A couple of days ago, I made the trek uptown to see the new tumor doctor for the read on my MRI.
The hospital, Mount Sinai, feels like a haul every time I go there. It isn’t close to the subway and that part of Manhattan is hilly. Choose the wrong street and suddenly you’re walking uphill way more than your chosen shoes will tolerate.
I’m usually nervous as I approach the hospital. Each time, I have wondered to myself if this might be the time I’m told “the tumor grew and you need to have it removed.”
There have been times when I have cried in nervous anticipation on my way to the appointment, and others when I have cried upon leaving, feeling relief.
This time, I walked from the subway thinking “Please, universe, no more bad news. I can’t take even one more thing.”
After my terrible summer, I have been hoping for an easier fall. So far, that hasn’t happened.
On Saturday after a workout, I went to visit my favorite kittens. PS9 was hopping. A nice couple was in the process of adopting this little furball.
I was holding my favorite kitten. Officially she is nameless, but I call her Kerry Washington because she’s black, beautiful and made me work for her affection. I have not met actress Kerry Washington, but I’m guessing her affection needs to be earned too. I dream of keeping Kerry – the kitten, not the actress. Continue reading →
I am lying on my back in a metal tube. Not flat on my back but slightly tilted toward my right side. My left arm is raised up with my hand wrapped around my head.
It occurs to me that I might look like Elizabeth Wurtzel on her book cover although older, not as skinny and without the dead eyes (maybe).
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I don’t have dead eyes, at least not now, because my eyes are closed. Keeping one’s eyes closed is Rule #1 of not freaking out during an MRI. Rule #2 for most people is taking Xanax, but I am disciplined – for once in my life – about not opening my eyes so I don’t need Rule #2. Continue reading →
I know because I tried. But as I stood in front of the beautiful cherry tree my father used to climb to hunt deer and otherwise be among nature, I couldn’t find it in my heart to hold a grudge.
Instead I stood there with my mother, aunt, uncle, and four close family friends, imagining that Dad was there with us. I breathed fresh country air and visualized the pre-dawn mornings Dad had spent in a tree stand on our friend Ivan’s property, waiting for a mature buck to appear.
Although Dad died from complications Pulmonary Hypertension, a hunting accident he suffered back in 2007 exacerbated his health problems for the next eight years.