Against the Grain

You know how places can have quirks that are unique to them? Many of them are stereotypical, like women in Texas all have big hair, Chicago is windy, or English food is terrible (that one is true). Stereotypes are based on reality or the reality of one's experience, but they can't be the only thing that defines a place The fact is places do have characters and quirks.

When we first moved here to the filling in between NYC and Boston, we were shocked by the number of people festooned in dark clothing who would walk into traffic, typically against it, at night. At first we thought it was a fluke because where we live there is no such thing as a sidewalk. Anywhere. If there is a sidewalk, it spends half the year covered in snow anyway, so not a lot of value on offer and it seemed people were forced, when walking, into the streets. But this kept happening, no matter where we found ourselves in this neck of the woods. People would just be walking into traffic at night in the street. From time to time, they simply dart across the road. It was too frequent to be a fluke. Was it some kind of dare? A death cult? I had, and have, no answers. I just knew I had to be mindful while driving at night.

Now after nearly three years here, this phenomenon has not abated. Even as I drove home from the train station last night, I must have played "Dodge the Dingus in the Street" no fewer than six times in less than two miles. I should point out that I drive a hulking heavy piece of environmentally offensive American steel in the form of a GMC Yukon. I doubt I would even feel it if I hit one of these people. It's madness.

Maybe it's that colonial spirit of rebellion. Maybe it's some kind of empowering statement. This much I know - it's exhausting. I'm tired of playing "Frogger" when I drive at night. I was no good at it in the creepy, musty arcade in the mall in 1982 and I'm not much better now as it plays out in real time. Would it kill people to, if nothing else, buy some reflecting tape? Then again, if they did, that would take away one of the quirks that defines life here. I'm willing to see that happen.

Contrasts

A little different look than last week's hospital bed 

After last week's 'View from a Clinica Bed' update, we were, once again, anxiously awaiting TMFKATB's Monday missive. It dawned on me that, thanks to the switch to Daylight Savings' over the weekend, he is now two hours behind us and we'd hear from him an hour later. Well, that proved to be true. It was an hour later than normal once his letter arrived and it was worth the wait. To say that it was a study in contrasts from last week would be understating it. He kicked it off by saying, "so this was an awesome week." And with that you may have heard the sigh of relief that the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML let out simultaneously. It may or may not have knocked down one of our trees. Clearly whatever he was given during his stay in the clinica did the trick. He reported that health-wise he'd had a great week. He also shared several stories of how he saw his faith building and seeing the rewards that come from working hard on behalf of others. He got to see some people he'd taught previously and had a sweet reunion with them. He made his way into what he called "Jurassic Park" to meet with some other people.

I marvel at the experiences he is having. We can see him changing and growing in ways that will benefit him the rest of his life. Over the years here in the Den, I've shared proof of how everything TMFKATB touches turns to gold. Everything. It hasn't been that way for him in Mexico. He's learned, and will continue to learn, that life can be a series of surprises, good and bad, wanted and unwanted, and that how you react to them defines who you are.

"Entering Jurassic Park"

It's a privilege to get to watch this. As parents, you try and prepare your children for all that life may throw at them. I've realized that's just not possible. I'm glad he's learning what he is in this most unique environment that he finds himself in now. He's where he is for a reason - well, lots of them. It's all good.

A quick note of thanks to all who checked in with us after seeing the picture of him in the clinica last week. He continues to mention that he feels the power of prayer. And so do we. Thank you, friends.

Man Down!

From time to time, I get a tad agitated about what I'm doing to better serve others. For the two of you who have reserved a spot on the sofa here in the Den through your frequent visits, you've read some of my lamentations about my dilemmas over charities, service, etc. That said, one thing I've consistently done, and done well I might add since I was 35 years old, is blood donation. If the number of units donated were like frequent flyer miles, I'd be a 'million miler.' I'm proud of that. Not even a #humblebrag. I'm straight up proud of it!

