Did I mention that I am married to Lance Armstrong? OK, not THE Lance Armstrong. And, in fact, his name isn’t Lance or Armstrong. But, he is my bicycling hero.
Are you sitting down? Please do, for safety’s sake. The shock of what I am about to say could cause you to collapse in surprise. Okay, maybe not, but it is always good to sit while you are using a computer. Here goes…. two weeks ago HH rode home from Steubenville OH (460 miles)… unsupported… in 4 riding days. Whew, I get tired just typing that mileage. What a guy.
The story: DD (Emily) had to be back at Franciscan University on Aug. 9 for RA training. We were in Nebraska during the week prior to Aug 9 (see previous blog “Ft. Bob”). So, we flew her back to Pittsburgh from Omaha. Steubenville and Franciscan University are about 30 miles from the Pittsburgh airport. Enter the wacky plan proposed by HH: When we get back to KY, he will pack Emily’s car with all the essentials needed to live in a dorm, drive to Steubenville, help Em set up her room, and then ride his bike home. “What do you think?” he asked.
What do I think? I think I need to see if your life insurance is caught up. I think that this may be about the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of. And, dear husband, do you realize that we are talking about a bike ride back from O-H-I-O? That’s what I think.
Here’s what I said: “Great idea.” I am nothing if not the Queen of the Kingdom of Supportive Spouses. And so, on Monday, Aug. 11 I waved farewell as a seriously overloaded Honda Civic pulled out of the driveway with HH’s beloved “Streak” riding on a rack strapped to the rear of the car.
Too bad HH didn’t keep a journal of his adventure. Much like Lewis and Clark, it would give insight into travels through uncharted territory (or at least through territory where few folk drive since the advent of the interstate system). Since he didn’t journal, I will be forced to take literary liberties with the story.
Steve’s Journal (if he’d kept one):
Epic Journey Day 0: Today, I become the only man to ever sleep in St. Clare dormitory at Franciscan University. It is strangely uneventful. I guess I really am middle-aged. Tomorrow I leave on the journey that no one has ever taken before. I am risking flat tires, sunburn, and flying insects galore to return to home and hearth. I sure hope that I can milk this for some sympathy and favors when I get home. Must remember to tell Mary about the events of my daily ride with a slight quiver of fatigue in my voice and always end with “But, it’s OK. I can make it. It’s worth it to take care of our daughter.” Oh yeah, this will be good.
Epic Journey Day 1: I came, I saw, I rode. And rode. And rode. Did I mention that I rode today? Found myself in Zanesville OH today with sunlight to spare. So, I called home and left a message saying “It’s only 35 more miles to Lancaster, I think I’ll head there.” Boy, that ought to get Mary’s goat…she’ll think that her 10 mile rides are really whimpy. I am so diabolical.
Here’s what I notice about Ohio roads: #1 they have nice wide shoulders, #2 the shoulders are pretty clean, #3 I haven’t had a driver honk, show me a one-finger wave, or otherwise give me grief all day long, and #4 this hilly crap is getting old, give me some flat land! Hey! Is that a Hampton Inn I see in the distance?
Epic Journey Day 2: I feel refreshed as I start riding today. A hot shower, delicious dinner at Olive Garden, good night's sleep, and free breakfast make for a happy bicyclist. The only thing that can make today better is some flat roads.
Epic Journey Day 3: Arrived in Cincinnati last evening and caught up with my brother Mark. Comfy bed and family to hang with, does it get any better? I’m going to stay here another night. I am doing laundry, planning to canoe, and go to the movies to see “Mummy”. Great! Note to self: be sure to not let Mary know I am having fun. Maybe I should whimper a bit and complain about aching muscles? Yeah, that ought to do it. Is a heartfelt, “I miss you” over the top, or just the right touch? Hmmmm. It is so hard being a husband; I have to be on my toes at all times.
