Friday, July 30, 2010

The kindness of friends and strangers . . .

Friday, July 31, 2010
Haven't been experimenting much in the kitchen the past few days, as Penny and Jim were up Thursday and part of Friday, to help us finish our deck project—help us, I say, as though Bob and I had anything to do with it . . . Bob has a good excuse, but I can't take credit for even a fraction of the hard work that went into this job. P & J busted their butts over the course of a couple of weekends and turned the cruddy deck into a work of beauty. Those two are maniacs! Got all the tough stuff done over the past few weeks—the power-washing, cleaning and painting the railings and trim, all that's left now is a clear coat of sealant, which I can slap on maybe this weekend, if the sun returns. But with what's been done already, all I can say is: Oh. My. God. My outdoor office is absolutely stunning, peeps! Now, too bad today is overcast and damp, and I can't sit out there and bask in its fresh, lovely glory . . . tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous, though, so I shall make up for lost time then. (picture above is the deck, PPJ—pre-Penny & Jim. Sadly, that's what was left of the "stain" put on by the so-called professionals, less than a year after application . . .pic below is P & J's handiwork . . .)


Story behind this is, we hired a deck refinishing company last year to do the work and they ended up doing a horse-shit job, to use one of my dad's favorite and often oh-so-appropriate phrases. After going round and round with them to get them to redo it—which they did, twice, each time worse than the previous attempt—the company went bankrupt and we were SOL, as far as getting any kind of compensation (and, please, well-meaning as it may be, refrain from dispensing any advice about how to go after them, unless you're an attorney willing to work pro bono—I just don't have the time or energy). Chalk it up to a lesson in the School of Hard Knocks. That's what I get, for letting my Angie's List subscription expire . . .

But, even better, the dynamic-duo, P & J, came to our rescue {insert dramatic super-hero music here}, pulling up in the black Magical Mystery van, power washer, tools and work clothes in tow, ready to work. We've taken pictures along the way, which I just sent to the deck company today, btw, because I still have contact e-mail addresses, hopefully putting them to shame, showing how my 72 year old FIL and 69-year-old MIL kicked ass on their work (QUICK update: this has turned into the most hilarious back-n-forth e-mail exchange between me and some rep from the stain company all day, who is involved because they supposedly sold the faulty stain to the deck company . . . I've just been eggin' this dude on, insulting his mother and his manhood, and he's eating it up . . . passive aggressive, yes, but I'm getting perverse satisfaction, given I won't get any monetary or otherwise. The exchange is worthy of a blog entry all its own! Good entertainment, if nothing else . . . hope he doesn't have my address . . .)

Anyhoooooo, enough of those dimwits and back to the people who really matter in our world.
P & J are the two of the hardest working people I have ever known—two weeks ago, when it was more hot and humid than a Swedish sauna outside, they were out there, power-washing and scrubbing the deck—I truly thought one, if not both, was going to pass out in the heat, but they wouldn't stop and wouldn't let me help . . . they finished in two weekends (we have lots of deck space, peeps, maybe 700+ square feet—almost more than the inside of our house) and came back this week to do the railings and trim.

These kids spin loop-de-loops 'round people half their age, doing scary stuff like climbing on the roof, scampering up and down wobbly ladders, dangling precariously as they paint away—the very reasons these things aren't getting done by yours truly—teensie-bit afraid of heights, y'see . . . while they were power-washing, scampering, climbing and dangling, I was inside, safely grounded, cleaning the screened deck, washing windows, feeling like a big wus . . . I came out once the power-washing was done and helped paint . . . and once all the work was done, I did treat everyone to my special veggie-infused buffalo burgers, sweet corn and home-made potato salad, all ingredients coming from the beloved St. Paul's farmer's market . . .

I get it why they do this. Completely. First of all, because of who they are. The kind of people who jump in and help family, a friend, a neighbor in need, even before being asked. It's what they do, it's as deeply ingrained, as instinctive as anything about them. But more so, it's to be with Bob, their son. To be near him, in the same house with him, to do whatever they can to help him, us, get through this. That part, I'll never truly know, being we have no kids of our own, but the pain must cut so deep, to see your child suffer like this, no matter what their age . . .to see it happen multiple times cuts that much deeper, that many more times . . .To feel so helpless in a helpless situation is more than a person can bear, I know that feeling all too well. To do something like refinishing a deck is something. Better than sitting around, just waiting. . . sometimes the work is so mundane, so mind-numbing, so mindless, but at the same time, soothes the soul. That I know, too, like when I went out and power-washed the railroad ties along the hosta bed and sidewalk today, or when I cook like a madwoman . . . clears the mind. Makes you sweat, breathe the air—hell, gasp for air, feeling the rhythm of life with every sweep of the broom, every swipe of the paintbrush, every arc of water from the sprayer, every crow cawing, even squirrels chattering above. . . and when you're done, every bone, every muscle, ever pore aches. You're alive. Yes, it's something.

We had lots of somethings these past few weeks, during this time of biding—phone calls, e-mails, sweet packages in the mail, from lovely candles and soaps (LOVE them, Bev!), to cards with "badges" that I'm so wearing to our next doctor's visit (thanks, Wanda, a 1 year breast cancer survivor herself, my age, double-mastectomy, j, m, & j . . .), a package with a Savoy's pizza gift certificate and a Chuck Norris/Bob Andrzejek Cannot be Stopped book (Kristina, you rock!), a generous check from someone we don't even know, frequent "Hi, how are you" cards from an auntie in Rochester, e-mails from other beloved aunts and cousins I don't get to see much, a benefit held in Bob's honor last Saturday during his 25th year reunion, a good friend of mine delivereing a box of organic veggies from her husband's garden, a neighbor who stops to ask how Bob is doing, offers her services, whatever we might need, another who tells me she offers up a little prayer every time she walks by our house in the early morning hours, random messages from people I barely, if at all, know, or have lost touch with, who have found out about Bob's battle, poems from my mom, artwork that adorns our fridge, from the kids in our lives. . . I could go on and on . . . see, these are my prayers, peeps. This is what keeps me going. When I'm feeling lonely and so very isolated, these are the things that brighten my day. I know, a little bit, anyway, what it must feel like to be a prisoner, or a serviceperson in a foreign land, so far away, getting that connection to the
outside world . . .that so many people are thinking about us, praying for us, holding us tight in their thoughts and well wishes swells myheart, makes my skin tingle, gives me strength . . . I hate to speak for Bob, but I'd venture to guess he feels the same. Perhaps even more . . .

