The confluence of events continues: It is the countdown to a big surgery. I am not going to announce the date but it is coming up and my head just keeps spinning. In fact, I even had two lousy days of bed-ridden vertigo; it’s been a long time since I was on that ride and I was glad to get off. But stress, ahhh, good old stress will get you any which way it can.

So let’s catch-up. My appointments are in order, I’ve had pre-surgery testing by the hospital. I’ve booked an agency for a 24/7 aide for two weeks—that will be an adventure, I have rented a special reclining/lift chair for the occasion, I have created an angel network to keep my family of friends apprised of the doin’s. I’ve made pages of lists and more lists, many have unanswered questions: What do I bring with me or not, or have others bring. How long will I be hither and yon?

This will be my first big adventure since Robert’s leaving. In short, I am flying solo.

Meanwhile,

In a recent phone conference with the nursing home social worker I have heard that “Robert looks better.” Mr. G. walked past his room and did a double take: He said he thought there was a different patient in the bed.  My ears did a double take. “He seems more self-aware.” “He perked up.” “He was attempting to feed himself. “We might try seeing if he can tolerate leaving the bed.” (He hasn’t been out for a year or more, and is unable to do this without a Hoyer mechanical lift. He does not have  lower body muscle.)

I suppose that we hear what we want to hear, that we perceive what we want to perceive. That we selectively process information to our benefit. I was, however, hearing that things seemed to be a bit better. But what exactly is the point of transition? What is better? Back to the theory of relativity: is it that, we, the observer, are having a good day, or is it the patient who is having a good day? The interpretation of reality would benefit if both the viewer and the viewee were on the same plane. Were they?

Meanwhile,

Evan went to visit Robert with his bride. They brought an iPad filled with wedding photos. I had shown Robert a bunch via my Facetime method of phone-facing-computer. Though I really don’t know how much Robert knows or remembers I can say he is better able to integrate the information and to respond.

“Great shot!” “Good job!” “Excellent photographer!” These are responses related to me via the grapevine effect.

Evan  related  a memory of maestro Gustavo Dudamel. (←bio) Dudamel (←60 Minutes, 2008) who is a musical hero; he rose up the ranks of El Sistema in Venezuela where children are chosen, are given instruments and learn to play classical music: it gets them off the streets. Dudamel had risen to the conductorship of The Los Angeles Philharmonic.  He has since recently left,  to come to New York City, to lead The New York Philharmonic. Evan and Robert saw him in concert years ago. As the story goes, someone sitting behind them had a ringing cell phone during the concert. Robert and Evan were livid, Evan was ready to jump over the seat and pummel the guy: you don’t mess with a Dudamel concert.

Remember that, Dad?

Robert, however, after hearing the story, did not remember the event.

The visit was pleasant enough and Evan, who does not discuss his fear or anxiety about his father, seemed relieved. Maybe, because his father was a little more like himself.

I often wonder what causes some events to be etched into the archives of the brain and others not. It is said that trauma, some strong event gets associated with memory.  The association triggers the replay of the emotional state of a long remembered moment in time. Memory.

My previous mastectomy, was close to nineteen years ago, and has embedded itself into a mind-movie and morphed into heart-palpitating fear. The resulting anxiety is thus triggered.

All the thinking and rationalizing doesn’t change things.

It’s a world of platitudes:  “you’ll be fine.” Well, yes you know that you will eventually, but that is on the other side of the mountain: you are still climbing and can, now, just about see the apex. Then it is a long way back down.

 

The associations and memories are forever tangled and knotted and wound together. All the picking at them and trying to un-loop them seems to knot them even tighter.

So we hear what we want, recall what we can and hope we hear a story along the way about someone’s mastectomy/reconstruction experience that wasn’t that bad, wasn’t that unbearable. Or that someone, like Robert miraculously no longer had dementia. A pipe dream. Perhaps a lot of what we hear is what we wish for.

It’s all about association, that neurological grapevine.

 

 

 

This post is part of my series, Blogging for Breast Cancer. The index link is here.

The previous post is here

The next post is coming

It is also has crossed paths with another series:

📌That series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

The previous post is here

The next post is here