about two to three weeks. This morning, I felt as if I hadn't produced nearly as much lung-goo as usual, but later in the day, I started coughing and rattling again. Upshot: I have no idea whether I'm improving. Today feels slightly better than other days, but I may be mistaken.
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Tuesday, October 20, 2009
the last few sand grains in the hourglass
back to Texas
My aunt is on her way back to the Lone Star State after her brief stay at our house. We wish her a safe trip, and will see her again in early December. I'm thankful that she came over and spent time with Mom, sitting together in the living room, eating together both at home and away from home, walking in the Pentagon City mall, driving along the George Washington Parkway, and just being silly (Mom sometimes made a joke of not swallowing some of her pills, which drove Dad and Emo nuts).
What was true before remains true today: the best medicine for Mom is the simple act of being there, of holding her hand and talking to her. That's what Emo did for Mom, all day long, every day she was here, and we appreciate it.
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up earlier
I'll be waking up far earlier than usual-- about 9:30AM-- so as to be able to see my aunt off in the morning. Emo had arrived on Saturday; it's amazing how quickly the time passed, but it's good that the sisters had a chance to see each other, hold hands, smile, and talk.
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Monday, October 19, 2009
guests
Mrs. Merrill and Mrs. Neet, two of Mom's Korean friends, have stopped by and are happily chatting in the living room with my father and my aunt. I'm hiding downstairs like the pestilential freak that I am, eating a very late lunch, hawking massive loogies, and tapping out this blog entry. Our thanks to the two ladies for bringing over a load of food (soup, shrimp dinner, and doughnuts). Before I went downstairs to the dungeon, I saw Mom smiling; she's always happy to receive guests, and the good weather outside today is icing on the cake.
Emo and I had gone shopping at a ddeok-jip, i.e., a Korean rice cake house, where we bought a few packages of ddeok as well as one order of ddeokbokgi and one container of hobak-juk (pumpkin or squash porridge). I served Mom some ddeokbokgi and hobak-juk as a sort of second lunch; Emo was worried that Mom hadn't eaten enough at noon.
I can hear how noisy it is upstairs-- a happy noise. That's good. Whatever makes Mom happy is good.
UPDATE: I forgot to mention that Sean came over today; he was here when Emo and I got back from our shopping trip. He helped me prep some hospitality plates for the visitors: chopped Korean pears and US apples. The fruit, plus the ddeok we served, were our ambassadors today.
UPDATE 2: David came over later in the evening. He's been extremely busy, so almost as soon as he arrived, he crawled into a dark corner of the house and went to sleep right away, waking up to eat dinner. The poor guy could probably use about 36 hours' sleep, but he's got work in the morning.
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yikes
I stayed up until just past 7AM; the sun was shining brightly at the beginning of a new, beautiful day when I finally put myself down to sleep. I had set my alarm for 11AM, to give myself time to get up and make lunch for the crew. Instead, I slept through my alarm, got up at 12:40PM... and discovered that Emo had fixed lunch for herself and Mom, and Dad had eaten some oatmeal. What a terrible host I am.
And my lungs are still rattling.
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Sunday, October 18, 2009
a quick mea culpa
My buddy Charles writes:
By the way, there was something I wanted to mention after reading a recent post on your site: the term "imo" is used for *all* sisters of the mother, not just older sisters.
Yes, indeed. Mea maxima culpa.
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Mom and her sister at the food court of Pentagon City (Mom's in mid-chew)
UPDATE: I'm here with Dad, Emo, and Mom. We're about finished with lunch and getting ready to take Mom on a stroll. After that, we'll head back home: during our lunchtime discussion, we determined that we already have everything we need for bulgogi-making at the house. No need to shop for the proper beef or for any other ingredients.
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today's agenda
Mom's awake and out of bed, but still not washed. She's supposed to walk today, so we're planning to take her to the huge mall at Pentagon City, where we'll eat lunch and have Mom walk.
We might also need to go shopping for dinner supplies; I'm hearing rumors that Emo might want to teach me the proper bulgogi-making procedure.
UPDATE: Mom's feet are looking better today, and while she was in bed, she was more interactive than she had been yesterday.
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sisters
Today, I had the honor of providing dinner to both Mom and her sister, who arrived safely from Texas. Dinner for them was budae-jjigae, a stew I've made many times before. My aunt-- I'll call her "Emo" from here on in, per the Korean designation for an aunt who is the mother's older sister-- raved about it, which I took as high praise, since she's a talented cook. As happened with Mom, Emo wasn't familiar with budae-jjigae, a dish that gained popularity long after she and my mother had left Korea in the 1960s. Unlike some of the old-school Koreans in America, however, Emo was open-minded from the start, not blinking once when I told her what the stew was made of. Even Mom made a face the first time she heard it was a fusion of a traditional Korean stew and American junk meats: fatty hamburger, Spam, and hot dogs. The concept sounds disgusting, but the taste is surprisingly good.
Dad's dinner was leftover spaghetti from yesterday, plus leftover "caprese niçoise," my brother Sean's designation for the salad I'd made. Dad can't eat spicy, and I'd made the stew especially spicy by adding four jalapeños and four Korean gochus (seeds and all, of course).
Emo sat with Mom all afternoon and evening, often holding her hand and talking to her about this or that. It was the sort of care Mom needed, and which I'm currently unable to provide: my bronchitis is still rattling my lungs, so I'm still wearing a mask and washing my hands at an insane frequency. I hug Mom when I can, but avoid holding her hand and kissing her.
Mom's feet were swollen most of the day-- probably because of her Decadron, which looks, more and more, like the root of all evil. Decadron's main virtue is that it's a corticosteroid: it keeps the swelling down in Mom's brain. We had tried reducing her dosage a while back, but Mom's symptoms only seemed to flare up as a result. She's been back on the full dose ever since. Aside from its anti-inflammatory benefits, I see nothing good about Decadron: it's causing swollen feet and is deteriorating Mom's muscles. Her calves are now frighteningly thin. Emo and her family had lamented how gaunt Mom looked when she traveled to Texas. Now that Mom has regained some weight thanks to the sustained protein blast we've been giving her, Emo seems encouraged. It's a Catch-22 for us: if we lower the Decadron dosage to diminish the side effects, we risk brain swelling; if we keep the Decadron at its current level, we have to live with the side effects.
As a confirmed Texan, my aunt can take any amount of heat, but for her, 70 degrees is freezing. So we warmed the house up for her by a few degrees, and Emo bundled Mom's feet, which she (Emo) said also felt cold. I draped a shawl over Mom's shoulders to warm her up. Mom took our caring gestures in stride, as she usually does.
Sunday afternoon or evening, we'll be trying a new approach to walking: a trip over to the capacious Pentagon City, a mall with plenty of floor space for walking. Since the mall has a food court, we might just take a meal there. These sorts of outings tend to tire Mom out, though, so I don't think we'll be treating this like a typical people-watching adventure. We'll arrive, help Mom walk, hit the food court, and mosey on home. Or something like that.
The two sisters are happy to be reunited for a while. Emo's here until Tuesday; her stay is the same length as ours was when we went to Texas at the beginning of September. Symmetry.
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Saturday, October 17, 2009
something I can relate to
This article, which reviews a new book by Barbara Ehrenreich titled Bright-sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking has Undermined America, contains a passage that is very meaningful to me:
All the Oprah-ready gurus you would expect to populate this polemic show up to share some advice—here’s Joel Osteen warning us never to “verbalize a negative emotion,” there’s Tony Robbins exhorting us to “Get motivated!” In turning the United States into a 24-hour pep rally, charges Ehrenreich, these professional cheerleaders have all but drowned out downers like “realism” and “rationality.” Their followers are trained to dismiss bad news rather than assimilate or reflect upon its importance.
I believe there is a such thing as a "good attitude," but as I contended earlier, it's not an attitude divorced from reality.
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aunt
Mom's big sis is on her way over from Texas. Dad will be picking her up later this afternoon, and I'll stay home with Mom. Right now, I need to fix lunch for both parents.
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Friday, October 16, 2009
on the menu
For Sean's birthday this evening:
1. Amped-up Caprese
The basics are there: tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil leaves. But there'll also be baby spinach, tuna, and hard-boiled eggs.
2. Crazy Bolognese
I made this for my brother David's birthday, and Sean declared himself envious, because on that day, he was strictly following his Atkins regime. Today, Sean plans to take a day off from Atkins, risking pasta shock in so doing.
The "crazy" part of the Bolognese lies both in the variety of meats (spicy Italian sausage, ground pork, ground beef, pepperoni, and bacon), and the fact that the meat doesn't dominate the sauce as thoroughly as it would in a classic Bolognese: mushrooms and certain vegetables all have a chance to shine in this unabashedly Americanized version of the sauce.
3. Ghirardelli chocolate brownies
Sean made a special request of this, so I found two boxes of the brownie mixture when I went to Wegmans with David. It looks to be rich. Rich is good.
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Thursday, October 15, 2009
a quiet, rainy 15th
Mom's been pretty quiet all day. She tried a few minutes of knitting yesterday, before Sam got here, but didn't do any knitting today. She also didn't go for a walk either yesterday or today, which is not a good thing. We'll take her out tomorrow, no matter the weather, bundling her up if necessary. I'm happy to report that summer appears finally to have left us.
David's here at the homestead right now; he's been here since about 8PM. He had taken off work (bartending in Georgetown) on the assumption that we would be celebrating Sean's birthday this evening; as that didn't happen, he's over here and keeping Mom company while she watches her Korean TV. Tomorrow, David has to work in the evening, so he won't be able to join us for Sean's birthday dinner.
My aunt says she'll be arriving on Saturday, and will stay with Mom until Tuesday. Mom will be glad to see her.
Before I end this post, I'll note some amusement at the number of people who clicked the "click at your own risk" link in my previous post (I can track movements to and from my blog via SiteMeter). Nothing tempts like temptation, I guess. Heh.