So! Tonight's dinner comes complements of my dear friend, Karen and her sweet hubby, Tim! The veggies are from Tim's home-grown, organic garden, in the heart of my favorite suburb ev-ah, Roseville! Karen said Tim's so organic, he actually goes out to the garden and hand picks the bugs off his plants. Seriously. He also works for the DNR, so maybe it's a special "catch-n-release" program he's working on—catch the bugs and release them into a neighbor's garden, late at night . . . anyhow, they blessed us with a box of veggies and a package of
Canadian-caught walleye, which made deciding what to do for dinner tonight easy enough. Pecan-encrusted walley, steamed green beans (just tossed with melted butter, ground pepper and sea salt) and a variation on the insalata caprese salad: chopped tomatoes and fresh mozzerella cheese, tossed with basil-infused olive oil (from Surdyk's—I was out of fresh basil—this olive oil was so flavorful, I almost didn't miss it!), balsamic vinegar, salt 'n' peppa. I'd share the pecan walleye recipe with you, but it was an amalgamation of several—basically dredge walleye in flour (I used whole wheat), a beaten egg and finely-chopped pecans/crumbs of choice. Bake at 425 for maybe 15 minutes (depending on the thickness of your fishies). Eat. Enjoy. LOVE! to you all!!! xxoo!


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Biding time . . .


Laying low, things are quiet out here at Wrenwood (that's the name Bob gave to our little house in the woods when we first moved in), yet each day, feels like something is boiling below the surface, increasing in intensity as the time goes by . . . biding time, serving a sentence . . . Bob's spirits have been dramatically boosted, and I can hear in his voice, he's getting stronger. Much of that I attribute to a break in the wicked treatments and medications leaving his body, time to rest, recover, time to rest, maybe even some of the food I've been making for him . . . After his last heart attack, and the weeks following, his voice has been so weak, thin and wavering, like an old man. The other day, he made a smart-ass comment to me (wish I could remember it, to share with all how, nasty that boy can be, even in illness), and but I was taken aback. Not by the comment, but by his voice. Strong, definitive, Bob. That, my peeps, is a wonderful sign. Another is his wicked sense of humor, back in full force. Now, if only his body followed suit . . . we're working on that. Hard.

Went to the farmer's market on Sunday with my sis, Jill and her daughter, Amelia. My mission is to try a few new things each week to experiment with, break out of the ol' comfort zone and expand the cooking horizons. I'm so damn happy that Bob's taste buds are branching out again, embracing flavors, textures, nuances—almost back to his old palate, though hot (spicy) things still present a challenge, poor guy, who used to like things with a good kick . . .

Love, love, love the St. Paul farmer's market. I've discovered that going on Sundays, a little later, close to closing, is a good time to go, a little less frantic than Saturdays, it seems (crap. Now I'll have to kill all of you, since I just gave away my Best Kept Farmer's Market Secret). Though this late Sunday morning was about as nutty as any Saturday, perhaps due to the idyllic weather—shiny, happy people enjoying a shiny, happy Sunday at the market. Balloon artists, flowers, sweet-buttery bags of kettle corn co-mingled with the aisles upon aisles of beautiful veggies . . . Came home with collard greens, Swiss chard, BEEEEOOOTEEFUL organic tomatoes (FINALLY!!! my GOD! I will never eat a store-bought tomato EVER again, as long as I live, mark my words. EV-er!), leeks, fennel, red potatoes, and of course, more basil. Can't have enough basil—I could bathe in the stuff, I love it that much.

Sunday was Clean-out-the-fridge-to-make-room-for-farmer's-market-bootie Night. AKA, leftovers. Had a bunch of beet greens that I just couldn't bear to part with, but already had enough other greens to saute, etc. so I Googled a recipe for Beet Green smoothies. Blended them up Sunday night, and portioned off into single-serve containers, for upcoming morning meals. Was a gorgeous burgundy-almost bordering on brown color, but the taste was very earthy (e.g. tasted like shit). . . can't bear to throw all 4 containers out, so will work on tweaking that to make it more palatable . . . stay tuned!

Lunch yesterday (Monday), insalata caprese—fresh mozzarella, basil and farmer's market tomato (angels from heaven singing inserted here), drizzled in olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt and ground pepper, served with fresh fruit, sliced roast beef, to complete the meal. . . dinner was collard greens with sweet Italian sausage, I added sun-dried tomatoes,
mushrooms, red onion, tossed with whole wheat bowtie pasta, topped with the three-cheese extravaganza, a blend made from some of the gorgeous cheeses from Surdyks—parmigiano reggiano, one called Pleasant Ridge Reserve (patterned after cheeses made in south eastern France, says the package) and another called Comte St. Antoine . . . I sound like such a galloping gourmand, but really don't know what the hell I'm saying, as I'm simply typing the names of the cheeses as I read them from the labels . . . I loved this concoction, but got a luke-warm review from Bob. He hasn't been too keen on cooked greens lately, since all this "c" shit began, so trying to sneak them into his meals is often a futile effort. That, and I added a few shakes of hot pepper flakes, which were tough for him to take. I should have known. The mouth sores are pretty much gone, but his tongue is so sensitive still . . .

BUT, I took a container of beet green smoothie
out this morning, to tweak the concoction a bit . . . added more fruit and a few scoops of plain yogurt. I gave Bob a taste of mine—he loved it. In fact, asked for his own glass of the beet-green goodness and devoured the whole serving. My dastardly plan is to replace at leastone ice cream serving with a green smoothie . . mmmmmwwwhahhahahahaha!!!! Yeah, we'll see how long that'll last . . .

I'm sorry to bore everyone with the food stuff, but that's what our life is these days, attempting to nourish Bob, laying low, waiting for definitive word on his surgery. . .

Speaking of Bob ("ummm, isn't that who this blog is about, Jen?" Yeah, whatever . . . ) he had a really good day today. Pain wasn't as bad as it had been even yesterday. I know better than to get too damn excited about that, but still, I haven't heard him say that in a long time, so even one day's slight reprieve from pain is a blessing and a gift. Not gone, mind you, just less. His spirits have been so good lately, despite being confined to the bed much of the day. I know many people have been holding back on calling him, given the hellish past few months he's had, but I assure you, if you call, text, e-mail, whatever, these days, you'll get a response from him. Hell, c'mon out for a visit! Our li'l house in the country is begging for visitors in the summer . . .