Epic Journey Day 4: The first 30 miles were on a section of “Rails to Trails”. Awesome. If only the entire route to Bowling Green were as nice. Today I started the confusing part of the ride, where I have to change highway numbers over and over again to weave my way safely towards home. I surely could tell when I entered Kentucky. The nice shoulders disappeared. Instead narrow, pock-marked, gravel strewn pseudo-shoulders appeared. And within 15 minutes of being back in Kentucky I had my first harassment by a driver. A motorcycle driver. He clearly saw that Streak and I were a real threat to his manhood, poor sap.
Tonight I am in Owenton KY. My hostess is a combination motel owner/operator, waitress, and school bus driver. Must remember to mention that to Mary the next time she complains about how busy she is. Getting a room in Owenton was an adventure. It required a phone call to and from my favorite daughter-in-law, some prayer, and the luck of a guest leaving unexpectedly. Who’d have ever guessed that there would be a rush on rooms in Owenton KY?? But, I’m safe, and clean, and full from a tasty meal at a mom-and-pop cafe, served by (who else?) the owner/operator/driver/waitress. Best of all, I have a stash of food for morning. Chocolate donuts, breakfast of champion bicyclists. Life is good.
Epic Journey Day 5: Today will be my last day of riding. If I’m not at home, I will be too darn close to spend another night in a motel. I’m going to travel some familiar roads today, past Hodgenville, Bardstown, Mumfordville, Horse Cave and Cave City. It’s been fun being an oddity. I’ve met some interesting people who wondered what I was up to “in those tight sissy shorts”.
Epic Journey Epilogue: So, I guess it’s time to reflect upon this journey. I traveled 460 miles in 4 days of riding for an average of 115 miles per day. I despise one pair of my cycling shorts and I swear to never wear them again – of course that is presuming that I don’t die of an infection from chafing all the skin off my thighs on this ride. Cycling is hungry work. M&M’s are good energy food. Gatorade is not a luxury.
The End. (cue music and applause)
For all Hollywood big shots reading this entry, I will be available to work on the screen play. I think Meryl Streep should portray me. It’s eerie how much we resemble each other. Strong, brave, and beautiful wife taking care of the family homestead as her spouse goes off to face new and potentially dangerous challenges. The wind blows through my disheveled long blond hair as I wave a tearful farewell, not knowing if we will ever see each other again. Steve Carrell should play HH. And Streak must appear as himself
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Ft. Bob
Quick…what do you get when you combine a Xerox salesman with three redheads, five more-than-age 50-somethings, two southern belles, a map of South Dakota, a laptop computer and projector, one energized golden retriever, 5,000 motorcycles, a herd of buffalo, a pair of scissors and a cereal box? Well, an incomplete list for one thing….but, more importantly…the 2008 Prusa family reunion.
I imagine with the passing of a week since the reunion ended, Mom and Dad have recovered enough to ask themselves: “Who were those people? And why do they say they are related to us?”
Let me explain. It all began with a Thanksgiving Meatloaf. Okay, so maybe going back to how Mom and Dad met is taking the story back too far (or as HH would say: “Let me back up a bit here…”). But the point remains the same, Mom and Dad: you brought us into this world, you have to claim us.
For my family, it was a National Lampoon worthy event. Five states, 1200 miles, two time zones, a dozen bathroom stops (each way), and our darn dog still wouldn’t just lie down and sleep. As far as I’m concerned, on our next trip she’s driving. All that boundless energy would be put to good use. HH, DD and I would be very happy to snooze our way to Western Nebraska.
Then there was the exciting scenic…sights and well…smells.
DD: “Euwww, what is that?”
GITYM (Gorgeous, intelligent, and way-to-young-to-have-adult-children, mother): With t-shirt pulled over her nose “I think it’s the sewer truck.”
DD: “Dad HAD to pull up next to the smelly sewer truck to pump gas, didn’t he???!!!???”
HH: “What smell?”
Energetic Golden Retriever: Woof (translation: wouldn’t someone really like to walk me over to McDonald’s to get a burger?)
None-the-less, we made it. We arrived at Ft. Robinson State Park, near Crawford Nebraska while still speaking to each other. Another 100 miles and I think one of us may have joined the dog kennel strapped under the bungee cords on the roof of the mini van. That would be the lucky family member – free of the ever present scent of eau d’la dog. But I digress.