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gate, gate, paragate
I dropped Sam off at the Greyhound bus terminal in DC this morning after a haphazard breakfast of eggs, cheese, bacon, and English muffins. Traffic going toward DC wasn't that great, despite it no longer being rush hour. The rain and the gloom may have contributed to some accidents along the way, and a few drivers were goofier than usual.
It was great to have Sam over, however briefly. He spent a lot of time talking with Dad and me, reminiscing about years past, and talking about movies, literature, politics, martial arts (he's a Taijutsu practitioner), family, mountain biking, bartending, and whatever else came to mind. For my part, I introduced Sam to a politically incorrect online cartoon site called Retarded Animal Babies (click at your own risk), which pretty much reflects my sense of humor and the level of my intellect, both of which I try desperately to mask on this blog.
Sam will crash in New York for a couple days, then head off to Chile. He'll spend some time in Santiago, then will embark on a hike of several days along the so-called "W" trail of Torres del Paine National Park. Sounds like a hoot. It's spring down below the equator, and Sam says that this time of year is good because the tourist mobs haven't arrived yet.
The drive home from the bus station was a bit hairy; along with all the accidents, there's plenty of construction going on, and some stretches of road both in DC and in Old Town Alexandria lack even the basics, like obvious lane markings.
I'm probably going to nap for a bit, then start prepping Sean's dinner for tomorrow. Today is Sean's thirtieth birthday. A thirty old man, indeed.
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Sam the man
I'll write more, but suffice it to say that Sam arrived in Virginia safely and I got him to our house safely. He sat next to Mom the entire evening and enjoyed a Korean-style meal with us. Talk ranged all over. When I have time tomorrow, I'll write more. Sam has to leave for NYC early in the morning, so I don't want to spend too much time here, typing away.
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Wednesday, October 14, 2009
off soon
Mom's up, she's had lunch, and Dad's going to be working on the house (he already did the rain gutters this morning, clearing out leaves and installing gutter shields) while I prep to pick up my buddy Sam from National Airport. Sam's passing through the NoVA/DC area on his way to a brief stay in New York City, after which he's heading off to an adventure in Santiago de Chile. Quite the world traveler, he. We appreciate the fact that he's taking a detour to see us before he heads off; I know Mom will be happy to see him, since it's been so long.
Sam will be crashing at our place tonight, so we're doing our best to sanitize the premises: we can't have my friend (since age 3!) heading off to Chile with incipient bronchitis. That won't do at all.
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the Blood Pressure Attack Plan
"Blood pressure attack" might qualify as infelicitous phrasing, but for those who are interested in seeing the goals I've charted out for myself, please follow this link.
You'll notice a few things right away:
1. No mention of calisthenics. While these are important, and will be part of my program, I'm not including them as goals. Some types of calisthenics might make their way into the categories listed-- e.g., doing X number of jumping jacks to earn a certain number of aerobic points-- but in the main, this won't happen.
2. Some goals will take less than a year to accomplish. Meditation is a case in point. Having plunged into seated meditation-- my first-ever session was for two hours, broken into three 40-minute segments-- I know that reaching the point where I can meditate for 60 minutes straight won't be a big deal. I haven't decided whether I want to make 60 minutes a daily goal, but I've heard of folks who do this. No matter what eventually happens, chamseon (Korean for zazen, i.e., seated Zen meditation) needs to become part of my daily practice, even if it's for just 10 minutes a day.
3. The "flexibility" category shows only two items. This is not because I plan to stretch only in the two ways mentioned, but because those two forms of stretching will be representative of the overall state in which I wish to be after one year. Flexibility is about range of motion; I hope to improve my overall range.
4. For someone who said that strength exercises will come later, you sure have listed a lot of strength exercises. Guilty as charged, but this is mainly to get those exercises out of my head and "on paper," if you will. The exercises I've chosen will help with arm strength, leg strength, upper body strength, and core stabilization (a concept popularized by Pilates). Most of the exercises engage multiple muscle groups; this isn't about achieving definition, but about strengthening the body more holistically. Pushups are a classic example of this: several muscle groups move in concert so that you perform what is basically a punching motion.
Anyway, the plan is to start most of the strength exercises later on-- not right away. I might do some pushups early on, but not many; I'll be going easy for a long while before ramping up the intensity. When you've fallen far, it's a long climb back to the top, and there are no shortcuts.
5. I don't get what you're talking about when you say "10-point week" in the "cardio" category. This is a reference to Ken Cooper's classic, Aerobics (1968), in which Cooper introduces the point system as a way for people to measure the cardiovascular payoff associated with any given aerobic activity. A person should be averaging a 30- to 35-point week, in Cooper's opinion. In The New Aerobics (which isn't so new anymore; the book was published in 1988), Cooper broke his point charts down further, taking age and sex into consideration in his calculations.
The basic wisdom of Cooper's books obtains today, though people tend to talk about cardio differently. Nowadays, what you'll generally hear is something like: "To calculate your maximum heart rate during training, subtract your age from 220. Establish training regimens that get your heart beating at 60% and 80% of that maximum, maintaining that rate for at least 30 minutes, at least 3-4 times per week." Following this plan leads, roughly, to about 30 points per week of cardio.
Heart rate is a good indicator of effort. Cooper's charts were laid out more in terms of time and distance, but the same basic idea-- that intensity counts in a workout-- is present in Cooper's formulation. For this reason, his charts show you earning more points if you cover the same distance in significantly less time.
For myself, I plan to bike and walk. Running is a possibility, but only after I shed a good bit of weight. As you see on my attack plan, the eventual goal is to reach 40 points per week after a year of training. When compared to the rigorous training that the folks on "The Biggest Loser" undergo, my schedule moves at a snail's pace. But setting realistic goals is important, and I know I'd give up pretty quickly were I to try a super-intense regimen right away. No "boot camp workouts" for me.
6. What's up with the "diet" category? I tried to keep the notation simple. As a friend of mine once noted, you need about 12 calories per pound per day to maintain your weight. In my case, weighing in at a beefy 300 pounds, that means I need at least 3600 calories per day to maintain my weight. I've been 300 for several months, so I'm guessing that my food intake averages out to about 3600 calories. That's a lot of snacking, and probably a lot of empty calories.
My attack plan shows a minimum of 2800 calories per day, which isn't much of a reduction-- at least at first. The goal, though, is to get consumption down to 1500 calories per day. It's possible that I'll revise this upward if/when I achieve my goal weight of 200 pounds. A 200-pound person really needs about 2400 calories per day to maintain that weight. But over the course of a year, while I'm on this program, I'll have to discipline myself. It's rare that I know true hunger, so this program offers me a golden opportunity to feel what normal folks feel.
The chart notes some general changes: avoidance of sodas (both regular and diet), decrease in carb intake, and an increase in the consumption of leafy greens. I'm not really looking forward to these changes; as a guy with a sweet tooth who also loves his pasta, bread, and cheese, I view any sort of diet as a nightmare. But numbers are numbers, and there's no getting around the need to cut a lot of junk out of my life.
I do, however, plan to fall off the wagon a few times per month. Sticking religiously to a strait path is, at least for me, the road to failure. Like those Canadian programs for alcoholics-- the ones that don't cut drinkers completely off from booze, the way so many US programs do-- I think that my approach will have a higher probability of success.
7. How do you measure balance? I have no idea, which is why I set my "minimum"-- if the word even applies here-- as "biking," and set my "maximum" as "rollerblading and skiing." I like biking, even though I don't do it much, but I actively fear rollerblading and skiing, because I'm always worried about falling.
There are balance exercises that I remember from taekwondo class, often involving slow kicking motions, but occasionally involving "chicken fighting," a game in which we kids stood on one leg, holding our other foot in our hands and hopping around, using the upraised knee to bash an opponent until he either keeled over or released his grip on his own foot. (Maybe I can persuade my brothers to chicken fight with me, but I doubt it.)
And I'm sure there are other balance exercises available online-- possibly some yoga asanas, or dance moves, or who knows what. Eventually, though, I'll need to apply those skills to a fluid situation, not just to movement over flat ground; both rollerblading and skiing offer precisely that sort of challenge. Learning those activities will also give me a chance to conquer some long-standing fears.
So now you've seen the general goals. The first nine prongs of the 10-prong attack plan are all in the service of Prong 10: reduction of blood pressure. I'm currently working on specifics, but this is, in some ways, easier than creating the big picture: now that I've established time frames, it's just a matter of cutting time up into intervals, and using simple arithmetic to map out the daily, weekly, and monthly goals. If I should be doing 60 pushups a year from now, for example, then I should be doing 30 pushups half a year from now. Easy math.
Sure, sure-- delays will likely occur due to sickness, backsliding, or something out of my control, but on the whole, I hope to follow whatever chart I make as faithfully as I can. I might alter the chart if I come to realize that a given goal is unrealistically harsh (or lax), but my hope is to stick to the basic program, to show some commitment and be-- for once-- as good as my word.
"When you fall down, get up," my dad likes to say. Good advice for living. I'm giving myself about a year to get back up after a very long fall.
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Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Mom decided she didn't want to go out for a ride today, so we stayed in. Mom flipped through her Korean newspaper, possibly reading, possibly going through the motions of reading. Her yarn and knitting needles sit next to her, unused, despite my attempts at coaxing her to knit.
I just made Mom dinner and gave her her third Decadron tablet of the day. Dad's still out; he says he'll be back after 8:30PM, so it's just Mom and me for the next little while.
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uh-oh
Dad's out on errands, getting the small car inspected and doing some crucial shopping. Sean's here with me and Mom, and we're planning a short car ride up the George Washington Parkway since it's such a beautiful day.
Mom had a very good lunch (our thanks, again, to the Hardings for all the wonderful food). Unfortunately, she also just coughed, and the cough sounded phlegmy. Maybe it's nothing-- as Dad (and, apparently, the rest of my family) insists is the case with his own rough-sounding cough. At the very least, we need to be on the lookout. If Mom ends up with bronchitis, or even with something more minor, she'll likely need to visit the hospital.