I was out and about, running errands in Woodbury today and got a message from Bob, "You should stop and pick up a bottle of Kim Crawford Sauvignon blanc or maybe some Belle's Two-Hearted Ale. You deserve it. Big Top liquors in Woodbury should have them." awww, always thinking of me, the big lug . . . Since I'm drinking for two these days, I decide I deserve both the Kim Crawford and my beloved Bell's, so I swing into Big Top Liquors in Woodbury, where a colleage of Bob's is wine manager, and I'm sure will stock both. I find the Bell's easily enought, but end up wandering the wine aisles, a stranger in a strange land, eyes scanning the rows up on rows of bottles, clueless. See, I just do not set foot in a liquor store; haven't had the need to in about 15 years . . . the clerk behind the counter asked if I needed help, I said, "Yes, please!" He called his wine expert over, who just happened to be Bob's colleague/friend, Bill A! He helped me find the Kim C. sauv. blanc, we chatted a bit, then said our goodbyes. (I had Trader Joe's premium vanilla ice cream melting in the sauna of the Jeep. GOOD stuff, btw, peeps! Sooooo creamy, delicious . . . ) before I forget: a big shout-out to Bill! Thank you for your generous assistance! And soon, I was off, heading toward home.

When I got home, I told Bob I ran into Bill, and reminded him that, even though it may not seem like it, there are millions upon gillions of people thinking about him praying for him, wanting to reach out to him, via phone, text, e-mail—hell, a visit would be the ultimate "Bob encounter . . ." almost like traveling to Lourdes . . . people—friends, family, colleagues—they want to connect with him . . ."Just give Bill a call or send him a message," I asked more than told Bob. I know it's been so hard for him over that past several weeks, being so ill, so mentally foggy, so physically weak, but I still maintain the idea that connections with friends, family, are so powerful, so good for the soul, the fighting spirit. Later, Bob told me he exchanged a few texts with Bill tonight.

Was so freakin' hot and humid all day today, I didn't want to make a huge effort for dinner, so what do I do? Tried a new soup recipe—leek and fennel soup. I wish I could somehow share this with all of you, it was sooooo good! Leeks, fennel, taters, onions . . . as usual, I messed with the recipe so what I ended up with didn't much resemble the original, but wasn't too far off. I added garlic, more potatoes, and then pureed about 1/2 of it, so it ended up thicker than the original soup recipe. For those omnivores in the group, I could totally see bacon in this soup, but as it were, it would satisfy the pickiest of vegans. Had it with a simple pesto with angel hair pasta. Who said eating vegan can't fill you up? Poor Bob ate so much, he was whining for a good hour after dinner.

Took Rocco-maniac on a walk tonight, as he was relentlessly irritating me while I was trying to write. It was ungodly hot and humid, even at 8 p.m., so I didn't want to take him far, just enough to burn off some crazy energy, not far enough to kill him. Walked down to the north, on Oldridge, and saw the image to the left before me, to the south, on the right, behind me:


















We got to the end of the road, about 1/2 mile from our house, when the wind picked up, and I swear the temperatures dropped a noticeable 15 degrees. We turned around in the cul-de-sac at the end of the road and high-tailed it back home as that dark blanket of clouds crept up on us, around and above us, enveloping us in eerie blue before we reached the house. No sooner did we reach home and get inside, when the wind picked up, the skies went as dark as midnight, and the winds kicked it up a few more notches and the rain pummeled the house.

As far as a storm goes, this one was sorely disappointing. I didn't feel the need at all, to head to the basement, much less drag the patio furniture into the garage. Maybe it was the the two glasses of Kim Crawford that instilled the liquid courage . . the storm passed quickly, and now all that's left is the faintest of rumbling off to the east, barely discernible. . .

Saturday, July 24, 2010

a cease fire . . .

So, yesterday, I'm in the bedroom, putting clothes away when Bob tells me he thinks our house is haunted. Oh really, I say, wondering what prompted this. I mean, his meds haven't been increased that much . . . "Well, I got up in the middle of the night to get something to drink, and flipped the blanket on the bed over to the side, like I always do, so when I get back I can just reach over and pull it back over me," he begins explaining. Always the thinker, aren't you, honey? Sorry, I can't help it. "Anyway," he continues, shooting me that classic Bob full-of-distain look, "when I got back to bed, the blanket was flipped back onto my side, and the ceiling fan was on high. I never have it on high." I look at him. That is true. He is the Ceiling Fan Master, for sure—that baby has never seen high as long as we've lived in this house. Weird, I have to agree. As if we don't have enough to worry about. Now poltergeists. Well, as long as it/they just stick to blanket flipping and ceiling fan monkey-biz, and pick up after it/themselves when it's/they're done poltergeisting for the night, I guess I'm okay with it/them hangin' around. Maybe I could teach it/them to mow the lawn.

I just realized the other day, that we haven't had a hospital stint at the U in three full weeks. That's a record, peeps. Bob hasn't been out of the hospital for that long at one time since mid-March. A cease-fire, of sorts. A blessing and a curse, really. Plus side is, not much is going on, down side is, not much is going on. I don't know how Bob's doctors expect him to live like this, bedridden, for five weeks. . . well, four, actually, since he will be hospitalized for a week prior to surgery. But, still . . .I teeter on that fine line between standing back and being supportive of Bob's wishes, and hurtling myself over the edge, with my phone and e-mail campaigns, teary rants in the exam room . . . a part of me says use this time wisely, to nourish Bob, help him rest, also get him out of bed as much as possible, watch some movies, take some drives, nourish his body, his soul, his mind . . . use this time as an opportunity to help Bob become as strong as he possibly can be for the success of the surgery. Then, the evil twin inside me rears her ugly head and screams, "Fuck all that shit! This has dragged on long enough! Please . . . "

I'll be honest, I'm torn over our options. Bob's options, actually. Literally and figuratively, torn in two. Surgery or not. It's like having to chose between purgatory and hell. We have no fucking idea what the surgery outcome will be, because the doctors don't even know, yet we're told it's the only curative option, to remove the tumor, which will give Bob a semblance of a normal life back. There are times, totally out of the blue, when I'm walking the dogs, or meandering the aisles in Target, or out mowing the lawn, that the sheer, utter enormity of the decision comes crushing down upon me, wringing the breath right out of me, tearing me in two, and it's all I can to to breathe . . .

Then, there are times when I almost love the life I'm living right now, being home all day with Bob, making crazy-great meals for us, going to the farmer's market, "keeping house," walking the doggies, fixing him a bowl of ice cream with Ensure, mowing the lawn, doing things Bob used to do. . . I am honored and blessed, to have this opportunity to be with him, by his side, doing whatever I can to help him, support him, fight for him with whatever I have, however I can. Right now, there is no other place I'd rather be . . .

