Saturday December 28
Lazy morning. Actual sunlight and all the ice are gone. Michael was greeted with a mountain of dishes and pots and pans from last night's anniversary dinner. His role. I cook he cleans.
Went to Le Gamin for brunch, talked about Samantha with Willie. Yesterday was very tough for him. I hope it gets after the holidays. He’ll be with us till next Friday, which is good for me. Hope it helps and doesn’t depress him.
Video gaming in the afternoon. I made enchiladas for dinner. Watched an Israeli series, Shtisel, a young Hasidic teacher doesn’t like his teaching job, wants to be an artist, and suffers unrequited love. It engaged Willie, but also made him sad, but everything does right now.
On the way to bed I stepped on a mouse murdered by cats, who are becoming more efficient in their hunting prowess. Usually they just terrify the mouse into a corner, where Michael can rescue it by turning a trash can upside down and placing it over the mouse, then trapping it by sliding a piece of paper underneath the opening. When Michael turns the can right side up the mouse tumbles to the bottom. The mouse is then delivered and dumped outside, where it most likely dies of cold and shock. But I don't have to be a witness and feel bad, like I did when I stepped on its body tonight.
Sunday December 29
Went to mass with Willie and ran into Liz. Holy Family Day after meditative bath left me feeling stoned. Always like going to church during Xmas week. Good hymns and a gorgeous crèche built up on terraces around the chancel, blazing with throngs of red poinsettias interspersed between full sized Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus and random animals. It's there every year, and the paint on the plastered figures is worn or chipped in places, but it's spectacular.
Michael, Willie, and I went to Kingston to deposit a check and had lunch in a hipster cafe that featured quinoa bowls and eggs folded into croissants, with millennials providing grindingly slow but good-natured service. Its several very small rooms were awkwardly furnished with long chunky tables. In the room off the main entrance a tiny unused cooking area lurked behind a counter and in the tiny third space a piano muscled itself against walls littered with graphic-heavy art. It was a very confusing place.
Home to more gaming, Richard Wallace called from the Hamptons to ask if we could pick Ann up from the Albany airport before or after my radiation treatment tomorrow. I called her in Ohio and she’s getting in well before my treatment and is taking an Uber home. Relief. I made turkey burgers for dinner from a Cooks Illustrated recipe. The key is adding an eighth teaspoon of baking soda in a tablespoon of water to the raw meat. Makes it moist.
Watched more Shtisel and then an episode of Norseman to keep Michael awake.
Sleet tonight.
Monday December 30
Slept late. Woke to a text from Gene nagging me to finish the financial reporting on his campaign. Have been procrastinating because it meant figuring out how to forgive Gene's loans and close out the account. I looked up the Board of Elections rules and texted Gene that he needed to fill out a form. He wanted me to do it. I objected. It needed his signature. More annoying texting back and forth, and then in his last one, he threw in that Donna, his soon-to-be ex-wife of 40 years, had a “girl friend.” I’ve suspected this for some time, given her Facebook posts showing frequent trips climbing mountains and kayaking with her girlfriends. Gene is never tagging along in these pictures. Although chronically annoyed with him, I know this is very tough. I tried to console him with useless advice that, in this case, he could have done nothing to preserve the marriage.
Good gaming with Willie until lunch and then off to St. Peter’s. Waiting here for my radiation “run through” and than first treatment. After being zapped, Dr. Savage showed us the radiated area, which is to the right of the esophagus. He doesn’t think I’ll have much of a reaction there and that the side effects will be mild.
Sleet and fog going home. For dinner, Instead of going out as planned I pulled sauce out of the freezer for pasta, and Willie and I went upstairs to game.
When we went back down to heat up dinner, Michael had already been drinking wine and had taken three hits of his new dope from a German vaporizer that looks like a sleek version of an old beeper. He was very loopy. As I served dinner he took a fourth. At the end of the meal, I turned and he was slumped forward, looking unconscious. I roared at him but there was no reaction. Although Michael has said over and over that you can’t OD on marijuana he looked like he was dying. His head was dangling down and lolling about and “white as a sheet” actually came to mind. Then he vomited all over the front of his shirt. Willie called 911 and handed me the phone after he got an answer. I panic-voiced. “My husband took to much marijuana and he looks like he's OD'd. He’s an old pothead. I’ve never seen him like this.” A very calm and competent voice asked if he was conscious.