More on this as it develops. If you don't read anything further about Mom's cough, then no news is good news.
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rattle, rattle
Woke up to a rumbling, rattling chest yet again. The symptom doesn't seem to be going anywhere.
We have so much food that I won't have to worry about making the next few meals, so that's good: it eases my day.
Mom's awake, but not up yet, so this is a relatively quiet hour. The rest of the day will go something like this: Dad will take care of Mom's waking needs; I'll fix the parents lunch; Dad will leave to get one of the cars inspected, and will also go shopping for a mess of groceries; I'll fix dinner for the folks and will otherwise watch over Mom throughout the day while Dad's gone.
Note to single ladies: You should call me up. My voice is so much deeper than it normally is that I can almost do a Barry White impression.
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Monday, October 12, 2009
back... and back
David and I just got back from a trip to Wegmans, where we did a bit of shopping for Sean's birthday meal (it's not a surprise, so I don't mind blogging this). Alas, David had already decided to take off work on Thursday night; I guess I should have told him that Sean was busy on his birthday, and would be celebrating the following day.
When we got home, we saw that Mom was back on her throne in the living room, watching Korean TV, and Dad was hanging around the kitchen/living room area. According to Dad, there must have been around twenty people at tonight's dinner at the Harding residence; I'm glad Mom had another chance to socialize, even if she did it wordlessly.
Speaking of "wordlessly," the neurologist apparently saw Mom's status as having changed for the worse. According to Dad, Dr. Benson concluded today that Mom was "unable to remember who her three children were." When I pressed Dad for specifics, he said that Mom hadn't responded to Dr. Benson's questions about the names of her three sons. So either Dr. Benson interpreted Mom's silence as an inability to recall her family, or Dad's impression of Dr. Benson's assessment is somewhat off (i.e., maybe Dr. Benson simply noted that Mom was less verbal, not that she was "unable to recall" anything). The upshot, though, was that the doc wanted to see Mom again in two months, as I predicted would happen. Still, I found the doc's conclusion (or Dad's interpretation of it) disturbing.
After the appointment, I dropped Dad off at home, then took Mom to the park. We needed to get a walk in: she hadn't exercised in three days. The walk itself went well; Mom chugged along strongly, covering 680 yards.
When we got back to our driveway, I turned the car off and faced Mom.
"Who am I?" I asked.
Mom stared at me for a while, and it wasn't a blank stare. I could tell she resented the constant quizzing, both by the neurologist and by her own family. Good. Resentment means somebody's home. After some time, Mom responded, "Kevin!"
So I asked her: "Who is that crazy guy who likes to shout 'Ooooohhh, CHAAAA!' whenever he comes over?" This was a reference to David, who doesn't speak a lick of Korean, but who takes great and cruel delight in imitating Korean sounds, often amusing the family with his faux-netics.
"Sammy," Mom replied, naming my oldest friend. I had mentioned to her, barely two minutes earlier, that Sam was going to be visiting us on the 14th. Her perseverative brain had latched on to that information, which would have popped out no matter what I had asked. Mom immediately realized her error and waved her hand in a canceling/negating motion, then said, "David." The correct answer. David is indeed the "Oh, CHA!" culprit.
That was two out of three. "And who's the guy who plays the cello?"
Mom smiled, looked away, looked back at me, then said very clearly, "OK, let's go." I took that to mean, "OK, you know I know the answer, but you also know that I won't say it-- either because I can't or because I'm tired of all the questions. One way or another, we both know that I know who you're talking about."
I allowed this to slide, and we got out of the car.
Although Mom's walk in the park had gone flawlessly, her last few yards from the van to the house were treacherous: she ended up falling three times. First, Mom lost her balance when she stepped badly on a flagstone. I was able to soften her fall, but she still ended up on the ground, laughing at her own predicament. I lifted her back to her feet, and she insisted on attempting the deck stairs. Here again, she "fell" twice more, each descent being less a fall, per se, and more a sort of uncontrolled sitting-down. Each time, I helped Mom back up, and we worked our way up the five steps together. Once we got inside, Dad checked her legs and bottom for injury, and determined that Mom was fine.
Mom's insistence on avoiding the wheelchair ramp in favor of the more difficult stairs is admirable, but she's so weak that even mounting a single step requires a lot of help from us. Today was the first time for her to collapse three times in rapid succession; this may have been partly attributable to the fact that, earlier in the day, she got up too late to have a decent meal before her doctor's appointment. We've been overloading her with protein, but today, because of our schedule and Mom's tardiness, the usual meal just wasn't possible. Maybe I should have considered that before taking her out to the park.
Anyway, we're back, and I have to thank David for purchasing the Wegmans groceries this evening. There's still more to buy; Dad will be out all day tomorrow seeing to the rest of our culinary needs: Korean components for Mom, and the rest of the material we need for Sean's thirtieth birthday bash. Ah, yes: our thanks, as well, to the Hardings for giving us so much food! The kindness is appreciated.
One last note: when we got Mom inside the house, she wandered over to the kitchen, probably to try and wash some dishes. While she stood behind the counter, I asked her again, "Who's that guy who plays the cello?"
"Sean!" she barked.
Three for three. Take that, Dr. Benson. And you know something? Even if Mom gets to a point where she no longer knows her kids' names, we won't be able to say that she's truly forgotten us. The day she gives us a blank or frightened look and recoils from our touch-- on that day, we'll admit defeat. But that day hasn't come yet. Here's hoping it never comes.
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they're in there
I'm once again playing the role of chauffeur for my folks, so I'm sitting in the van, at the top of the Prosperity Medical Center parking deck, while Dr. Benson looks Mom over and asks her and Dad some questions. We arrived around 2:40PM, giving Dad plenty of time to sign in.
I can't imagine that today's session will be all that revelatory since the exam is mainly about the clinical (read: external or easily observable) aspects of Mom's condition. For me, October 30 is the day to worry about, since we'll be talking over the results of the previous day's MRI.
Today, I suspect the doc will do the standard neuro checks, asking Mom her name, who the current president is, etc. The checks will likely include some exercises, such as "squeeze my fingers and pull my hands toward you" and "touch your finger to your nose" and "follow my pen with just your eyes." In the end, the doc's probably going to say, "She's holding up pretty well. Come see me again in two months." And that'll be that.
Later this evening, the parents will be heading over to the Harding residence for dinner. I won't be joining them, and for the same reason I'm not in Dr. Benson's office right now: I'm sick. Instead, I plan to go shopping for the components of Sean's birthday dinner at one of the local Wegmans. Wearing my face mask in public is an interesting experience, as I learned yesterday when a little girl stared at me while I waited at CVS to be called into the minute clinic. I felt as if I were back in Korea, where the adults stare unabashedly at foreigners.
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off we go
Mom's appointment with Dr. Benson is at 3PM today, so we'll be leaving around 2PM. I'm still phlegmy. I also spent my night making up a chart that shows overall goals in ten different areas:
1. Meditation
2. Strength
3. Balance
4. Flexibility
5. Cardio
6. Diet
7. Sleep Schedule
8. Weight
9. Resting Heart Rate
10. Blood Pressure
Each of these areas now needs to be fleshed out in greater detail. I've established starting points and goals for each, but haven't set an overall time frame, and need to figure out the intervals at which to progress. It feels a bit like when I was writing up my semester curriculum for my English students at Sookmyung Women's University, but this time, it's a curriculum for living my life.
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Sunday, October 11, 2009
returned
Mom and Dad got back from Lusby, MD around 8:45PM. According to Dad, Mom was pretty quiet the entire time, but the Korean ladies kept her in the action, even teaching her some knitting techniques. Mom has apparently been tasked with knitting something or other; I asked her what it might be, and she didn't know. When I ventured that it might be a scarf, she nodded, but only vaguely. We'll see whether Mom continues with the knitting; the ladies gave her yarn and knitting needles to work with. I hope Mom does continue; knitting is a great way to engage her senses and her hands, along with various parts of her brain.
Right now, Mom's still quiet. She and I have been watching the Food Network since about 9PM; her Korean channel, MBC America, didn't have anything substantive scheduled this evening, so we first enjoyed an episode of "The Next Iron Chef," and are now watching Iron Chef Bobby Flay face a challenger in "Battle Berry."
Soon, it'll be time for Mom to go to bed. She had a big day today; socializing is always tiring for her. I hope she rests well: tomorrow, she visits her neurologist, Dr. Benson. Yes, we have an appointment despite it being a national holiday.
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la bronchite
Well, the nurse practitioner says I have bronchitis, and prescribed three meds for me to take over the course of the next two weeks. Two are tablets; one is a syrup. The cost of consultation was $62; the meds were an additional $42. Ouch. I'm left to wonder, though, why I was prescribed an antibiotic (amoxicillin) when most cases of bronchitis are viral.
I was also told that I have very, very high blood pressure--- a fact I've known since last year, when my diastolic was around 90 (it's higher now). I supposedly need meds to get the pressure down, but I'm going to go old-school, no meds, and you'll be privy to how that works (blogging is narcissistic, after all; this blog never stopped being about yours truly). I know this won't make the clinic lady happy, but I'm both financially strapped and unwilling to view pills as my salvation: I know that simple effort and will can take me to the same goal.* I promise, O Clinic Lady, that I'll go in for a checkup once I'm both healthier and properly employed. Maybe that won't happen until I'm back in Korea, but I'll be sure to have myself checked.
The thing about being fat-- and periodically attempting to get in shape-- is that you stay current with the medical wisdom. I probably know more than the average bloke about how to approach cardio, how to plan out a strength and flexibility training regimen, what sort of diet I should be on, etc. But as is also true with a lot of fat folks, knowledge isn't the problem: motivation is. Call it oomph, gumption, ganas, or whatever, but if you lack the will, then all the knowledge in the world is useless. If I were vain enough to worry about my looks, I'd have lost weight long before now, and would have kept it off. Obviously, vanity won't motivate me. But as I've come to realize, I have a reason to be healthy: Mom and Dad need me. "Etre fort pour être utile," as Georges Hébert, the grandfather of Parkour, said: be strong to be of use. Maybe today's quick clinic visit was just the kick in the ass I needed to see that more clearly.