So, my newly acquired summer skills now include lighting the grill. Big deal, you think. But you've never lit our grill. See, the igniter switchy-thingy doesn't work, thus, it has to be lit with a big long match stuck into a hole from which propane fumes spew. A nice recipe for disaster, no? Yes.

Grill-lighting, along with snow-blowing and dog-shit detail, has always been Bob's job. Now, it's mine. If he asks me to climb up on the roof and wash the skylights, that's it. I'm done. Outta here. A girl's gotta draw the line somewhere. Okay, to be honest, I have yet to actually light said grill, because the few times I've actually used it this summer (drastically down from previous summers, if you can believe that . . .), I try to time it when Bob is fresh from a nap and is up and moving around—"Oh, you're awake?" I pounce, voice dripping with sweet innocence. "Could you pretty please light the grill for me? Pleeeeeeaaaase?" {eyelash batting inserted here} It's worked a few times in the past, but I'm pretty sure the last time he did it, it was truly The. Last. Time. He was plain and simply annoyed, shuffling out to the grill, matches in hand, muttering that he's shown me how to do it countless times and we just won't be grilling if I can't figure this out by now . . . okay, okay, I got it—close grill top. Turn knob to "ignite." Turn on propane tank. Insert long match into black hole. Squeeze eyes shut, tuck head between legs, and pray like hell. If you see a big mushroom cloud in the eastern horizon, toward Wisconsin, you might want to call over here, see if we're okay . . .

Tonight's dinner was sauteed (not grilled) chicken with asparagus, zucchini, red onion, mushroom, garlic and fresh basil with brown rice. Grated some dee-lish hard cheeses from Surdyk's atop the concoction, a few twists of black pepper, and ta-da! I forgot to take a pic of this one, sorry. But it was fab, believe you me. To die for. Once again, a concoction procured from my li'l pea-brain, trying to use up the last of the veggies for the week. Heading to the farmer's market in St. Paul in the morning, with my sister, Jill and her cutie-pie, Amelia-Bedelia. to stock up on provisions for the week.

( . . . star light, star bright . . . can you see the teeny, tiny pin-point of a star in this picture I took while walking the R-man? Looks like a burned out pixel on your screen . . . )

Took Rocco on a twilight walk tonight, just as the sun was sliding under its earth-blanket for the night. We were dive-bombed by bats galore, so many you think we'd be void of mosquitos around here, but they haven't even made a dent in the skeeter population. I do have a great, all-natural bug repellant (did I mention this before? Seems like I did . . .oh, yeah, when I forgot to do the bottoms of my feet a week or so ago . . .), so they're not intolerable tonight. Actually, tonight is cool enough, in my outdoor office, that I actually had to put a sweatshirt on. Maybe that has had an effect on the skeeters. Whatever, I love it . . . got the tiki torches lit, sitting at my patio table-desk, laptop in front of me, random bug landing on the screen now and then, listening to the fireworks going off around us (yes, fireworks. We're near 'sconsin, y'know, where every day is 4th of July. . . ) I think I'll sleep out on the screened deck tonight. . .

Yes, I could get used to this life. If only it weren't for the very big, ugly reason I'm here in the first place.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Cooking, doctors' calls and reunions . . .

Sorry, peeps . . . not a lot to write about when there's not a lot going on in our lives right now. Just a big waiting game, at the mercy of surgeons' schedules, vacations, etc., to get Bob back on the surgery schedule again. I get it, I get it—doctors need vacations—and I get it that there are other surgeries scheduled and Bob's is a big honkin' surgery—we're told 10-12 hours, possibly—that can't be an easy thing to schedule in the OR, but I can't help but selfishly think, But what about us? When do we get our vacation . . .I'm told by Bob's primary care team that they're working hard behind the scenes to make things happen, but for the first half of the week, it didn't seem so.

Played phone tag all Monday and Tuesday to try to find some things out myself, phone calls to surgeons offices, the cardiologist, pleading to nurses who are filling in for regular nurses who are on vacation, they don't know us, or Bob's long, crazy history, to tell me something, anything. Nobody can tell me anything; I leave messages to pass on to doctors. . .

(kohlrabi-apple slaw . . .)
So, I've been cooking to keep me grounded, sane, preoccupied. Trying recipes that are crazy-bizarre but turn out fabulous and are packing Bob full of nutrition . . . made zucchini bread—with a generous handful of chocolate chips—for the healing, antioxidant properties of chocolate, of course (used unsweetened applesauce in place of oil, and substituted whole wheat flour for at least 1/2 of the white, cut the sugar dramatically, though I need to find a good, natural baking substitute for refined sugar—feel free to pass any ideas along), a kohlrabi and apple slaw, 5 pepper salsa . . . for dinner last night, it was bison New York strips, with mashed sweet potatoes (with butter and maple syrup) and the slaw. Tonight, a freakin' amazing salad made with the leftover bison cut into strips, on a bed of baby spinach, tossed with grapefruit pieces, roasted beets, cucumbers, pecans and feta cheese, and drizzled with a cilantro citrus vinaigrette. Don't know where the combination for the salad came from.
They all just sounded good together. Say it. You rock, Jen. Thank you.
(to the right, my bison-beet salad creation . . .)

Bob had a check-in appointment with primary care on Wednesday; we met with both his primary doc, Doc S (not that Doc S—this Doc S is sofa king awesome. Love this doc. Maybe, to keep things straight, I'll change his name. . . . to Doc Rock, because that's what he does. Rock.), and his resident, Doctor G, who was part of oncology staff when Bob had his 2nd heart attack, and is also an awesome doc, knows Bob's story inside and out.

We first met with Doc G, who went over how things are going, any changes, etc. He told us they had some word from the surgeons and it looks like mid to late September is the tentative surgery time. {{Sound of needle scraping across vinyl.}} Bob looks like he's about to pass out. "I can't wait that long," he says in a weak voice, looking up a the ceiling. No way, I say. That won't work. It just won't work. That is too far out—it's not like this surgery just came up out of nowhere—this was supposed to happen back in April. Bob absolutely can't wait that long. I feel tears burning my eyes, dammit. Why do I always cry. . .

Doc G looks at us with a helpless expression. "We can't wait that long . . .Bob's pain is increasing, he's spending 90% of his time in bed as it is, and we're supposed to wait two more months? How is that possible?!" It sounds like the colorectal doc's schedule is causing the most conflict; that, and everyone is taking vacations, so they're working around that kind of stuff . . .I keep shaking my head, saying over and over as we discuss a few options about what they can do to try to manage Bob's pain . . . eventually Doc G wraps up his time with Bob and says Doc Rock will be in soon, and that they'll keep trying to work on getting the surgery sooner.