"No!" but as I said this, Michael became responsive. "Ok, he's talking now."
The operator, who undoubtedly has responded to many real overdose calls, did not seem concerned, in fact appeared to be bored. I hope he was at least amused. No ambulance necessary, call if he gets worse.
We cleaned Michael up and he became alert enough to change his clothes and go to bed.
Willie and I went upstairs to watch more Shtisel. When we came down Michael was up and only a little off. I went to bed and had trouble going to sleep, troubled by fury rather than fear reaction to Michael's non-overdose. It took awhile to meditate my way out of it. Michael is supposed to be the order in my life, the counter weight to my random thinking. There he was in pure chaos mode, disintegrating in front of me because he has, like all my husbands, a risk for addiction. I get crazed.
Tuesday December 31
Michael totally normal and feeling fine as if last night never happened. Up and out to St. Peter’s for day two of radiation. Sitting here now waiting with two other women. Have to put my shapeless gown with its faded dreary geometric pattern on backwards and my arthritic shoulders have a hard time with the ties. What sadistic designer came up with these gowns? The radiation technician, a kind young man, slid me under the rings. Thought I'd have some PTSD from last year's treatments, but this targeted on small area in my chest is unlikely to have much an effect—not like the wholesale attack on my groin that left me scarred, leaky, and subject to skin diseases.
We drove back and detoured to the vet in Germantown to get Killick's food and then on to Otto's for lunch. Two beautiful Asian teenagers were at the table next to us, puzzling over math problems in colorful soft-cover books. Mom was leaning over and badgering them. Should have been doing that when Jill was struggling?
More gaming in the afternoon until Harris and Neville came in with smoked chicken, bruschetta, gingerbread, and a wonderful goat head ceramic creamer. I streamed tamales ordered from New Mexico and made a salad. Richard Wallace showed up at six thirty, told the story of his ex wife’s Dutch parents and their escape from Germans right before the invasion of France.
Watched a Cohen brother's movie. Nice relaxed New Year's Eve with friends and sad son. Harris and Neville stayed over night and will be with us tomorrow until Liz and Geoff's New Years Day/Birthday party.
Wednesday January 1, 2020
10:00 mass with Willie to celebrate Mary. A good thing about Catholicism is the length of Christmas-- 12 days-- when you can keep singing carols. Father Barrett gave his usual well-crafted homily, today, no surprise, on resolutions. I love the poetry and theatrics of the mass, and every time I go I wonder if I could possibly convert and resolve my childhood trauma taking communion illegally as an unconfirmed Methodist, with humiliating and stern repercussions afterward from the stout Church ladies. (One of them was the mother of my friend Delmar Tift, who ended up gay and in New York. Karma.)
When we got home, Harris and Neville were off visiting Dave and Janet, giving Willie and me a good chunk of gaming time. At two, we went to the Leckie's for the party, where Liz greeted us in an amazing long vintage sheath shouting the sixties with a strong geometric pattern. I entered the living room with my usual grumpiness, resenting the awkward and random stand-up conversations, the fattening treats, and the bloating effects from drinking wine too early. I wanted to go home. Sat on the couch by the fire and eventually Willie and Harris sat next to me. Cheered me up and when I saw Carrie Cleinman by herself I went over to talk to her about county politics. Sarah Price, another Democrat and a local landscaper, joined us for more political blathering. Michael was talking enthusiastically with three women and I chided my knee jerk jealousy into submission (turns out they were all gay anyway). The party became fun and we ended up closing it down at around six. Came home having eaten nothing all day except party food and Neville’s wonderful gingerbread. I was cold and took a bath. Then we watched more Shtisel. A day of orthodoxy.
Jim Krisniski, who also cooks at the army, has emailed me a novel he wrote for my comments. Oh dear. Happy 2020. I'm still here.
Thursday January 2
Up for radiation at 10:00. In and out in 20 minutes. Only hassle yet with this treatment is tying my hospital gown in the back.
Back to Hudson for lunch at Cascades (minestrone and lox on ciabatta).