So I'll plan out a multipronged approach to my blood pressure problem, and implement it starting this coming week, if my bronchitis is showing signs of improvement. To be honest, this will be a bad week to start because I'm supposed to cook something decadent for Sean's birthday celebration (he turns 30 on the 15th, but we'll be celebrating as a family on the 16th). But I can't let that affect me. If I'm feeling better, then I need to start the long project of getting myself healthy, even if that means initially starting small.
Thinking out loud now... here are some issues to address, all with the goal of lowering blood pressure:
1. Stress. I need to get back to some good ol' Zen meditation. This has helped a lot in the past, but I've never been regular about it. In some ways, that's worse than not meditating at all. Mom's cancer is one obvious stressor, but there are others, most of which have not been mentioned on this blog, some of which have.
2. Sedentary lifestyle and concomitant bodily weakness. Some sedentariness is unavoidable if I plan to maintain a blog and write emails, and/or if I find a work-at-home job that involves using a computer. Still: even when working at the computer, there's plenty of time to fit in some quick cardio and strength exercises. With so many hours in the day to play with, I really have no excuse for not squeezing in some meaningful exercise time.
3. Bad diet. I have plenty of bad eating habits that need to go out the window, so I need to trim portions (radically), avoid snacking (especially at night), and be sure to eat the right types of food during the day. I should also make a "no food after 9PM" rule. That's what's killing me.
4. Bad sleep habits. This is going to be especially tough, because I like being a night owl. Thing is, even though I complain about waking up early, I do actually function better in the early-morning hours. In Korea, at the beginning of a 7:40AM English class, I was usually far more peppy than my students. The trade-off to becoming a morning person, though, is the rapid decline in energy in the evening. I don't look forward to losing that stamina, to losing my ability to say, "What, 3AM? Ha ha-- the night is young!"
5. Poor balance and limited flexibility. Both of these are important in life, not just for the benefits they confer on the body, but also for what they do for the mind. And if mind and body are not-two, then the whole person benefits: balance and flexibility are more than just exercise goals: they're moral virtues we internalize and apply to daily living. I need to recover whatever scraps of gracefulness I possessed long ago (back when I did theater in college, I was complimented on my smoothness and grace... ah, faded glory!), and rework them into something that will benefit me today. Perhaps it's time to dig up all that dormant taekwondo knowledge.
While I'm sick, I can begin this new campaign with a change in diet. Soon after, I can begin to add light cardio to the mix, along with balance and flexibility training. Later on, I can add strength training, but only later: pushups and weightlifting temporarily drive up a person's blood pressure-- not good when your blood pressure is already dangerously high. So: leave weights and such for later, then go easy when I start them. The weight training will eventually lead to greater muscle mass and better tone, which can affect metabolism, causing the body to burn food more efficiently, leaving less of it to go to the waist.
See? I know this stuff. But knowing means nothing without doing.
Expect a plan of attack to appear on this blog sometime before Monday Tuesday. [I wrote "Monday" by mistake, forgetting that it was Sunday. Still, I might have a plan fleshed out as early as Monday night.]
*I'm aware that some folks need blood pressure meds despite being otherwise perfectly healthy. It's possible that I fall into that category, but it wasn't long ago that my own blood pressure was normal. For the moment, I'm assuming I can return to that. I may be wrong. I may discover, at my checkup, that despite my efforts, my blood pressure remains high and will require meds to control. If that's the case, then fine: I'll concede and get the meds.
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ayup
Dad and Mom are off joyriding to Lusby, Maryland, and around 2PM, I'll be shoving off to hit the local clinic.
The house is quiet. The day is beautiful. If you're in northern Virginia, I hope you're enjoying the fantastic weather.
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CVS, my savior(?)
I'll be visiting a CVS "minute clinic" tomorrow to see what can be done about my cough and rattling bronchi. There's such a clinic just up the street, close to where my brother David lives. It's open until 5:30PM on Sundays; I'll hit it while Mom and Dad are over in Lusby, Maryland. Yes, they're going on a trip. I had hoped to have a Saturday outing with my buddy Mike, but we had to cancel given my sickness. The man's got a family to think about.
For my foreign readers: CVS is essentially an all-purpose "drug store," i.e., a mini-store with a pharmacy. You can buy snacks and various cheap household and personal items there, as well as pick up over-the-counter meds and prescriptions. Some CVS stores include a miniature clinic-- the aforementioned "minute clinic"-- where a patient can fill out a touch-screen medical history and be seen by a licensed practical nurse (LPN*) who has the authority to prescribe meds if need be, at least for minor complaints.
I didn't even know that CVS minute clinics existed until David mentioned the clinic close to his domicile. I also learned, thanks to Mike, that people refer to small urgent care clinics as "doc in a box," a term I'd never heard before. It conjures up a demeaning mental image that doesn't bode well for the future of American health care. I don't know whether the CVS minute clinic qualifies as a "doc in a box" if it's staffed by an LPN, but there we are.** Come to think of it, I also wonder whether "minute," in this context, means "tiny" (my newt!) or "done in 60 seconds" (minnit). We'll soon know.
*If you come from one of those silly countries that spell "color" with a superfluous "u," then you might know this type of nurse as an RPN, EN, or SEN. See here.
**According to the patient comments I linked to, the minute clinic might also be staffed by a doctor. "Doc in a box," indeed. The term somehow reminds me of the science fiction world of Larry Niven, in which space travelers have "autodocs" for extended journeys. You climb inside the autodoc box, which comes alive with robotic instrumentation, taking your vitals, fixing your ills, etc. People end up living centuries because of these things.
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Saturday, October 10, 2009
phlegmatic
"Phlegmatic" doesn't mean the same thing as "phlegmy," but I've always wanted to use the word in a blog post title. "Phlegmy" is a good word, too: it sounds vaguely French. "Greetings! I am Jacques Flémy, and today, we study the mating habits of porpoises!"
I took Mom's Bactrim last night, and an hour after downing the pill, it felt as if things had begun to clear up. I experienced about four hours without phlegmy bronchial sounds, and didn't cough the entire time.
But late this morning, I woke to a rattling chest and plenty of goo. My mother's Bactrim dosage is set for three times per week, which seems to imply that each tablet provides a lingering effect. Was last night's bliss the result of a placebo effect? Was this morning's nastiness the result of leftover buildup from before the Bactrim began to kick in? I'm beginning to think the answer to the first question is "yes," while the answer to the second question is "no." The pill alone can't explain my swing from chest-rattling to clear within an hour, and because I've beeen coughing up mucus since waking today, I doubt that this morning's buildup is simply the dead remains of a defeated infection. Upshot: I'm still infected, and still producing. What most likely happened is that the pill did little to nothing.
So I'm probably going to visit a clinic of some sort-- somewhere cheap, for the uninsured. Of course, in the States, "cheap" may mean $150-250, depending on where I go. I know a place on Route 1, not far from home, where I can probably get looked at and have some meds prescribed, all at a reasonable price. It's a place I've visited before, back in the 1998-2002 period when I lived in the apartment complex next to the clinic. The doc might even remember me.
More news later. It's 3:14PM; Mom's done with her shower, and about to step out and have lunch.
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is it pneumonia?
I'm beginning to suspect I have pneumonia. This might be the "walking" variety, since I still seem to be pretty functional. Until Friday afternoon, my main symptom was just the eerie rattling breath sounds and the mucusy, from-the-bronchi cough. But new symptoms appeared during lunch: I coughed up a tiny bit of blood (just a wee drop), felt slightly nauseous, and in the evening, I felt a little feverish, though not for long. Blood, nausea, and fever are all associated with pneumonia (which, I discovered, comes in several varieties-- bacterial, viral, fungal, and "other"). I obviously can't self-diagnose, but because this problem has been with me for a while now, pneumonia is looking more and more likely. Dad also thinks laryngitis is a possibility, but I'm not feeling any of the pain or difficulty breathing associated with it.
As always, I continue to wash my hands religiously, though I try to avoid antibacterial soaps where possible. Don't want to contribute to the superbug problem.* I also continue to wear an N95 mask, and have, sadly, stopped kissing Mom on the cheek. Tonight, I did something not quite legal and "borrowed" one of Mom's Bactrim tablets. Bactrim is an antibiotic that is prescribed for, among other things, pneumonia. If what I have is bacterial, and if it is indeed pneumonia, then I ought to see an effect by tomorrow morning or afternoon. We'll see. I'm supposed to go see a flick in the evening, but if I'm not better by then, I might have to cancel.
That's primarily what I'm doing to keep Mom and Dad protected from my cooties. The procedure isn't perfect, so to tie up all the loose ends, I occasionally bomb my bedroom and other areas with Lysol.
*Can creationists explain why bacteria evolve? I'm aware that many creationists have no problem with bacterial evolution, or with minor evolutionary variations within species: they simply refuse to believe that one species can evolve into another. But what about the creationists who claim that there's no such thing as evolution, period? How do they explain the arrival of superbugs?
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Friday, October 9, 2009
many thanks
Our thanks to Mrs. Cheong Burns for bringing over a mountain of steamed shrimp. Dad didn't get home until late, so I peeled all the shrimp and converted them to a topping for fettuccine Alfredo, quick-frying them in olive oil and butter, with fresh crushed garlic and some Italian spices added.
Also, our thanks to Pastor Jeri for stopping by. I'm sorry I was downstairs for most of her stay.
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"best day in a while"
Dad's describing yesterday as Mom's "best day in a while." He's not basing this on how verbal Mom was, but rather on her performance during her walk, her generally alert demeanor, and the vigor with which she attacked such tasks as mounting the deck stairs and climbing onto her bar stool. Like me, he was also happy to discover that Mom has regained some weight.