Oddly enough, nearly all of the Prusa siblings with spouses, children, and essential supplies and equipment in tow arrived at Ft. Bob at close to the same time. That arrival marked the last time for the week that we all were in sync and headed the same direction at the same time. I think it may have had something to do with the promise of Dad’s BBQ feather bones and Mom’s baked beans. Oh yeahhhhh…you KNOW it’s going to be a good get together when 28 people and a dog start the week out with ample servings of baked beans and shared housing. And no air conditioning.
We always have the traditional Prusa fun of “Butt Darts”, the “Cereal Box Game”, “Fly, Fly, Who Ate the Fly” (ok…we only played that one time in 1999), and “Who Can Remember the Most-Embarrassing-and-Possibly-False-Thing From Childhood?”. This reunion, a new activity was added - a family version of a Corporate Annual Report. Cue the laptop and projector. Each family had the opportunity to give a presentation to the group as to what had transpired over the 2-years since the last reunion. Given that we, for the most part, either talk TO or ABOUT one another on a regular basis, this was a challenge. Creativity was essential. Visual aids were a good thing. Oh, and candy bribes to encourage attendance and participation in the post-presentation Q&A’s were vital. Sleeping during presentations was not allowed, and a physician’s statement was required to actually miss a session. Luckily, most of the adults have #1 attended college, #2 regularly attend Mass, and #3 have to participate in meetings at work. So, we all have ample experience in sleeping while appearing awake and interested. Just kidding Mom, Dad, and God!
My top ten favorite questions asked after presentations:
10. Can we have more “Cornhusker Crumble”?
9. Are we done yet?
8. What’s it like being married to Maggie? (my poor picked-upon baby sister)
7. How and where did you propose to Grandma? (never did get a straight answer on that one…)
6. Did you ask Grandma’s Dad for her hand in marriage?
5. Are we done yet?
4. What is the biggest change you’ve seen in the world?
3. Can I have some more candy?
2. Did you ever leave a polar bear in charge of your house?
And….drum roll…
1. Are we done yet?
Another new activity: Prusa Iron Chef. Need I say that competition was fierce? The family was paired into 6 teams, with three preparing a dish featuring the secret ingredient of buffalo; and three preparing a dish featuring corn. With a plentiful contingent of really, really, excellent cooks, odds were mighty good for a tough job of judging. Thus we called upon the wisest family members present: Dad (aka “Give-Me-Meat-and-Sweets”), Mom (aka “Don’t-Make-Me-Pick”) and Maggie’s mother-in-law Gail (aka “I-Like-It-All, What-Did-My-Baby-Boy-Make?”). Scoring was tight on such memorable selections as “Buff-a-Rogi”, “Jamaican Jerk Buffalo”, and “Cornhusker Crumble” (the previously mentioned sweet entry). We almost had to contact the American Olympic Committee after a couple protests were lodged – one alleging that the Jamaican Jerk actually seasoned (are you ready for this shocker?) BEEF (gasp!). As to the other completely unfounded protest, I want to go on record stating that it was a complete coincidence that my entry, Buffalo Chili, won by a landslide, (a very small landslide – actually a mere dustball). And how the ballots got thrown away so quick had to be a completely inadvertent mistake.
Breakfast at the lodge was a delightful routine. In fact, the lodge staff enjoyed it so much that I overheard them insuring that everyone had a chance to spend time with us: “NO. I took care of THEM yesterday. It’s YOUR turn.”
We had unusually moderate weather, making it easy to take part in all the outdoor activities Ft. Bob and surrounding area had to offer. The trail horses are most likely still looking longingly down Highway 20, searching for the daily family riders. The tennis court was well used, the pool - well splashed, and the sunset hike to the top of the bluff was so good that it had to be done two nights in a row. Prusa family members’ spelunked Wind Cave, summitted Harney Peak, and checked to see what’s on the backside of those presidential images on Mt. Rushmore (Nope, not a presidential full moon. The answer: yet MORE motorcyclists!). A sizeable number “rode the hide” at the Ft. Bob Rodeo (don’t even ask!) We walked and bicycled miles-and-miles, ate Buffalo Stew and sang along to “The Chicken Song”, and some took a culture break to see “Guys and Dolls” at the Post Playhouse. Rumor has it that beautiful Bridget is now engaged to the Buffalo Stew singer.