Email from Carl Atkins who has a small bowl obstruction—I hope not a recurrence. I have a half-hearted working relationship with Carl on health care. He had formed a group that came up with a plan for Medicare for All, which was pretty reasonable, but I backed out of participation when I got cancer. Also I have trouble with the Medicare for All path to universal health care in the country. Building up from Medicaid, with state management (like in Canada) I think would work better here and be more palatable. I'm grateful to Carl, who is a retired oncologist from St. Peter's and gave me the referral for my good oncologists there. Since then he has also developed cancer. In fact, we ran into each a couple times in the chemo room. Today he sent me a rough draft on local health issues for the CCDC subcommittee to review, which he can’t deal with right now. I don’t think I’m knowledgeable enough on local health care systems to have any authority, but I'll look at it.
Meanwhile, on to the important work, Will and I made some gaming headway in the afternoon, but probably not enough to finish before he leaves tomorrow when he's due to go home to the city.
Dave came over for a glass of wine. Janet went to New York for her first radiation treatment in the lung and is back up tomorrow. Given the lack of side effects from our genetic and immunotherapy drugs, Janet and I are lucky to have treatments that are just background noise between scans to our daily lives. This won't last forever, but grateful for this time.
I reheated posole for dinner but Willie wasn't hungry. His sadness had gotten to him tonight. He had ordered a blue ray DVD for $30 so we could watch Day Trippers, which turned out to be an independent film from the nineties with an inchoate narrative and good actors who play motiveless characters. We followed with Shtisel to recover.
Friday January 3
Sodden day following sodden day. Day four of radiation. I wonder if I smell cooked afterward the way Cindy did on the train to Boston after she had her first brain radiated. It was a memorable smell and depresses me to remember it even now.
Down to Gracie's Luncheonette outside of Catskill for a heavy breakfast. Played text go-between with Scott and Ann to set up brunch on Sunday morning, Scott likes to meet at 10:15 at a restaurant in Catskill where he has an investment. Ann doesn’t want to wake up that early, particularly to cross the river to eat at place she doesn't like. She suggests (insists?) we meet at le Gamin in Hudson. Scott texts back to me ok but there will be six of us in total and he wants me to be sure there’s a table. I worry they won't take reservations. He says then get there early to secure a table. I become annoyed that I have to do this and with my John Alden role in general between Scott and Ann. I stop texting. (According to the family tree I built on ancestry.com John Alden is an ancestor, or this may be the go-between gene.)
Home for final gaming day of the holiday season. Before we start, I toddle outside to dump five paper bags of used cat-litter, hobbling up the hill and spilling them out along the bank by the driveway. This is my exercise.
Lee calls. Wendy's son Danny, who lives in Montana, has a severe tooth infection and has been hospitalized. Jill had terrible experiences with teeth and my great aunt Fanny died of one after surviving as a nurse during the Panama Canal Construction and the Spanish American war typhoid camps. Her tooth death was memorable, and infections always make me nervous. Hope Danny is ok.
Put Willie on the three thirty train. Spent the gloomy afternoon to gloomy early evening reading the second book in Minnesota trilogy. This one covers a single day of deer hunting, with the protagonist and his brother, whom he suspects of murder, hunting each other. Slogging through primal forests, the book is very male oriented, a woodsy version of old man in the sea. The saga is occasionally broken up by Ojibwa dreams and myths. UGH! Unspeakably dreary and boring. I switched to Educated, a memoir by a young woman who had grown up in an extreme Mormon family. Great story and good writing. Much better. Not reading Jim Krisniski’s book was filling me with guilt, so I opened up his file, which is in Word and discovered that I could share it to my Kindle. The illusion that I'm paging through a real book boosts its credibility and makes it far easier to read. Will get to it soon. Meanwhile back to Educated. Michael and I read in the living room listening to girl music. Warm light reflected Geoff’s large family painting in the sweep of windows facing the dark wintered East. A rare and pleasant event. We should do this more often. I was gloomy about Willie’s absence, but he'll back on Martin Luther King weekend.
I sent Carl Atkin a feeble suggestion for the health care issues report (subsidized transportation to Albany medical for services no longer provided by Columbia Memorial, notably baby delivery). He wrote back that his surgery showed adhesions not cancer recurrence. Good news. Started season two of Shtisel, which has become our comfort food. Michael even stays awake.
Last night I dreamed that I took a job sewing 200 bright blue satin yarmulkes for Seder so that I would have something interesting to write in my diary.
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