I'd agree that Mom had a very good day yesterday, clinically speaking. Whether it deserved to be called the "best day in a while," though, is a matter of some debate. My two major worries, right now, are (1) the risk Mom runs of getting infected by me or by someone else (Dad's had the occasional cough and sneeze, yet insists he's fine), and (2) that Mom's current lack of verbosity has something to do with the cancer spreading rearward, toward her language centers. This latter worry may be nothing: Mom is usually quiet for long periods, making it hard to judge how verbal she really is. She becomes more verbal when she has to talk on the phone with someone, so her silence might not have anything to do with the cancer.
Mom got out of bed late today; despite waking up sometime after 10AM (I saw her around 11AM, with her eyes open), she didn't get out of bed until sometime past 2PM. I don't know how well she slept, but I wonder whether she had a rough night. She and Dad are upstairs right now, talking with Pastor Jeri. I'm about to go up and join them.
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awake but not up
I checked on Mom about a half-hour ago. She was awake, but still in bed. That's a good thing: what's scary is when Mom tries to get out of bed by herself, without her helmet on.
Dad's already back from his dental appointment; he plans to go out shopping again, but is waiting to help Mom out of bed to get her day started.
I spent my night downstairs alternately coughing and spraying all the areas I've inhabited with Lysol. I still wear my mask, for fear of giving anyone else whatever I have. With Mom still in bed and me still sick, I'm going to put myself down for a bit longer, then take care of lunch for Dad.
Bleh. It's a lovely day outside. I should be tarping over the weeds and mowing the rest of the lawn.
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Thursday, October 8, 2009
old fart
My buddy Sam Molina, who will be visiting us on October 14, turns 40 today.
Happy Birthday, man. May you scale many mountains.
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back home
Mom's Avastin infusion went well, according to Dad. Her blood work turned up no abnormalities, her vitals were great, and the best news of all was that Mom has regained nine pounds. The protein overload is working, which makes me very happy. Mom can continue to expect more protein bars, more meat, and more tofu in her diet. Whatever it takes to counteract the corrosive effects of the Decadron.
Since Fort Hunt Park was on the way home, we decided to get Mom's walk in right away. She did her 680 yards just fine, and when we got home, she attempted the deck stairs instead of the wheelchair ramp. Dad helped her up the stairs somewhat, but Mom's success was mainly due to her determination not to do things the easy way.
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...and here we are again
I've just parked after dropping my parents off at Dr. Meister's building. Will be waiting here on the parking deck's top level until Dad calls to tell me the session's over. Ah, the chauffeur's life.
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Wednesday, October 7, 2009
once more unto the doctor's office
We're off to Dr. Meister's office again tomorrow morning for another 10:30AM appointment, this time for Mom to get her second Avastin infusion. I'm still rife with pestilence, so I might have to sit outside in the parking deck again. We'll see.
Mom's big sis called tonight. Dad usually hands Mom the phone, which Mom then puts to her ear. It's a gamble as to whether Mom opens with a greeting. Very often, all she does is hold the phone against her ear and wait for the caller to say something, which is simultaneously amusing and poignant. Sure enough, that's what Mom did tonight while she finished eating her dinner.
Mom's day isn't over after the Avastin session, though: Pastor Kim will be coming over, and then Dad will go to his second caregiving seminar. Somewhere in there, we also have to squeeze in a walk in the park.
This might not seem like much of a schedule if you're used to getting thirty things done in a day, but for Mom, who's easily tired, this is more than enough.
A big thank-you to my brother David, who came over today, helped cook chicken for dinner, served ice cream for dessert, and even did the dishes for us. I note for posterity that dinner was mixed rice, homemade oi-kimchi, homemade cole slaw, and chicken done up with either American barbecue sauce or Korean ggan-poong-gi sauce. Lunch, for Mom and me, was homemade ddeokbokgi and oi-kimchi, with some leftover soup for Mom. Dad, meanwhile, had a good old PB&J sandwich.
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update
Mom's trip to the doctor's office today went quickly. Because I'm still coughing up phlegm and rattling when I breathe, I didn't enter the building. Today, my role was reduced to that of chauffeur: I parked at the top of the crowded parking deck, opened the windows, and enjoyed the fabulous morning. Today was close to my idea of a perfect day: cool, breezy, and partly cloudy, all with very little humidity.
I spent the afternoon napping, mainly to catch up on sleep.* I woke up to find that Mom's been sitting in the living room with Dad, watching TV. She just complained of a headache, so Dad's given her a Percocet.
Because all three of us sons are sick, the main worry is that Mom will catch whatever we have. I've been staying physically apart from Mom, and continue to wash my hands frequently, especially during meal prep. Every time I hear Mom coughing-- which is only once every few hours at most-- I worry that she's gotten whatever we have. But Mom isn't coughing a lot, and Dad doesn't hear anything wrong with her breathing. So far, so good.
*My Korean relatives have called us a few times in the morning, around 9AM; they don't realize it, but 9AM is about halfway through my regular sleeping schedule (roughly 5:30AM to 11:30AM). When Dad passes the phone to me, I'm usually groggy, prompting my relatives to ask what time it is over here. After all, what sane person isn't awake by 9AM, right?
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blood work today, Avastin tomorrow
We're off to Dr. Meister's office this morning so that Mom can have her labs done at 10:30AM. Tomorrow, also at 10:30AM, we'll go back to the same office so that Mom can have her second infusion of Avastin. Tomorrow's infusion will last only 60 minutes; you'll recall that the first session took 90 minutes. All subsequent sessions will take only 30 minutes.
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Tuesday, October 6, 2009
silent but smiling
Mom hasn't been very verbal today. She did exclaim once, when she saw how beautiful Cheong Burns's flowers were ("They're so beautiful!"), but has said little else all day long. On the plus side, she had a good walk in the park today-- about 660 yards, done at a strong, steady pace along a different stretch of the park.
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visits
Many thanks to Cheong Burns for the lovely flowers she dropped off today, and to Pastor Jeri for stopping by. We're going to try to squeeze in a walk at Fort Hunt Park before the rain begins.
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...and then there was Sean
Well, whatever's going around has gotten to my brother Sean, too. He's at the house, wearing a mask and coughing up phlegm (no, he's not coughing it into his mask). If his sickness follows the same arc as mine, he'll get a sore throat in a few days.
Y'all watch out!
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Monday night burgers
Mom's adventure in the kitchen and dining room on Sunday afternoon wiped her out. She eventually made it back to her spot on the couch, and remained there most of the day.
David came over around 7:30PM; we had burgers. Even Mom had one (which I cut in half to make it easier for her to eat). She took her time eating it, which was fine by me. Mom ended up getting a small bowl of Korean soup to go with her American meal; in general, she's been much better about eating Korean food than Western food. Dad, for his part, raved about the burgers. If they passed the Dad test, they must be OK.
For dessert, I made a makeshift pain au chocolat using some homemade fudge and "instant" croissants-- the cheapie kind that come in pop-open cardboard cylinders. Dessert turned out pretty well, and I think the corn salad I made for dinner was also appreciated.
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Monday, October 5, 2009
neatening up
Dad's out on a shopping errand, and Mom is insisting on being up and about today. As happened a few days ago, Mom was irritable and stubborn when Dad tried to get Mom out of the bathroom, but once she was on her feet, she was ready to move on. Today, though, she was grouchy at both of us guys for forcing her to move around-- a good sign, since that indicates the return, at least partially, of her ego.
Mom tidied up the dining room, then went back into the kitchen and slowly washed the dishes, despite my repeated insistence that all those dishes were bound for the dishwasher.
I wonder if all this means the Avastin is working. It's hard to tell. At times, Mom's behavior seems as perseverative as ever, such as when she puts some pills into her hand and then stares at them for minutes before doing anything else. At other times, Mom seems to be exerting her will, actually taking initiative and making decisions on her own, even to the point of waving us off to prevent us from helping her. If that signifies the return of her fighting spirit, then that's a good thing.
But these very different behaviors leave me with little clue about the overall picture: are the tumors still growing? Are they shrinking? Have any new ones appeared? Only an MRI will clear that up, and Mom won't have her next one until the end of this month: October 29. On October 30, we'll be talking with Dr. Fine and his team again, and at that point we'll have a better idea of whether the Avastin has given Mom a temporary reprieve from the relentless onslaught of her disease.
Right now, Mom is defiantly upright and in the kitchen. She appears to be reading something in there. I have no idea what, and I don't care: I'm just glad to see her on her feet instead of seated in front of the living room TV.
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sit rep
Dad's away at a dental appointment, Mom's awake but still in bed (she probably won't get out of bed until well past noon), and I'm awake but harboring a sore throat-- something of a downturn from yesterday, when things seemed to be improving. Will gargle with salt water, take the requisite meds, wear a mask around Mom, and see how things go.
UPDATE: I typed the above paragraph, went back to Mom's bedroom, and discovered that she had gotten out of bed and into the bathroom all by herself. Such moments are an occasion for simultaneous pride and terror: I'm proud that Mom is mobile and spry enough to move herself around like that, but because she never remembers to put on her helmet at such times, and because she's unsupervised, her feat generates a good bit of post hoc terror.
UPDATE 2: Dad came home from his dental appointment not long after Mom's achievement.
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Sunday, October 4, 2009
up and very down
It was a happy Sunday, as far as Mom's walk was concerned. Fort Hunt Park was a crowded place-- something we don't normally see, because we usually do our walks with Mom on weekdays. Today, it was all about dogs on leashes, running and biking kids, billowing streamers of grill smoke, laughter, shouts, and cooking odors. We joked about crashing one of the parties, as it was getting close to dinnertime. I'm proud to say that Mom walked the same distance (roughly 680 yards) that she had walked the two previous times, occasionally squeezing my hand and even reassuring me that she was fine, just fine. Earlier in the day, she had looked at my eyelid and declared, very distinctly, "You look better." Except for the loose skin, the eyelid is just about back to normal.