As we're waiting, my cellphone rings. "Hello, Jen, Dr. B." Bob's cardiologist. Whoa—calling me personally . . . He tells me he talked to the orthopedic surgeon, has given his clearance and his plan for the in-patient IV blood thinner plan, and that we should be good to go. I tell him that we were just told that the surgery is tentatively planned for mid to end September, but that just can't be, it has to get scheduled sooner, but the colorectal doc is holding up the show. "What's his name again? Gimme a few minutes," Dr. B says, "I'm going to try to track him down and let him know I've given the go-ahead from my standpoint and that this surgery needs to happen as soon as possible. I'll tell him to call you personally, to let you know what's going on." He tells me he's here to do anything he can to help us. "Bob's a good guy, he needs this surgery," he tells me before hanging up. I'm in awe.

A few minutes later, Doc Rock shows up, we first talk about Bob's pain. It's very likely because of the steroid taper; he suggests maybe Bob go back on the steroid until after the surgery. Are you kidding? I say. After all the crazy stuff about his adrenal glands being shot?! No way! He suggests to reconnect with palliative care, see what they recommend, but in the meantime, he recommends increasing the dose of Dilauded (by the way, did anyone see that Lindsay Lohan had a prescription for this heavy-duty opioid supposedly prescribed for dental pain?!? wtf . . . ) for breakthrough pain, see if that helps stay on top of it . . .

I don't want Bob turning into a freakin' zombie like what happened prior to his most recent heart attack, but am afraid we'll be heading down that path again. We have several weeks to wait for this surgery and I just don't know how he's going to make it that long. Doc Rock then suggests maybe we do the embolizing procedure again, where the blood supply is cut off from the tumor, as it seemed to have some success in treating Bob's pain. (Bob doesn't even remember having that procedure done, that's how jacked-up on meds they had him at that time . . . ) he says he'll have to contact interventional radiology and discuss the probability of being able to do that procedure again. I think it sounds like a waste of time, but go ahead and look into it . . . we talk surgery schedule again, he says he'll do what he can on his end to move it up, if at all possible.

We eventually leave, nearly 2 hours after arriving. That's another thing I love about Doc Rock and Doc G—they give us enormous amounts of time when we're with them. Truly listen, offer options, look into things. Just amazing, their service to us . . . but I'm still sick about having to wait two months for the surgery. That just can't be.

We get home, have a late lunch and Bob lies down for a nap. My phone rings, I answer, it's Doc M, the colorectal doc. Holy shit. I am just not used to doctors calling me personally. . . he says he talked to Doctor B, and was told Bob's looking "beautiful" (seriously, beautiful is how he put it; I thought he was talking about me at first. ummm . . . joke, peeps, that was a joke), and that surgery is a go, that he's in the process of looking at his calendar to get Bob on the surgery schedule. Because of a few other conflicts, the soonest he can mesh his schedule with the orthopedic surgeon's is August 27, but there are a few other things to be ironed out with that date, so it's not set in stone. August 27, August 27 . . . I do a little mental calculating, That's about 5 weeks out yet.

I tell Doc M, "That's not what I was hoping to hear. I was hoping to hear you say that Bob'll be going to the hospital next week, for the IV Integrelin, then the surgery. Bob's pain is getting much worse. He's in bed 90% of his day, he eats his meals in bed. We're supposed to just wait another five weeks like this?" I can hear him sigh big on the other end. He said it's going to be virtually impossible to get Bob in sooner, given all the schedules that have to coordinate. He suggests another surgeon in his office might be able to take the case, if we'd be okay with that, but there's only one other surgeon he would feel comfortable recommending. He tells me he'll look into that, but that they'll keep working on the August 27 date, too.

We hang up and I go tell Bob the latest. He listens quietly and then says, "Well, it's a good couple weeks sooner than what we were told earlier. If we can just keep the pain under control, not get any worse, I think I'll be okay. And, I don't want another doctor doing the surgery. I want Dr. M. He knows me, knows my long history, and that makes me most comfortable." I said, "Well, if your pain gets any worse, I have no problem hauling you into the ER and demand you get admitted. Maybe then, if it becomes a "real" emergency, something'll be done sooner."

Later in the evening, close to 9 pm, my phone rings again. I answer. It's Doc B again, the cardiologist. Seriously, it's three minutes to nine when his call came in—I told you this dude is an adrenaline junkie. Probably never sleeps. Maybe he's the House-kind of doctor I've been praying for, all jacked up on prescription drugs, but a medical master-mind, a genius who's also just a little off-kilter . . . He's just calling to make sure Doc M got a hold of me, to let me know what's going on. I tell him that the surgery won't be scheduled until the end of August. He's not surprised, as he tells me it's incredibly difficult to get not only doctors' schedules in synch, but anesthesiology, the OR room schedule itself, and a host of other things. . . he reiterates his plan to have Bob hospitalized and on the IV blood thinner for a week before surgery. "I want to do everything I can to help you people," he tells me again. Oh, and what about your recommendation for him staying on aspirin? I ask. Are you still wanting him to be on it throughout the surgery? "Absolutely, without a doubt," he says. "He will not go off the aspirin, I've told the doctors that that is not an option." I thank him for getting in touch with Doc M, to help move things up a little earlier, and for checking in with us, and hang up. Maybe if I keep being persistent, like an annoying mosquito in the ear, we can get it moved up even a few more weeks . . .

So, that's the latest on the surgery front, and that pretty much wiped me out, writing all that. Didn't I start this entry saying there's not much to say? Bob's high school class reunion is this weekend. The benefit pizza dinner that was planned for him was tonight. I got a report from Jill on her way home from the benefit; she said it looked like a great turn-out, that she got to meet a lot of Bob's old classmates, and that they put up a nice display of photos of Bob, along with am open letter, of sorts he had written to share with everyone. Penny and Jim were there; Bob got a phone call from them, and heard their take on the event. They said it was a really nice benefit, got to see a lot of people they hadn't in a long time. Penny said all week, though, she was feeling really sad about the event, because Bob wasn't able to attend. I asked Bob if he told her that he's never gone to any of his reunions, so she shouldn't feel bad at all? He said, well, no, but maybe he should have . . . but, I know what she means . . . Bob and I are simply in awe that his old classmates have thought of him like this. So many times throughout this ordeal, I am rendered speechless, at the kindness, the generosity, the heartfelt support and strength radiating from our friends and family, near and far, old and new . . . breathtaking, I tell you . . .

I don't have it in me to write much more tonight. Maybe will add more tomorrow. LOVE!