In between organized (and disorganized) activities, we caught up on life and laughter. And we watched as the cousins played and seemed to grow up before our very eyes. For myself, I had the supreme pleasure of watching my brothers and sisters do their job as outstanding parents – and outstanding people. Where else do you see 3 beautiful women, and a couple cute girls, voluntarily gather for the Sun Salutation and other yoga poses – as the Nebraska sun rose? The brothers-in-law “let” the oldest nephew beat them at golf – twice (that’s their story anyway). And…the energetic dog eventually won over the time and attention of the tenderhearts.
What a lucky, lucky bunch we are. To be able to gather with both parents and nearly all of the siblings and spouses. To truly enjoy each other. And to have family that practices unconditional love. It really did all start with a Thanksgiving Meatloaf. And we still have lots of thanksgiving to do.
In a final wrap-up, I want to let the sibs know that I did wear down Mom and Dad as we drove home across the state. I am inheriting the National Geographic collection, and many other treasures yet to be discovered at the Thrift Store. Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah-nah – I always have been the favorite.
I imagine with the passing of a week since the reunion ended, Mom and Dad have recovered enough to ask themselves: “Who were those people? And why do they say they are related to us?”
Let me explain. It all began with a Thanksgiving Meatloaf. Okay, so maybe going back to how Mom and Dad met is taking the story back too far (or as HH would say: “Let me back up a bit here…”). But the point remains the same, Mom and Dad: you brought us into this world, you have to claim us.
For my family, it was a National Lampoon worthy event. Five states, 1200 miles, two time zones, a dozen bathroom stops (each way), and our darn dog still wouldn’t just lie down and sleep. As far as I’m concerned, on our next trip she’s driving. All that boundless energy would be put to good use. HH, DD and I would be very happy to snooze our way to Western Nebraska.
Then there was the exciting scenic…sights and well…smells.
DD: “Euwww, what is that?”
GITYM (Gorgeous, intelligent, and way-to-young-to-have-adult-children, mother): With t-shirt pulled over her nose “I think it’s the sewer truck.”
DD: “Dad HAD to pull up next to the smelly sewer truck to pump gas, didn’t he???!!!???”
HH: “What smell?”
Energetic Golden Retriever: Woof (translation: wouldn’t someone really like to walk me over to McDonald’s to get a burger?)
None-the-less, we made it. We arrived at Ft. Robinson State Park, near Crawford Nebraska while still speaking to each other. Another 100 miles and I think one of us may have joined the dog kennel strapped under the bungee cords on the roof of the mini van. That would be the lucky family member – free of the ever present scent of eau d’la dog. But I digress.
Oddly enough, nearly all of the Prusa siblings with spouses, children, and essential supplies and equipment in tow arrived at Ft. Bob at close to the same time. That arrival marked the last time for the week that we all were in sync and headed the same direction at the same time. I think it may have had something to do with the promise of Dad’s BBQ feather bones and Mom’s baked beans. Oh yeahhhhh…you KNOW it’s going to be a good get together when 28 people and a dog start the week out with ample servings of baked beans and shared housing. And no air conditioning.
We always have the traditional Prusa fun of “Butt Darts”, the “Cereal Box Game”, “Fly, Fly, Who Ate the Fly” (ok…we only played that one time in 1999), and “Who Can Remember the Most-Embarrassing-and-Possibly-False-Thing From Childhood?”. This reunion, a new activity was added - a family version of a Corporate Annual Report. Cue the laptop and projector. Each family had the opportunity to give a presentation to the group as to what had transpired over the 2-years since the last reunion. Given that we, for the most part, either talk TO or ABOUT one another on a regular basis, this was a challenge. Creativity was essential. Visual aids were a good thing. Oh, and candy bribes to encourage attendance and participation in the post-presentation Q&A’s were vital. Sleeping during presentations was not allowed, and a physician’s statement was required to actually miss a session. Luckily, most of the adults have #1 attended college, #2 regularly attend Mass, and #3 have to participate in meetings at work. So, we all have ample experience in sleeping while appearing awake and interested. Just kidding Mom, Dad, and God!