In the evening, however, Mom was a bit of a difficult customer: she refused to down her Decadron pill, either holding it in her hand for minutes on end or leaving it on the arm of the couch while she watched TV and steadfastly ignored our entreaties to take the medicine. Eventually, Dad settled on the hospital solution: he ran out and bought apple sauce, which proved to be a winner. He put the Decadron on a spoon, scooped apple sauce onto it, and fed it to Mom-- with another spoonful of apple sauce as a chaser. Crisis averted.
Sadly, however, Dad learned that a friend of ours, Julie Burns, had died of cancer in 2007. We hadn't been in touch with her for a long time, and I think Dad had tried to contact her to tell her about Mom's situation. Little did we know that Mrs. Burns had had her own battle with the beast. I'm very sorry to hear about her death. She was a wonderful woman, with two great kids (who are happily married, I hear). She often allowed me to come over to her house to play video games with her son.
Many, many years later, when I was giving a small lecture on Buddhism at an evening "class" being held at my church, Mrs. Burns was in attendance. She was quiet throughout my presentation as I talked about the Buddha's life and some salient points in Buddhist metaphysics, but after everyone had adjourned, she walked up to me with a frown and said, "I'm a Buddhist, and I never heard any of what you said growing up in Taiwan." I had to laugh-- she was right. Reducing Buddhism to a dry set of principles, stripping away the religion so as to make it seem as if it's only a philosophy (hence all the hilarious debates in the West about whether it's a religion or a philosophy-- a conundrum of the West's making), turns it into something unrecognizable.
The same problem occurs when you take a person and reduce her to a few "essentials." Summarizing the life of Julie Burns, conveying her "essence" through a few sentences in a humble blog post, is an impossible task. I wouldn't be surprised if someone who knew Mrs. Burns well were to read this blog entry, frown, and say, "I knew Julie for years, and I never heard any of that about her." No summary could do her justice. I don't envy the person who had the unfortunate task of eulogizing her.
So we're sad tonight. My very belated condolences go out to Mrs. Burns's friends and loved ones. I remember her beauty, her smile, and how hard-working she was. Mom doesn't react strongly to much these days, but even she was floored this evening, when Dad told us the news. We never had the chance to say goodbye. Our thanks to another family friend, Mrs. Bentley, for giving us the news about Mrs. Burns's passing.
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the Saturday jaunt
David came over yesterday; he went out with Mom and Dad on a drive up and down the entire length of the George Washington Parkway, which starts at Mount Vernon Estate (walking distance from where we live) and extends all the way into Maryland. Unfortunately, David couldn't stay for dinner, but we're glad he was here for Chuseok, even if it was just for a short while.
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how Mom "decides"
Dad brought Mom out around 12:30 today-- early for Mom, given her frequent late awakenings these past couple of weeks. I was in the kitchen, preparing to have a simple bowl of cereal for lunch. With Dad next to her, Mom sauntered up to the bar and gave me a matter-of-fact look that she had perfected even before the cancer. In the BC (before cancer) era, the look could mean one of several things. Nowadays, it most often means, "Gimme food, boy."
So instead of whipping something up for Mom, I decided that this would be a good opportunity for her to practice her decision-making skills. With the loss of so much of her frontal lobe, Mom often needs help with making decisions and taking initiative. She's able to express when she doesn't want something, but has trouble verbalizing an active preference. (A lot of un-brain-damaged people seem to live their lives this way. What's their excuse?) For that reason, we have to do what we can to get the remaining functional parts of her brain to take over the executive functions that were shorn from her.
It's an exercise we've done a thousand times before: we present Mom with a decision, usually framed as "Do you want (to do) X or Y?" What usually happens is that Mom will remain silent for a period, then will drift away from the decision to concentrate on something else. Keeping her on track often means repeating the original question, but Mom's no fool: despite the brain damage, she's aware that we're trying to keep her on track, and if we re-ask our question too many times, she begins to show annoyance. We treasure the annoyance-- it's a reminder that Mom is still with us. But the process can't go on infinitely. If time's a-wasting, we eventually have to decide for Mom, because she hasn't bothered to decide for herself.
Today, then, I asked Mom whether she wanted kongnamul-guk or ddeok-guk (both of which I'd cooked yesterday; the ddeok-guk was originally ddeok mandu-guk, but the mandu were all slaughtered during dinner). Mom paused a long time, then gestured with her head toward my cereal. So-- not X or Y, but Z.
This was both unexpected and encouraging. Mom had seen that both Dad and I were planning to eat cereal, and she wanted to join in. So now we were at another crossroads: I took out four different types of cereal and displayed them before Mom. "Which cereal do you want?" I asked. I tapped each one, and with each tap said a number: "One, two, three, four."
Mom said nothing. Deciding from among four alternatives was harder for her. She stared and stared, then eventually shambled around to the other side of the bar, took one of the cereal boxes in her hand, and tried putting it away. At first, I thought that Mom was using this method to pare down her choices, showing me, through a process of elimination, that she wanted the Last Cereal Standing.
Alas, that wasn't what she was doing. When she got to the last box, Honey Nut Cheerios, she tried putting that one away, too. As she was awkwardly stuffing the box into the pantry cabinet, I asked her again, "Mom, which cereal do you want to eat?"
In a move that looked more like disgust at my persistence than anything else, Mom took the Cheerios back out and handed it to me. I decided to end the exercise there: Mom needed to eat, and it would have been silly to prolong this. Since Cheerios is what she handed me, Cheerios is what she got.
This is the sort of behavior that I'll want to discuss with Mom's neurologist. Part of me feels that Mom may actually have been trying to reach a decision, but her crossed wiring now prevents her from doing so in a smooth way. The behavior wasn't exactly perseverative, and the fact that Mom had enough initiative to suggest cereal instead of Korean soup was significant.
It's possible that the selection of cereal was done to avoid Korean soup as an option. As I mentioned, Mom is still capable of resistance/avoidance behavior: she often knows what she doesn't want, but can't express that fact unless or until she's confronted with the undesirable thing/option. But if Mom's "decision" was actually avoidance behavior... then what was she implying? That yesterday's soups were bad? I ask this only half-jokingly: Mom normally loves my soups, and yesterday was no exception: she ate all of her lunchtime kongnamul-guk, and most of her dinnertime ddeok mandu-guk.
Let's assume that she asked for cereal despite liking yesterday's soups. If that's the case, then we're looking at proactive decision-making, which is encouraging. Mom was "in a mood for" something other than the options presented to her; she already had an idea of what she wanted, but perhaps the idea hadn't crystallized until she saw Dad and me with cereal. Her head-gesture toward the cereal, then, was a move toward an option, not away from one.
If we don't assume Mom liked the soups, then we're pretty much left with avoidance behavior as an option. This is a plausible interpretation of Mom's actions, but now, the head-gesture acquires a profoundly different meaning: if it's a function of avoidance behavior, then it means that Mom is merely latching on to the first non-X and non-Y alternative she sees.
No matter how I interpret Mom's actions today, the behavior itself was unusual, and for the moment, I choose to view it optimistically. Today, I witnessed a glimmer of initiative.
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gone down
A quick update on my infected eyelid: the ciprofloxacin seems to have worked. It's been a few days, but the swelling has finally begun to subside rather significantly. The skin of my left upper eyelid had been swollen for so long that the distension may actually have caused the skin to stretch. Last night, when I noticed the reduction in swelling, I also noticed that the eyelid was looking slightly wrinkly. This isn't the sort of thing that a person standing a few feet away from me might notice, but the wrinkles were evident when my face was a few inches away from a mirror. Will the skin eventually re-tighten? I have no idea. For now, though, the important thing is that the swelling has gone down.
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Saturday, October 3, 2009
having a slow day
Lunch today started around 2:45PM. It didn't have to, I suppose, but I wasn't out of bed until very late, having slept from about 7:30AM to about 1:15PM. Mom was up and about before me, for a change.
I tried making a jazzed-up kongnamul-guk for Mom. Instead of the simple soup with the clear broth (see here), I added tofu, Korean radish, and cabbage, along with the standard soy bean sprouts and chili peppers. The result was so-so, but Mom ate the whole thing, along with a corn salad that provided the carbs missing from the soup.
As happened with Sean yesterday, Mom asked me a question using a full sentence. In my case: "What are you looking for?" I'd been looking for a Korean myeolchi-garu, a fish powder with which to flavor the soup I was making. I ended up using regular old myeolchi (dried anchovies).
Dad proudly noted that Mom was able to get onto her bar stool without any help today, which is a significant change from her previous attempts at getting onto that stool.
Mom is now in the living room, seated happily in her chair, digesting lunch. She and Dad will go driving in a little bit while I stay home, wash a blanket, and prep our Chuseok dinner. We've already munched on some songpyeon during lunch; we'll do so again at dinner, blood sugar levels be damned.
To all who are celebrating Chuseok Stateside today, Happy Chuseok! Many thanks to Pastor Jeri, who emailed me a large-font "Haengbok-han il man gadeuk!" message.
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Friday, October 2, 2009
did it again (and other news)
Dad and I took Mom out for a walk today, after my brother Sean had left. Mom didn't walk yesterday, but she succeeded in covering the same distance today that she had walked two days ago. We may have avoided her knee-buckling problem by putting her on a hard/easy exercise schedule; we'll take her out again on Sunday to see how she does.
In other news: Sean was happy to report that Mom asked him a question in a complete sentence-- something she hasn't done in a long while. She also seemed more verbal later in the day, as we were driving home from the park: David called, and Mom spoke with him for a bit.
Mom remains physically weak; she needed our help to walk up the five steps of our deck to reach our house's back door. But as Dad noted, she's determined to keep trying.
I'm still sick, but Dad seems to think my eyelid infection looks better today than it did yesterday. I looked in a mirror and thought it looked about the same. Mom looked into my eyes while we were at the park and wordlessly expressed her dismay at how I look.