Sunday, July 18, 2010

"quiet days" ≠ "good days" in this house . . .


It's been rather quiet in these here parts these past several days, though quiet doesn't always equate a good thing around here. Bob's had a low-key existence, but most of the time has been spent in bed, as the pain in his leg has returned with a vengeance, mostly when he's standing or sitting, but that means he spends most of his time lying down. Can't even make a Target run with me these days. The pain increase is likely the result of tapering off the steroid—it's evident that the drug did the trick in helping with pain, but when you weigh that against snuffing out his adrenal glands, well . . . tough call. He had another decrease in the steroid yesterday, as part of the tapering process, and it's amazing how quickly his body responds to it—yesterday and today have been tough for him, very worn out, like he wants to sleep but just can't, kind of restless, pain increasing. . .

I told him to try to visualize the tapering process as his body responding to releasing the synthetic drug, returning to equilibrium. . . the drug was doing all the hard work, now it's his body's turn to wake up and start taking over again . . . he said it sounded good, that he'll try that visualization idea, but maybe he just said that to shut me the hell up. His appetite is still good, makes me feel good about something, but his activity level is down, down, down, which can't be good for anything. Made a call to his primary care doc today, who recommended an increase in one of his pain meds, so we'll see if that helps at all.

Cardiology was supposed to call early in the week to let us know if they connected with the surgeons, but we didn't hear from them all day, so I'll be calling them first thing in the morning to see if anything has developed there. This holding pattern is so hard . . . Nothing's happening, it seems, nothing on the horizon, nothing to hold onto, but for what we hold inside of us, much of which comes in the form of prayers, well-wishes, support from family, friends, near and far. . .

Kind of a side note, but definitely related, St. James High School class of 1985, of which Bob is a member, is having their class reunion this weekend. He's never gone to one previously, before, as far as I know, never had any interest for some reason (I think it's because he was a super-dork in h.s. and doesn't want to relive that horrible era . . . kidding, peeps, just kidding). But, we were notified by a few classmates that they're hosting a benefit pizza buffet in his honor on Friday night . . . I get all teary, just typing that. . . and even though I tease Bob that St. James was nothing but a bunch of heavy-metal pot-heads (to which he counters that Mt. Lake was just a bunch of Boy George-Duran Duran-worshipping freaks . . . how we ended up together remains a mystery), I'm in awe that his former classmates are thinking of him like this, such a heart-felt, generous thing to do for him, we're just speechless . . . one of those wonderful, humbling yet oh-so-beautiful things that amazingly materializes in the middle of this hell . . .

So, I'm on a serious-as-shit mission to clean up our diets in a big, humongous way. I've experienced—we've experienced—first hand, the immeasurable benefits of a clean eating
lifestyle. We went crazy when Bob had his first heart attack three years ago, and it was astounding how great we both felt and how amazing his recovery was. And it was good, healthy food. Almost completely eliminated processed foods and replaced them with loads of greens, veggies, fruits, lean meat, brown rice, whole grains . . . We've kind of slipped from that in the past year or so, some of it due to just being lazy, other reasons because Bob's been so ill . . . Funny thing is, nutrition and diet are so hugely ignored in the realm of cancer, unless it's classified as "alternative" care . . . granted, Bob has had a whole host of things that have interfered with his food intake: nausea, mouth sores, loss of appetite, limited selection in what was appealing to eat . . . but still, true nutrition is so ignored in the grand scheme of things, utterly discounted, when it's been shown time and time again, in treating so many illnesses, to radically improve a patient's condition . . . funny, how we'll be so quick to pop a pill or subject ourselves to god-awful "treatments," but changing lifestyle habits—something that costs very little but results in astounding rewards—all systems of the body respond positively, the immune system is strengthened . . . but it's just not in the norm of prescribed treatment . . . (some of these food pictures look so damn gross and horrifically unappetizing, like the super-awesome, off-color photos in the 1970's cook book collection of my mom's that I somehow inherited. Enjoy!)

Bob's appetite is back, and he is eating much more and better foods than he has in a long
time, so I'm taking advantage of that. I went to the farmer's market a few times in the past few weeks, loading up on fresh, local goodies. Yesterday, I rocked the kitchen, making home-made pesto, a beet-potato stew, and a whole-wheat veggie pasta dish. Also made the basic components to a fabulous blueberry-green tea slushy (no, not from the farmer's market, but damn good fer ya, anyhoo!). Basic gist: put a small handfuls of blueberries in muffin tin, pour fresh brewed green tea over them (I let the tea cool first), then freeze tins to make little blueberry-green tea ice cubes. Pour remainder tea in blender, add cubes and slush. Then add a healthy dose of vodka . . . tonight for dinner was whole wheat angel hair pasta with my o-so-fabulous pesto (seriously, it was freakin' outrageous!), shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes.

Tomorrow on the menu might be something with zucchini and kohlrabi (no, no, not not in the same dish—do you think I'm nuts?? Oh, nevermind, don't answer that . . . ) Not a huge fan of kohlrabi, but it's so dang cute, like little Sputniks, I can't resist 'em . . . I remember making a rather tasty kohlrabi-apple slaw last summer, so maybe I'll try that again tomorrow. And some zucchini bread, for sure . . . perhaps shred the rest to have on hand for burgers, or whatever . . .

My sister, Jill and her cute-as-a-button girlie, Amelia, came over for lunch today. We had beet
soup and pasta salad out on the deck. As we sat out in the overcast but pleasant weather, a UPS van pulled up and dropped off a package. hmmmm. . . is Bob's doin' a little online shoppin' when he should be resting back there in the bedroom? I open the package and pull out two t-shirts, one in a man's size and style, one in woman's. Sofa King awesome, is all I can say! A huge shout-out to Cindy, Kelly and Kiera for these—you guys are sofa king great!!

Speaking of being out on the patio, my outdoor office is back and open for business, btw, thanks to the Menard's on Hwy 36, which seems to be the only store in the tri-county area that acknowledges summer is still upon us. Seriously, the other stores must be getting rid of summer inventory to make room for Christmas trees . . . man, who'd have thought it'd take stopping at every store that might possible retail patio
furniture, to find a decent table and two matching chairs?! But I did, and the're lovely, and best of all, on clearance (as was the one that had been shattered), so if another storm blows in and trashes this one, I won't feel too bad. Oh, hell, what am I saying? Of course I will. I love it out here. Our deck is sofa king awesome, it was painful to not be able to sit out there for two whole days I was without one.