My top ten favorite questions asked after presentations:
10. Can we have more “Cornhusker Crumble”?
9. Are we done yet?
8. What’s it like being married to Maggie? (my poor picked-upon baby sister)
7. How and where did you propose to Grandma? (never did get a straight answer on that one…)
6. Did you ask Grandma’s Dad for her hand in marriage?
5. Are we done yet?
4. What is the biggest change you’ve seen in the world?
3. Can I have some more candy?
2. Did you ever leave a polar bear in charge of your house?
And….drum roll…
1. Are we done yet?
Another new activity: Prusa Iron Chef. Need I say that competition was fierce? The family was paired into 6 teams, with three preparing a dish featuring the secret ingredient of buffalo; and three preparing a dish featuring corn. With a plentiful contingent of really, really, excellent cooks, odds were mighty good for a tough job of judging. Thus we called upon the wisest family members present: Dad (aka “Give-Me-Meat-and-Sweets”), Mom (aka “Don’t-Make-Me-Pick”) and Maggie’s mother-in-law Gail (aka “I-Like-It-All, What-Did-My-Baby-Boy-Make?”). Scoring was tight on such memorable selections as “Buff-a-Rogi”, “Jamaican Jerk Buffalo”, and “Cornhusker Crumble” (the previously mentioned sweet entry). We almost had to contact the American Olympic Committee after a couple protests were lodged – one alleging that the Jamaican Jerk actually seasoned (are you ready for this shocker?) BEEF (gasp!). As to the other completely unfounded protest, I want to go on record stating that it was a complete coincidence that my entry, Buffalo Chili, won by a landslide, (a very small landslide – actually a mere dustball). And how the ballots got thrown away so quick had to be a completely inadvertent mistake.
Breakfast at the lodge was a delightful routine. In fact, the lodge staff enjoyed it so much that I overheard them insuring that everyone had a chance to spend time with us: “NO. I took care of THEM yesterday. It’s YOUR turn.”
We had unusually moderate weather, making it easy to take part in all the outdoor activities Ft. Bob and surrounding area had to offer. The trail horses are most likely still looking longingly down Highway 20, searching for the daily family riders. The tennis court was well used, the pool - well splashed, and the sunset hike to the top of the bluff was so good that it had to be done two nights in a row. Prusa family members’ spelunked Wind Cave, summitted Harney Peak, and checked to see what’s on the backside of those presidential images on Mt. Rushmore (Nope, not a presidential full moon. The answer: yet MORE motorcyclists!). A sizeable number “rode the hide” at the Ft. Bob Rodeo (don’t even ask!) We walked and bicycled miles-and-miles, ate Buffalo Stew and sang along to “The Chicken Song”, and some took a culture break to see “Guys and Dolls” at the Post Playhouse. Rumor has it that beautiful Bridget is now engaged to the Buffalo Stew singer.
In between organized (and disorganized) activities, we caught up on life and laughter. And we watched as the cousins played and seemed to grow up before our very eyes. For myself, I had the supreme pleasure of watching my brothers and sisters do their job as outstanding parents – and outstanding people. Where else do you see 3 beautiful women, and a couple cute girls, voluntarily gather for the Sun Salutation and other yoga poses – as the Nebraska sun rose? The brothers-in-law “let” the oldest nephew beat them at golf – twice (that’s their story anyway). And…the energetic dog eventually won over the time and attention of the tenderhearts.
What a lucky, lucky bunch we are. To be able to gather with both parents and nearly all of the siblings and spouses. To truly enjoy each other. And to have family that practices unconditional love. It really did all start with a Thanksgiving Meatloaf. And we still have lots of thanksgiving to do.