Perhaps because I'm sick, I overslept today, waking up around 2PM after going to sleep around 5AM. My sleep was interrupted sometime this morning (8? 9?) when my Korean relatives called us back again; Dad knocked on my bedroom door and handed the phone to me when I was barely coherent, and I'm not really sure what I told Ajumma and Ajeoshi (her husband, my mother's third-oldest cousin). I vaguely remember that Ajumma told me she had wired about a thousand dollars into my Korean account; this is money for Mom. I can't access it directly from here in the States; I'll need to coordinate with one of my friends in Seoul. One way or another, we'll get the money here.
Mom helped out in the kitchen today, as she's done a few times before. She brought out the dishes and utensils that had been sitting inside the dishwasher. I had made her lunch around 2:15PM, before the walk. After the walk, I made her a fruit plate, which she is slowly munching on right now (roughly 5:45PM).
We're doing what we can to stuff Mom full of protein-- chocolate protein bars, extra tofu (and/or meat, or eggs, or soybean sprouts) in her soup, etc. We're also giving her more Vitamin D to counter the shortage that the doctors had told us about. I continue to wash my hands regularly and am wearing another N95 mask-- a new one that Dad had bought yesterday-- basically doing whatever it takes to keep my pestilence away from Mom and her ravaged immune system.
Dad's out at the moment, running some shopping errands, which includes a swing into Koreatown to pick up some Chuseok ingredients. The official Chuseok day is October 3, which is tomorrow (Saturday). We'll be chowing down on Koreatown song-pyeon (filled rice cakes), and even though it's more often associated with the lunar new year, I'll be making one of Dad's favorite Korean soups, ddeok mandu-guk, tomorrow.
Happy Chuseok. It may be premature to sa that today, but in Korea, it's already officially Chuseok. Haengbok-han il man gadeuk! Be filled only with happiness.
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disasters
The word "disaster" has its roots in superstition; etymologically, it means, roughly, "bad star."
When our friend Renée Molina was here, she mentioned that the Philippines were being hammered by typhoon conditions. I hadn't seen reports of this in the major news vehicles (though I admit I hadn't bothered to look beyond my normal circle of online sources); the past few days have been more devoted to the earthquakes and tsunamis that have affected the Samoas and Indonesia.
But today, finally, I see that there's an article about the Philippines in a major news outlet. The devastation there is pretty extensive. If you haven't been following the news, and if you've been holding the folks in the Samoas and Indonesia in your thoughts, you might want to add the Philippines to your list.
NB: South Korea has its own typhoon problem every year. In my case, I was lucky to be living in Seoul: typhoons that hit Korea normally expend part of their energy when passing over Japan, which often acts as a storm baffle for Korea. And when typhoons do hit the peninsula with force, they almost never do any significant damage to Seoul, which is close to the northwestern coast of South Korea, next door to the port city of Incheon. The hardest-hit regions in South Korea are all along the southern coastline and along much of the eastern coastline as well.
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Thursday, October 1, 2009
unhappy relatives
The Chuseok holiday has already begun in Korea; it'll begin in an hour here in Virginia. Chuseok, sometimes referred to as Korean Thanksgiving (more properly, it's the harvest moon festival), follows the lunar calendar, which means it jumps all over the place on our solar calendar from year to year. This year, Chuseok is on October 3, but the three-day festival period begins on October 2 and goes through October 4.
"Happy Chuseok" was not on my #3 aunt's mind when she called us this evening, though. We were in the middle of watching the second episode of "Flash Forward" when the phone rang; the caller ID screen showed a longer-than-usual string of numbers, which usually indicates an international call. Sure enough, it was my #3 aunt, to whom we had FedEx'ed my long letter. I could hear that she was in tears, badly shaken by the news of Mom's cancer. We talked a bit, with me using my broken Korean to fill in some details about Mom's situation. #3 Ajumma asked me what my bank account number was: she wanted to send Mom money. "I want to do something for her," she said. I thanked her, then went looking for my Korean bank account information. I have a friend who can help me wire the money from Korea to America, but I have to mail him my Korean bank card first.
My aunt also expressed a desire to come over, and I told her she could come any time. Emails will have to go through her son, though, and he's in Germany. I'm pretty sure I can muck my way through writing in German; the language will be about the same quality as my writing in Korean, but German and Korean are my only options with that cousin; he's been living in Germany for a while, and although he's a great guy, I'm not sure he's kept up with his English. No matter. Somehow, we'll get travel arrangements all figured out, if my aunt arrives at some travel dates.
We talked a bit about each other's families, catching up on what's been happening over the past two years. My aunt asked over and over, "How could something like this happen?" All I could tell her was that nobody knows how this sort of cancer appears.
So now I'll be writing my cousin, and I'll also be writing my buddy Tom in Korea about yanking my aunt's money out of my account and wiring it to my father's US bank account (this procedure is easier on my aunt, who would otherwise have to go through the rigamarole of an international wire transfer). I have no idea, though, how much money my aunt is thinking of sending. If it's over a certain limit, there might be problems. We'll see how that goes. I told my aunt that, more than money, the best thing she could do would be to visit Mom and hold her hand.
It wasn't a happy phone call, to be sure, but I'm glad it happened, and I'm glad my aunt remained as rational as she could, given the circumstances. Everything she said was sensible; her innate common sense is why she's one of my favorite relatives in Korea. If she comes to America within the next couple months, I'll be happy to see her again.
NB: I call this relative my "#3 Ajumma," or Third Aunt (sae-jjae ajumma), because she's the wife of one of Mom's four cousins-- the third-oldest of the four. I could have written a letter to any of the cousins (or their wives), I suppose, but #3 Ajumma has always struck me as the most poised and astute.
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flu shot mission aborted
Dad and Mom went out earlier today to get free flu shots on base at Fort Belvoir, only to discover that the facility had run out of the vaccine. Dad asked the medical professionals why the lack of vaccine hadn't been reported on the flu hotline-- which Dad had called before taking Mom onto the base-- and the answer was that the hotline hadn't been updated in a while. Let that be a lesson to you all: it's often better to talk with a live person than with a recording. This should also be a lesson for the folks on base: if you insist on using recorded messages, make sure they include some sort of language about when the recording was last updated.
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sicko
I'm sick. Trying to keep this sickness from Mom and Dad is a challenge, because I think I'm currently in the infectious phase. There are two distinct problems: (1) the rattling, mucus-y cough I'd mentioned earlier, accompanied by a runny nose; and (2) an infection that's causing my left upper eyelid to swell, leaving me looking like a fat Rocky Balboa. It's a mystery as to where these problems are coming from. In the hope that the eye problem is bacterial, I've broken out my bottle of leftover ciprofloxacin, the prescription antibiotic I'd received back when I was dealing with that corneal abrasion. If the problem is viral, the cipro is useless.
As for the cough... well, I can treat the symptoms with medicine here, but am not sure what to do, cure-wise. Vitamin C might help. In the meantime, I avoid coughing near Mom and Dad, and as of yesterday, I've been washing my hands religiously before touching anything related to food prep.
Dad's got some N95 masks lying around somewhere-- relics of the recent renovation. I might start wearing one of those, since they're supposed to be somewhat more effective than regular face masks when it comes to infection prevention.
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one year
I guess I missed it. This past September 27 marked the one-year anniversary of my return home from my walk. I wasn't entirely happy to be home; I recall feeling like a failure for having taken the "easy" way out, wintering with the folks instead of hunkering down in Oregon or Washington. But I also knew that I was out of funds, facing the prospect of hitting the Rocky Mountains in the winter, and wearing my right knee down to powder. Staying out west would have been a recipe for disaster.
What a strange twelve months it's been. If you had told me, on September 27, 2008, that I would still be here in Virginia a year later, and would be dealing with my mother's terminal brain cancer, I'd have called you crazy.
I remember how upset Mom was during the days before her first operation (she was hospitalized on April 16; the operation was on April 21). Her cognition was impaired, as was her speaking ability, but she was more verbal than she is now, and she had asked me when I was planning to go back out west. "I'm staying here," I told her, "for you." Mom glared at me, then looked away.
It's a child's lot to deal, on a near-constant basis, with parental disapproval. With Mom, it always seemed that I could never do anything right. Even up until she was hospitalized, she was giving me a sour eye. She didn't approve of my undertaking the walk, but as I wrote above, when the time came for me to leave (I had planned to restart the walk this past April 18), she didn't approve of my staying. I suppose there's humor to be found somewhere in that paradox, but laughter doesn't always come easily these days.
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Wednesday, September 30, 2009
not all bad
The news isn't all bad today. Just a few minutes ago, Dad, Mom, and I got back from a walk in Fort Hunt Park. Dad had wanted to get the walk in before it started raining. Mom covered the longest distance yet, doing a loop that was, according to Google Earth, about 680 yards-- roughly a third of a mile. With the weather breezy and in the 60s, the day was pleasant. It was only when we were on our way home that it started to rain. Not bad timing.
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stepping down: maybe not a good idea
Mom's behavior today is very perseverative. I'm pretty sure this is a direct result of the step-down of the Decadron dosage, so I've told Dad we should put Mom back on her full dose. Mom is currently seated in the bathroom and exhibiting no desire to get up of her own accord. This hasn't normally been the case-- at least for the past few weeks-- when Mom was ready to leave the bathroom and come to the living room for lunch.
Yesterday and the day before, I saw Mom staring at her pills for a long time before finally swallowing them. This behavior is of a piece with what's happening now, and also coincides with the Decadron step-down timetable. We'll see if her behavior changes over the next 36 hours once she's back on her full dosage.
UPDATE, 3:43PM: Mom's out of the bathroom and at the bar, eating lunch.
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sick
I think I've caught whatever my brother David had. For the moment, it involves a sore throat and a deep, rattling cough that happens only occasionally. Extra precautions will have to be taken, especially as regards how I interact with Mom. Oy gevalt.