We had another storm blow through Sunday night, though not near the strength or severity, at least in our 'hood, as was anticipated. We did head down to the the ol' cellar because we were in a tornado warning, and Dave Dahl kept saying a tornado had been spotted in Lake Elmo, somewhere off Manning Avenue, which is just a few miles to the west of us. So we're hangin' out in the basement again, with Gaia hiding in the furnace room and Rocco following us everywhere, little Nervous Nelly that he's gotten to be, taking shelter under whatever he can fit under as we move from one room to another, the office, to the family room, back to the office. I lost sight of him at one point, and started looking under the couch, under Bob's desk, in the furnace room by Gai, then back in Bob's office. I started to get a little worried, thinking he bolted back upstairs to hide under the bed. But, if it weren't for that little white tip on his tail, I just might have missed him. (He's hiding behind the curtain over the closet in Bob's office. . .) Hopefully, we'll have more info on surgery, etc. tomorrow. We'll keep you posted. LOVE! to all!




Thursday, July 15, 2010

Surgery being planned again . . .


(another beautiful quilt creation by Penny . . .)

Well, surgery is a go-ahead, got the blessing from Bob's cardiologist yesterday, which was blessing and a damn fright at the same time. No date, just confirmation at this point, that we can move ahead. . . had an early morning appointment and ended up taking all morning, for many reasons. First, because Dr. B's nurse, Stephanie, who is one awesome chick, squeezed us into see Doc B right away, so we didn't have to wait weeks, and face any unnecessary delays. When we're squeezed in like this, though, it's a given that we're gonna be doing a lot of waiting around, because Doc B runs late, late, late even if we have a scheduled appointment, doesn't matter if your his first or his last of the day. Unlike Bob's oncologist who is so freakin' punctual, early or late in the day, it kind of underscores just how much he doesn't like to spend time with patients. . .

Second, once Doc B came in to see Bob (he always seems so genuinely surprised and enthralled to see Bob conscious and upright—gives him a huge smile and such an over-enthusiastic handshake that I fear'll shake Bob right off his feet), he gets right down to business. He knows this surgery has to happen for Bob, if he has any chance to regain any semblance of a normal life again. That, and to get this cancer out of Bob's body. He also knows it's been a long, difficult road with unbelievable roadblock after unbelievable roadblock that have gotten in the way time and again, and knows Bob doesn't want to—no, make that can't— put off the surgery any longer than necessary.

(Bob resting while we wait in the doc's office . . . )

Our meeting with him is an insane flurry of activity—I've said it before, but I'll say it again—Doc B is an adrenaline junkie. I can tell he just feeds, no, he thrives on intense, complicated cases like Bob's, y'know, the critical cases that end up in ER at 2 a.m. . . . After a quick but thorough exam (Bob's up to 115 lbs, and it's actual weight gain, not fluid build-up, btw! Yea! to the domestication of Jen! All for a good cause, baby . . .), Doc B gives us his plan for Bob's surgery, from the complicated cardiac standpoint. Bob is absolutely, without a doubt not going to go off blood thinners—we've seen too many times now that he's such a dangerously high risk for developing a clot, so his plan is to stop the Plavix but keep Bob on aspirin and put him on the IV blood thinner, Integrilin, for a week or so before the surgery (this gives time for the Plavix effects to leave the body, but still able to remain on a blood thinner.) Bob will have to be hospitalized for that week or so while on the Integrilin, as it can only be given intravenously.

He pauses a moment and says, "Well, wait a minute. Maybe they can send you home with a pump, so you don't have to be just sitting around in the hospital—" I interrupt him. No, no, NO way will Bob be at home while this is done! Absolutely not, no way, I protest. Not after what happened last time. I want him in the hospital, so he can be monitored. This is too much to handle at home! Doc B looks at me a moment and slowly nods his head. "Okay, I hear you. Scratch that idea. So moving on, then, we'll have you admitted for that for a week or so, then Integrilin will then be stopped just a few hours prior to surgery, the surgery will be done, and Bob will be put back on Plavix, plus aspirin immediately following surgery." WHEW . . .

Doc B tells us people are operated on while on aspirin all the time, when there's no choice in the matter, when one is so dangerously prone to clotting as Bob is. He looked Bob straight in the eye and said, "Trust me. If you're going to die on the OR table, it won't be because you've bled to death. It'll be because of a heart attack." Holy shit, Batman . . . dude's nothing, if not direct.

"Sound good to you guys?" he asks. I think we both just kinda stared at him like, like, ummmm. maybe not . . . he interpreted that as an "Okay!" and said, "Alright, now I need to make a few phone calls to run this by a few people, see if it sounds like a good plan, 'cause I've never done this before, and then need to try to get a hold of your surgeons, to see if they're okay with this plan . . ." and dashes from the room before we can grab him by the lapels and scream, "What the hell do you mean you haven't done this before?!?"

We wait in the exam room, Bob lying on his stomach on the table, as his leg pain is starting to amp up. We can hear Doc B outside our room, describing his plan of attack in detail to an unknown listener. Bob is looking at the wall, forehead bunched up in a scowl. "What are all your thoughts on this, " I ask. Bob looks at me and says, "I'm scared. It sounds so experimental and I'm just so damn scared." I'm scared too, Bob, I tell him. But it's not like this is all new news to us—Doc B had told us of this plan a few weeks back, remember? But when he comes in again, tell him you're scared, than maybe you need more information, more assurance that you'll be okay. Try to think of this is the thing that's going to give you your life back. You've said countless times that you can't live much longer like this . . . this surgery will give him back all the things he hasn't been able to do for so long. It's scary, yes, but we have know all along it's scary . . . the alternative is living like you are now. . .

A tornado watch is issued for Hennepin county till 4 pm, is announced over the PA system. I get up to take a look outside, but the windows are textured and I can't see anything but grey. Not surprised, as it was grossly humid when we set out today, already, at 8 a.m. A colleague of Doc B finally appears, and we talk with him a while. Bob tells him how experimental all of this sounds, that he's more than just a little freaked out about it all. The doctor explains that this is not an experimental procedure, that it is done frequently, but usually under very different circumstances, mainly for people undergoing bypass surgery. It's just that they just don't have a lot of data about doing this procedure for someone with Bob's complicated history. "But from the sounds of it, it appears to be the only way to be able to proceed with your surgery, and this surgery definitely has to happen for you, to get this cancer out. You've had so many set-backs, and so many delays, that extreme caution needs to be taken, and Dr. Berger wants to confer with as many people as possible before giving the official 'o-kay,'" the doctor says. "You'll be in the hospital, and closely monitored, so if anything were to happen, you're right where you need to be." Somehow, those words seemed both comforting and disturbing . . .