In a final wrap-up, I want to let the sibs know that I did wear down Mom and Dad as we drove home across the state. I am inheriting the National Geographic collection, and many other treasures yet to be discovered at the Thrift Store. Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah-nah – I always have been the favorite.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Unexpected Potholes
The one thing that a bicyclist knows is to expect the unexpected. That straight road seemingly stretching as far as the horizon is quite likely to contain potholes, gravel, 1000 ft. of rise (three times), some smelly roadkill, and an unforeseen detour due to a bridge out. That’s not to say that one shouldn’t enjoy the here and now – in fact, that’s exactly the point.
We only have today. Whatever piece of road that you are calling home this very minute is all you have. So reach out and hug the person who is occupying that space in time with you. You never know what is around the next bend in the road. Trust me, it’s worth putting the brakes on, unclipping those pedals, and even clunking your helmets together as you embrace. If you happen to be standing next to a stranger – well, scare the heck out of them by giving them a big smile and telling them to have a wonderful day. Put a dollar into the bell-ringer’s Salvation Army bucket.
Before you write me off as falling into the pit of mushy, melancholy, melodramatics, let me tell you about a friend.
I think perhaps the phrase “What a woman” was invented with her in mind. No, she’s not on Capitol Hill, nor the Supreme Court. She’s not in Darfur, picketing the U.N., or meeting with Bono or Al Gore. She might stand right next to you, and you wouldn’t know that you were in the presence of greatness. Like most of the truly heroic, she wears her strength, her valor, her greatness, on the inside, not garishly displayed.
She’s living in New Jersey, loving and raising two adopted children, teaching hundreds (if not thousands) of people about living with diabetes, and teaching me all about courage. She’s received her master’s degree and moved cross country, twice, while managing peritoneal dialysis. What a woman. She’s survived the rejection of one kidney, and the successful transplantation of the second. And in-between all that, she got married, and (among other things) came to family weddings and reunions. She always borrows one of our bikes at those family reunions, and puts me to shame with her pleasure in vigorous exercise. She listened to rowdy one-upsmanship among “the boys” (now ages 50 to 40), didn’t buy any of their stories, and cooked like a vegetarian combination of Martha Stewart and Mario Batalli. She’s loved her in-laws as if she’d been born to them, and, (with her husband), taught their children all about extended family even with 1000 miles of separation. What a woman.
She’s enjoyed the fruits of a successful pancreas transplant, taking her fair share of the cookies and chocolate and giving up her unfair share of the glucose checks and insulin pump. And she quietly and calmly kept on with all of her life: mother, sister, wife, friend, daughter, medical social worker, and good neighbor as the labwork demonstrated that her pancreas now is travelling a slow, but steady path toward rejection. When I saw her in October, she was rail thin. Oh, she’s always been thin – but, she’s one of the few I forgive for that! No, this was a different thin, the effect of medication being taken to help regulate her blood sugar. She gave no hint that her energy, her joy, was any different. Her eyes sparkled, she visited with all the family, she tended to her kids as usual. And she hid any public sign that anything more was amiss. What a woman – that moment in life was not “about her” and that’s how she lived it. In bicycle parlance, she let someone else lead and she fell into the pack, drafting, keeping pace, head down, riding the ride.
Truth is, she was and is very, very ill. Surgery was done 10 days ago, intended to correct the problem that has resulted in more than a month of severe pain and even more weight loss.
What a woman. If it were me, I’d have been at the doctor after the first bout of pain exceeding a 2.5 on a scale of 1 to 10. Whining. I wouldn’t have the character to do what she did – get up every morning and go to work.
The surgery hasn’t worked. In fact, what the problem is isn’t really clear right now. And with all respect to world peace, global warming, and other pressing problems; when someone you love is in pain and caught in the unknown – that’s an earthshaking, priority-resetting, humbling kind of experience. I imagined life with Fansie, my sister-in-law, as one of those straight roads. We’d have lots of time when life was less busy. To talk. To take walks at those family reunions. For me to say “I admire you” and “I love you.”
