Response to Jack, July 8, 2010

Dear Jack,

I finished my damned taxes two days ago, and the government has accepted them, and in 8 to 14 days I shall receive a refund. I’m especially pleased to report that this year I’m not required to pay estimated taxes.  It was a long miserable whiny sort of haul for me getting them done, but I’ve achieved it.  Somehow they are the reason I haven’t written recently. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’ve been doing with my time. Art and writing and blogging and walking dogs and reading – the grunt work of a writer.

I’ve been worrying enormously about your hand.  Write at once and tell me that they gave you antibiotics and it is completely healed and no further difficulties are expected.  I have a long list of things I’m never supposed to do with or to my left arm again, and another list of things I absolutely should do with and to my left arm perpetually; and while I’m aware of the lists and even know where they are I seem not to have read them.  Not lifting things with my left hand:  that one I remember.  Wearing rubber gloves to do dishes.  Absolutely no sun burning.  I could go on but my glance at the list was co-existent with heavy drugs, so only those alarming few stuck. The danger is lymphedema because of removal of three lymph nodes, which I suppose unlikely in the case of your hand injury; but you know how people dying and you yourself being unwell can put you on edge.  (In this case, I mean “you” in the sense of “me.”)

Regarding the steri-strips used on your hand.  Steri-strips were used on my own personal left breast, and I consider them an enormous stride forward in the world of health care. Not only does it mean no stitches, but also it means no stitches to be dug out by the surgeon weeks later. And I have the most lovely scar: truly beautiful.

Well, actually, I have three scars: one for the tumor removal, one for the sentinel lymph node removal, and one for the tube through which the radioactive isotope entered my body to stage its attack upon any invaders that may have been hiding out. (Oh.  I’ve just realized that addressing cancer is much like hunting the Taliban in Afghanistan.) The scar for the tumor is the beautiful one.

Also, we’ve come a long way in steri-strip technology.  Grandson Joe cut his palm wide open with a knife the night before Tara and Barry married; so instead of a rehearsal there was a trip to the emergency room. The steri-strips they used on him were gone by the time he’d been home an hour.  Not that he seemed to notice.

Grandchildren are all to be together on the island on July 17, except Bradley who’s in the Navy and stationed in Hawaii; so I’ll take a photo of them and pass along to you because you still suppose that they are small children when in fact they are quite grown up.

Mother is doing well in the care center.  Douglas takes the cat to visit her, which delights her no end.  Charlie takes candy when he goes to visit, which also pleases her, as it would anybody. Shirley takes the grandchildren.  On last report, Mother had Brody in her lap (he’s still lap-baby size) and Ryleigh, who just turned four, was sitting beside her.  Mother beamed at the presence of Brody while saying to Ryleigh, “Stop twitching. And pull your skirt down. Behave yourself,” which is to say she has staked out a territory in these children and speaks to Ryleigh identically to the way she spoke to Amy and me and to my daughters.

I’m opposed in principle to letters that aren’t hand-written, but I’m making an exception this one time because of your recent reference to preferring this sort when you yourself are writing.  I’ve been thinking it over since I began, and the problem with them is that they’re too easy to read and therefore end too quickly. A letter in my handwriting is an expedition, a guessing game, an exercise in, if not futility, than perhapsibility (as in “perhaps that word is leprechaun; or maybe it’s Connecticut”), which allows the reader to practice skills of contextual reading first encountered in grade school.  Without practice how can one expect to improve?

You seem to be ignoring the information that we now have a Chihuahua in our midst.  Might you think it’s disrespectful to Kokomo, the world’s dearest dog, because why would one need a second dog when the first one is him?  And while that is true, Laramie is a good addition to the household. She has a bit of the mystic. Many times when I’m walking her (and Chihuahuas need walked about forty times more often than regular dogs), she’ll stop      and stand            and look        and listen        and stand        and   be     present     to    everything. Now it may simply be that she thinks the leaves rustling are chipmunks in the trees, and yet I’ve never known a dog with the capacity for total stillness she possesses.

Speaking of chipmunks, Koko and I were walking the other evening, and he realized before I did that a chipmunk was in the drain tube connected to the elbow connected to the downspout connected to the gutters on a building.  He grabbed the plastic tube and ripped it off the elbow and slung it sideways while holding it in his teeth.  I took it from him, and he rushed forward to grab the elbow, which was metal, and instead of grabbing it he stuck his nose into it, and when I pulled him backwards, the elbow came with him.  He lunged forward ten steps and crashed into the brick side of the building.  I grabbed the elbow, and he grabbed at the downspout, and the chipmunk scampered off, and I got him away and started trying to replace the elbow, which wasn’t fitting, when I heard a voice ask, “Could you use a little help?”  While it’s probable that I could have completed all of the tasks at hand while continuing to control a 75-pound dog and not use my left hand or arm, I conceded the field and said, “Oh, yes, thank you so much” to the fellow who was grilling out the next grass patch over.

I must not get on with the paying of bills and whatever else people do when they aren’t working on their taxes.  Oh, I remember now:  working on the medical paperwork.  Last week I took all of the EOBs from my insurance company out of their envelopes; and also put every piece of medical-related paper into the file I created when all of this began. This week I plan to take all of the pieces of paper out of the envelopes from Michael’s insurance company and put them in order by date. Jennifer said to throw away the bills from the hospitals, because they will send new ones for anything that insurance doesn’t cover.  What do you think of that option?

And now I’m off.  And next week I’m making the trip to Ohio.  I still have periods of weakness, but I think I’m strong enough for the drive.  At four o’clock your time on Saturday, July 17, (or as close to that time and day as circumstances allow) please raise a cup in honor of my father.  February is the wrong month for ritual on the island, but with him being the second oldest person (Mother being the oldest) on the island, people wanted some way to acknowledge his passing.  After the February memorial service, Charlie and I decided to choose a day and invite folks, where ever they are, to raise a toast. Charlie’s referring to it as A Farewell Toast to Doug Cartledge as we honor his last wishes. I refer to it as the International Toast in Memory of Doug Cartledge. His ashes are going to be scattered over the lake by plane that day, as he requested. And we’re going to be at Charlie’s cottage and anybody on the island who wants to drop by is welcome to do so.

And now I’m off to a free book-making class – another of the fringe benefits of breast cancer.