We sit for a while longer until Doc B enters again. He can't get a hold of the surgeons, so he'll keep trying all day, if he has to. He got a hold of some colleagues and some people from hematology, as well, and they all agreed the plan sounds like the only option for a successful surgery outcome. He also wants Bob to have another echo on his heart today, while we're here, to get a better picture about how it's looking now that it's been over 6 weeks, and then he'll let us go.

More waiting around. I pick up a magazine from the slim pickins offered in the room. Valerie Bertinelli on the AARP magazine? WTF? I didn't know she was 65 . . . turn out she's not. Not even 50 yet. Talk about giving seniors a complex . . . we were finally lead down to another room for the echo. Bob undressed from the waist up and laid on a table and the tech started the show. I sat on a chair in the corner of the dimmed room and watched the sketchy untrasound images flash across the screen. High-frequency images of Bob's heart and it's working parts . . . I try to figure out what the chalky sketches are . . . two little things that look like tiny hands clapping in a static rhythm must be a heart valve . . . that tunnel-like image might be a big artery or vessel . . .the technician is very friendly and the 20 minutes or so got by quickly. The test is over and the tech tells Bob to dress and that he'll go see if Doc B needs to see him again or if he's free to go.

As Bob slowly dresses (he's been calling himself TwoTimer lately, because everything he does takes him two times as long as it used to. "The mind is willing, but the body is weak," he says . . .), Doc B knocks and enters the room with the tech. "I just want to take a quick look here, Bob. The test results will be read in more detail later, but I want to get an idea of what's going on." He and the tech stand over the monitor and images are played out before them. mmmmmhmmmm. . . okay . . . yes . . . ummm . . . wait, can you show that again . . . Bob, this is looking good, real good . . . "Well, Bob, this is just great news. It looks like your heart function is showing a remarkable improvement from your last echo a month or so ago. This is great, even just looking at a little bit of this, I'm really feeling good about how your heart is recovering. We'll have it analyzed in more detail and give you a call with the results, so until then, you're free to go. We'll keep trying to get a hold of the surgeons to tell them of our plans and keep you guys posted, okay?"

And with that, we're ushered out the door and head for home. I am filled with hope again, and fear. Bob is, right now, I think, just filled with fear . . . hopefully that'll change as he has time to process the crazy appointment we just had.

So, we get back home, have a bit of lunch and Bob goes to lay down while I pick up around the house. It's been overcast all day, but doesn't look tornado-ominous, just sticky-hot, sopping wet humidity. Everything in the house feels just damp, my feet stick to the hardwood floor, the blankets on the bed feel damp, so we close everything up and turn on the AC. We aren't home maybe an hour or so, when suddenly the skies open up and dump a deluge of rain on us. And I mean suddenly literally, not figuratively. No pre-storm sprinkles, it was like someone turned a faucet on above our house, just started pouring. I grabbed the dogs from outside and turned on the weather report on channel 5. Tornado warnings for south metro, looks like the bad weather is more south of us . . . I putz about the house a little more until I hear and see the wind picking up. The trees out back are nearly horizontal. I call Bob to come down to the basement with me, I think the weather's getting really bad. The dogs are already downstairs, I grab my laptop and phone and head down, as well. Bob joins us.

I'm standing at the bottom of the stairs and look up to the tall window in the landing that looks out to the front yard. Normally, I can see trees and green. Now, it's grey/white-out, except for debris slapping against the pane. Just as I turn to look out toward the backyard, I hear what I swear is a loud roaring, followed by crashing above, more debris tumbles into the backyard, down into the woods behind the house. As all of this is happening, I'm screaming at Bob to get over to where I am, because I am sure the roof is next and god knows he'll be sucked out, like a little rag doll if he doesn't hold onto something! He looks at me like I'm a stark raving lunatic and walks over to the patio door. I am sure our house is going to go tumbling down the ravine any second . . .
Almost as soon as the typhoon hit, it begins to die down. As Bob looks outside, he says, "Uh-oh. I think there's a big tree branch on the deck upstairs." Really? Are you sure it's not the view of house turned upside down in the backyard that you're seeing? I stand in my corner, clutching my laptop against my chest for a few moments, listening. The wind seems to have died down to almost nothing. The rain has faded to a gentle pattering. I put the computer and phone down and run upstairs to see what Bob was seeing from the downstairs patio door.

Holy cow! What used to be our patio is now a jungle. It's still lightly raining when I ran back downstairs to grab my phone and take some pictures. It appears that the gigantic oak tree between the garage and house launched a branch onto the deck, taking out the patio table, maybe a chair or two . . . but my hanging plants have
been miraculously spared! I snap a few pictures from different angles, and then a few more. Bob got his good camera and started taking pictures, too. The more pictures we took, the more I thought for sure we'd have to hire a tree service or clean-up crew—someone to help us with this crazy mess. I posted some of the pics on facebook, and I am not kidding when I say we had at least 4-5 people respond with clean-up assistance in a matter of minutes. I got a call from my new bro-in-law, Brian, who said he saw my pics on f-book and if I wanted him to come out with a chainsaw, let him know and he could help us clean up the mess. I thought there's
no way we could do this ourselves, but called him back anyway, to come out and maybe just eyeball the damage, see what should be done. Later, after dinner, Brian, Gretch and Brian's daughter, Sophi arrived, and Brian started working.

Less than two hours later, our deck was void of tree parts—I still can't believe it! I love, love, love my family! BG&S Tree Service rocks! Only damage was one board in the middle of the deck and, well, obviously, my patio set! So much for my outdoor office . . . hey, maybe that's how I can make an insurance claim—"office destroyed." I do have pictures to prove I write out there . . .

Today, Jim and Penny arrived for a visit. They were going to help with the clean up efforts, but there was nothing left to be done, so they started in on our other two decks, to get them power-scrubbed, as they'd done to our big deck a few weeks ago. I continued to clean up the aftermath on the big deck and yard—lots of broken glass and sawdust, and branches all over. Penny and Jim sweated and scrubbed the smaller decks till the wood looked fresh and brand-new. Man those two, the way they work. Make me feel like such a slug . . . they are awesome, just awesome. LOVE them!!! After we'd called it quits for the day, Penny and I headed over to Hudson, WI, to check out what Menards, etc. might have for patio furniture. Can you believe that Menards, Home Depot and Mill's Fleet Farm are nearly CLEARED
OUT of patio furniture?!? WTF???? It's only mid-July, for freakin' crying in the rain!! Guess they gotta make room for Christmas decorations . . . oh, well . . . I'll keep lookin' . . . LOVE! to all!