And we just may have that time. But, the road ahead is not clear, and not straight. And I’ve already outlined the troubles that can happen on a nice straight stretch of road. On this crooked path? I’m afraid of what I can’t see. And I wish I hadn’t taken the times of clear road for granted. Unexpected potholes are just that – unexpected. Look around you – who and what do you take for granted? Don’t.
Oh yes, and please pray for Fansie.
We only have today. Whatever piece of road that you are calling home this very minute is all you have. So reach out and hug the person who is occupying that space in time with you. You never know what is around the next bend in the road. Trust me, it’s worth putting the brakes on, unclipping those pedals, and even clunking your helmets together as you embrace. If you happen to be standing next to a stranger – well, scare the heck out of them by giving them a big smile and telling them to have a wonderful day. Put a dollar into the bell-ringer’s Salvation Army bucket.
Before you write me off as falling into the pit of mushy, melancholy, melodramatics, let me tell you about a friend.
I think perhaps the phrase “What a woman” was invented with her in mind. No, she’s not on Capitol Hill, nor the Supreme Court. She’s not in Darfur, picketing the U.N., or meeting with Bono or Al Gore. She might stand right next to you, and you wouldn’t know that you were in the presence of greatness. Like most of the truly heroic, she wears her strength, her valor, her greatness, on the inside, not garishly displayed.
She’s living in New Jersey, loving and raising two adopted children, teaching hundreds (if not thousands) of people about living with diabetes, and teaching me all about courage. She’s received her master’s degree and moved cross country, twice, while managing peritoneal dialysis. What a woman. She’s survived the rejection of one kidney, and the successful transplantation of the second. And in-between all that, she got married, and (among other things) came to family weddings and reunions. She always borrows one of our bikes at those family reunions, and puts me to shame with her pleasure in vigorous exercise. She listened to rowdy one-upsmanship among “the boys” (now ages 50 to 40), didn’t buy any of their stories, and cooked like a vegetarian combination of Martha Stewart and Mario Batalli. She’s loved her in-laws as if she’d been born to them, and, (with her husband), taught their children all about extended family even with 1000 miles of separation. What a woman.
She’s enjoyed the fruits of a successful pancreas transplant, taking her fair share of the cookies and chocolate and giving up her unfair share of the glucose checks and insulin pump. And she quietly and calmly kept on with all of her life: mother, sister, wife, friend, daughter, medical social worker, and good neighbor as the labwork demonstrated that her pancreas now is travelling a slow, but steady path toward rejection. When I saw her in October, she was rail thin. Oh, she’s always been thin – but, she’s one of the few I forgive for that! No, this was a different thin, the effect of medication being taken to help regulate her blood sugar. She gave no hint that her energy, her joy, was any different. Her eyes sparkled, she visited with all the family, she tended to her kids as usual. And she hid any public sign that anything more was amiss. What a woman – that moment in life was not “about her” and that’s how she lived it. In bicycle parlance, she let someone else lead and she fell into the pack, drafting, keeping pace, head down, riding the ride.
Truth is, she was and is very, very ill. Surgery was done 10 days ago, intended to correct the problem that has resulted in more than a month of severe pain and even more weight loss.
What a woman. If it were me, I’d have been at the doctor after the first bout of pain exceeding a 2.5 on a scale of 1 to 10. Whining. I wouldn’t have the character to do what she did – get up every morning and go to work.
The surgery hasn’t worked. In fact, what the problem is isn’t really clear right now. And with all respect to world peace, global warming, and other pressing problems; when someone you love is in pain and caught in the unknown – that’s an earthshaking, priority-resetting, humbling kind of experience. I imagined life with Fansie, my sister-in-law, as one of those straight roads. We’d have lots of time when life was less busy. To talk. To take walks at those family reunions. For me to say “I admire you” and “I love you.”
And we just may have that time. But, the road ahead is not clear, and not straight. And I’ve already outlined the troubles that can happen on a nice straight stretch of road. On this crooked path? I’m afraid of what I can’t see. And I wish I hadn’t taken the times of clear road for granted. Unexpected potholes are just that – unexpected. Look around you – who and what do you take for granted? Don’t.
Oh yes, and please pray for Fansie.
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