I'm also proud that prior to this morning's double red apheresis donation, I'd only had one 'incident.' Several years ago, in one of those cozy blood mobiles, I passed out in the middle of a regular donation. It was totally my fault as I had broken my donation day routine. The only thing I'd eaten that day was a yogurt. Of course things were going to go horribly wrong. The best part of that one was when they yanked out the needle, it sent a spray of blood all over my jeans. It looked like I'd just walked off the set of "Friday the 13th Part 83." They've made about that many craptastic sequels to that cinematic screed, right?

That incident didn't spook me and I kept on donating, sans issue until this morning. As far as I know, I did everything right. Good night's sleep. CHECK. Balanced breakfast. CHECK. Lots of liquids. CHECK. Blood pressure. EXCELLENT. So all was in order. My nurse was great. She got the machine primed and in no time, the donation was under way. About 10 minutes in, I felt things get just a little tingly and then very, very hot and I thought, 'Perhaps I should say someth...' and I was out. When I came to, my face was covered in cold towels and I was surrounded by several staffers who were shaking my knees, asking me my name, and saying things like 'Welcome back!' Now why they said that, I have no idea. I heard no one telling me to go towards the light during my brief slumber. I did, though, have the presence of mind to immediately check to see if things had gone awry with my bladder. Delighted to find that things were as dry as the Gobi Desert, I then began responding to the assembled throng. Turns out, when I'm coming out of an event like that, I like to use a really loud voice. Like the kind older people use with people who don't speak English ("If you speak really loudly, it will be easier for them to understand English." - no flaw in that logic, is there?). Frankly, I was mortified. I'd done everything right. And heaven knows, it wasn't that I'm too thin to be giving blood. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. I kept apologizing because they weren't going to be able to use any of my draw. The staffers were great, assuring me that this happens more than one would think. Still feeling like a tool, once I had it together I headed home.

My sister, the PA, thinks it was nothing more than vasovagal response, which if you asks me sounds like something hideous or to my inner sixth grader, potentially naughty. It's not. Just further proof why it's a good thing I didn't pursue a medical career. You're welcome. In spite of today's hiccup, I shall not be deterred. Vasovagal response or not, I'll keep giving. And if you are able to give blood, so should you!

Getting clinical

From inside the Linda Blair Memorial Ward

So TMFKATB has never been one to understate a situation but he may have done so with the first line of this week's letter. He had titled his email 'weird week' which was a bit of a hint. "So this week was rather strange" was the first sentence. He then began to explain why it was strange and weird. Thanks to a resurgent bout of chikungunya, he spiked a nasty fever and was racked with pain. He wound up at a 'clinic' for two days, being pumped full of, well, who knows what. It apparently worked because he went on to detail how he was feeling better and looking forward to a full week of work and as he put it, 'miracles' this week.

So, suffice to say, this week's letter was a little unsettling for us. As you can see from the picture he sent, some one really needs to talk to the folks that painted the interior of the clinic. Apparently they took their inspiration from Linda Blair's pea soup cavalcade of vomit from "The Exorcist." There's nothing soothing about those walls. I'm still trying to figure out what the big tank is next to his bed. Helium? Oxygen? Salsa? I don't even know and maybe it's best to not know. I'm just grateful that whatever the doctors did, it seemed to do the trick. He's better.

I will never lament medical care in the US again. Ever. Last year when my gall bladder decided that it no longer wanted to reside within me in the angriest ways possible, I spent two days at a teaching hospital. Some of our friends acted as if I'd gone to JoJo's Casa Of Chicken, Oil Changes and General Surgery when they learned that's where I'd opted to have my surgery. It may not have been the fanciest of hospitals but I had outstanding care from the 600 residents that paraded through my room every 42 seconds. I look at that picture my boy sent and I'm just grateful for the doctors and nurses who did their best caring for him with what the limited resources that they had. To say that we have it so well medically in this country is a massive understatement, in spite of what Fox News says.

The good news is that he was positive throughout his letter and his sense of humor is fervently in place. That made us feel a lot better. He assured us that he's feeling a whole lot better. He had to be if he was able to wax poetic about this meal:

tacos bistec y guacamole

He's gained a wicked appreciation for the hand-made foods of southern Mexico. Seems to me that a meal like that could cure of you pretty much anything. Seriously, is there nothing a taco can't solve?