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Tuesday, September 29, 2009
more than just one visitor
Along with Pastor Jeri, whose visit we'd expected, we received an unexpected visit from one of Mom's Korean friends from long, long ago-- so long ago that I had no idea who this person was. Dad had apparently found her name in the old Rolodex and had written her a letter about Mom's situation. Our thanks, then, to Mrs. Nam for her visit today.
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forgot to mention
In our talk with Dr. Tonnesen yesterday, we covered the question of Mom's weakness and weight loss. Dr. Tonnesen agreed that the steroids are an issue, and suggested that the time had come to step down the dosage by 25%, then later on by 50%, all while monitoring Mom's response to such a reduction. I'm all for it if this means that Mom can regain her strength without suffering renewed intracranial swelling.
Dad started the step-down last night. Mom seems OK for the moment, which might be a good sign. If her behavior starts to become bizarre, though, we'll step her back up. Dr. Tonnesen said we were free to make adjustments in dosage ourselves, without a written prescription; I told Dad that, because Mom is so quiet these days, it might be hard to tell whether a change in Decadron dosage was making her better or worse. We both agreed that behavior, rather than speech, would be the thing to watch. We'll see what happens over the next couple of weeks.
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hit the reset button
Pastor Jeri's stopping by today at 3PM. I'm about to take a wee nap, but will be up and about in time to prep lunch and get the house ready. Not much to get ready, really: the upstairs is pretty neat except for the perennial chaos on the dining room table. If anything, it's the downstairs that needs a Jesus-style temple-scouring. I'll get to that eventually. C'est promis.
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the drop-off
Renée and I left the homestead at about 6:45AM and made it to Union Station with more than an hour to spare. It was great to have her over for a brief while; I know that Mom was happy to see her. Renée told us several times that we have an amazing family, but knowing Renée and her brother Sam as I do, I know they'd do the same thing for their parents.
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Monday, September 28, 2009
a quick summary of the day
1. Got up late, made lunch: bratwurst sandwiches for Renée, Dad, and myself; noodles, Asian beef, and homemade oi-kimchi for Mom.
2. Took Mom & Co. to Fairfax Hospital; saw Dr. Tonnesen at 2PM. Talked a bit about the MRI done by NCI on September 11. "Better than expected" was the doctor's feeling upon reading the text report. It seems, however, that the report NCI faxed over wasn't the revised version of the report that we, as a family, had already seen, so whether Mom's current condition is "better than expected" remains up in the air, and I found myself disturbed that NCI hadn't yet revised the report.
Dr. Tonnesen said he wants to see Mom again in "a couple months." Since he's no longer administering radiotherapy, his main capacity, now, is an advisory one. He conceded that his reading of the July 20 MRI (which showed the second growth when it was still aggressively growing) might have been hasty, given the tumor necrosis visible in the 9/11 MRI. We now know the radiation did indeed have an effect.
3. Dad FedEx'ed my Korean-language letter (it's more presentation packet than letter, being almost 10 pages long) to Korea. I can only imagine what sort of phone call I'm going to receive in a few days. I expect there'll be screaming, crying, and plans to come right over to Virginia. Fine with us. I feel bad about the fact that Mom's cousins and their families have been in the dark about this situation. I really should have called them early on.
4. While Dad was on his FedEx mission, I took Mom and Renée to Fort Hunt Park. Mom walked a somewhat wider lap around the parking lot than she had done the two previous times, and she maintained what was, for her, a strong, steady pace. This was heartening.
5. We got home, and Renée's buddy Carla Okouchi came over, proudly showing off her belly: she's six months along the way to becoming a proud Momma. Well... technically, she's already a mom-- she simply can't let the kid out to play for another three months. Carla, Renée, and David are all in the same age group, so when David showed up after 7PM, they had fun chatting while Mom watched quietly and happily from her couch throne. I also found out that Carla and her hubby are both stars in an independent film, a martial arts horror-comedy called "Ninjas versus Zombies." I hope Bruce Campbell takes note and helps Carla promote her film. I admit I envy her.
6. I can claim, for once, that dinner was a true success. The bulgogi, despite being quite salty, was given rave reviews, with folks going back for seconds. I did the beef up Korean-style, in contrast to the Komerican way that my mom and her big sister tend to prepare the meat.*
Dad can also claim a triumph: his rum cake was a hit when we had dessert.
7. I'll be dropping Renée off at Union Station in the morning; we'll be leaving around 6:30AM, so I'm hitting the sack right now. My thanks to her and to Carla for visiting. Mom spent so much of her time smiling, and that means the world to me.
*Komerican bulgogi tends to be thicker cuts of sirloin, often thick enough to be grillable. In Korea, a person raised on Komerican bulgogi might initially be disappointed to see that peninsular folk prefer their bulgogi less gussied up with marinade and cut in thinner, stringier, messier strips, but this style eventually grows on you. So last night, I asked David to cut the sirloin into very thin strips, then poured a generous marinade over the whole thing, allowing the meat to soak almost 20 hours. In cooking the meat on the stove this evening, I got it to where it was brown and tender, but not charred. Instead, the meat released its juices, which combined with the marinade to form a fine Korean gravy-- something you could pour over rice.
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honored guest and an appointment
It was a sudden change of plans, but my brother Sean, who lives in DC, offered to pick up our friend (maybe I should say sister) Renée from Union Station. This gave me time to do a bit of extra shopping, and my brother David, who was a very good sport despite being so overworked, helped me with some food prep while Sean drove Renée to our house. Dad tried to stay awake so as to see our guest when she arrived, but the hour was late and Dad, unlike yours truly, tends to wake up rather early.
We'll be hosting Renée until very early Tuesday morning, when she has to return to NYC. We brothers spent some time catching up with her, which was very cool. I even found out that her multi-talented beau has written a children's book, which she helped illustrate. Most awesomeous. Best of all, Renée isn't a morning person, either, so we were able to sit up until after 3AM and chat about life, the universe, and everything.
Renée's friend Carla (whose mother was with us the day Mom had her first major surgery) will be joining us for dinner. I'll be inflicting bulgogi on everyone; the marinade tasted all right this evening, so I'm hoping the meal will turn out fine. I often feel I'm going out on a limb when I cook Korean food; Koreans can sometimes be hard to please, leaving the novice cook with little margin for error. Neither Renée nor Carla is Korean, however, so maybe my judges will be lenient. I'll never know: if the food sucks, I doubt that either lady will breach etiquette to say so. Heh.
Monday is also important for Mom, as she has a 2PM appointment with Dr. Tonnesen, her radiation oncologist. I don't know what we're going to discuss; radiotherapy is over, but I suppose the doctor might be interested in the 9/11 MRI done at NCI. That scan shows some necrosis in the second tumor, i.e., the radiotherapy did have some effect. Alas, Mom's third tumor might have originated at a point in the brain not covered by the radiotherapy, or it might have grown in spite of the radiation. Perhaps the doctor can shed some light on that topic.
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Sunday, September 27, 2009
awake, and missed the boat
I'm awake... in time to fix dinner. I'm sad to say that I slept right through the visit of Mrs. Pham and her husband. Many thanks to them for their kind visit, and my apologies for not being there, but I guess I can no longer pull all-nighters with quite the impunity that I used to.
UPDATE: Our guests brought food! Many thanks for that; it made for a great dinner, and there's plenty left over for tomorrow.
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up all night
It took me a million years, but I finally finished typing up a four-page letter to my relatives in Korea, updating them on Mom's situation. You may recall that I had handwritten three pages of this letter over a week ago; in the end, I opted to type the whole thing out on the computer because of my poor Korean penmanship (it's not unreadable, but it is something of an eyesore).
Typing presents its own problems. I'm already a slow typist in Hangeul when I use a Korean keyboard; I'm even slower on my new American Mac, despite the Hangeul "keyboard window" that pops up to help you figure out where to put your fingers. I also spent a lot of time consulting an online Korean dictionary to make sure I was getting the medical terms right-- words like "tumor" and "edema" and "diagnosis" and "survival rate." In the end, I'm sure the letter still contains all manner of mistakes and horrifically nonsensical locutions; that's what I often saw, in English, from my students at Sookmyung Women's University. I'm proud of the efforts they made-- and truth be told, some students wrote excellent English-- but I'm pretty sure that my Korean letter looks as bad as many of the lower-level English essays I had to slog through.
I also added another four pages of pictures for my relatives. Some were recent pictures of Mom, both with and without her helmet, to give them some idea of how she looks, what her demeanor is, and who some of her friends are. I also included all the MRI images that I'd blogged, hand-labeling the printed images in Korean so that the relatives could better understand their significance.
All of that took me all night. It's 10:46AM now, and I need to get some sleep before our 3PM guest arrives. There's a chance I might be asleep when she gets here; in anticipation of that contingency, I've already set out instructions for Dad on how to prep lunch for Mom.
So: good morning and, uh, good night. Oh, yeah-- Dad will FedEx the letter tomorrow. He gets a 75% discount with FedEx because he's a former airline employee. We want the letter to arrive before Chuseok, one of the biggest national holidays in South Korea (October 3 this year). If it doesn't get there in time, the relatives will call on Chuseok, and they'll be in for a nasty surprise. I'd rather have them read the letter first, take time to absorb the shock, and then call me. We'll see if that's what happens.
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Saturday, September 26, 2009
a quiet, rainy Saturday
Mom spent some of her day at the bar between the kitchen and living room, having at last caught onto Dad's habit of sitting there for meals. The day has been rainy and Mom seems tired, so I didn't bother taking her out for a walk in the park. Dad's been away for several hours on shopping errands. Later in the day, Mom transferred herself to her "throne" on the living room couch; she spent some time just listening quietly to classical music and reading her Korean newspaper. Later on, I switched off the music and turned on the TV; Mom watched the national news on NBC and ate dinner. When the news was over, I switched channels to the Korean station, where Mom's been watching goofy variety shows.
And that's been our day-- quiet, not much happening. I've tried talking with Mom, but she isn't all that verbal these days, and I don't think she's said more than ten words today. Whoa-- Dad just got back with a ton of groceries, so that's my cue to stop here.
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