6 July

Bedlam Farm Heart Photos. A Creative Connection, A Gift, A Letting Go

by Jon Katz
Creative Connection Photo
Bedlam Farm Heart Photos

Introducing the Bedlam Farm Heart Photos. So I have this photo issue, a creative challenge. Due to my bypass surgery, I cannot hold any camera that weights more than 5 lbs for three months and it isn’t a phobic caution, it’s about protecting my chest and keeping it together. I will honor it, it is neither brave nor daring to take such a risk. I have a small Canon G1X I gave to Maria, it isn’t a great camera for me, and I’m not going to buy a new camera now or anytime in the future. I put my big Canon away, gave it kiss and told it to rest up, I will pull it out around the time of the next Bedlam Farm Open House Columbus Day Weekend. My back-up used Canon is also too big, so are my lenses.

I will use the G1X when I can, but Maria and I tried something new this afternoon, something wonderful in it’s own right. Taking our afternoon walk – I overdid it this morning, I have been tired all day but I am learning what my body wants to do – Maria brought my back-up Canon in a camera bag, when I saw a photo I liked, she took it out and we conceived the photograph together and she hit the shutter. I looked at it and made a suggestion or two, then she took another shot, added her own idea and interpretation.

It is wonderful to undertake this creative collaboration together, especially during this period. I am calling these photos Bedlam Farm Heart Photos – ours is a creative connection, these are very literally photos of the heart. I welcome other ideas for a name to call them. I love this first one, it combines my passion with afternoon light with Maria’s sense of artistry, and the barn in the background takes on it’s own life. It will be wonderful to see where this goes, how it develops, a wonderful collaboration between a photographer and an artist, both of whom love working with one another but have a fierce sense of pride and independence about their work.

I confess it was hard at me to let go of the finger on the shutter, that precise moment of capture, that is quite a letting go of the ego, but I trust Maria and as she grows more comfortable, she will add her own sense of imagery and incorporate mine. I hope these will make notecards or photos to sell at our next Open House, I would be excited to sell them. Stay tuned. There is a creative solution to anything, I think , I will come out of this better. I love and respect Maria as an artist so much, this is a gift for me.

6 July

ICU Nurses: The Final Lap: Journal Of Recovery, Vol. 5

by Jon Katz
ICU Nurses
Saying goodbye to the ICU Nurses

I needed – and wanted – to respect the privacy of other patients, so I took very few photographs in the Intensive Care Unit of the Albany Medical Center. This is the only one, actually. Elizabeth Borne was one of the ICU nurses, a very special and elite breed of health care professional. She took care of me the last day or so that I was in the ICU, from which I was sent home.  Each nurse had only two patients to care for after surgery, the care was quite extraordinary. From the moment I woke up from surgery to the moment I left, these men and women shaped my healing, recovery, understanding of my heart and attitude about what had been done to me.

This was my farewell “lap” or walk around the ICU. I broke a number of records for laps right after surgery, it is my first athletic honor and one of my proudest achievements. It is never too late to be a better human being.

They were unfailingly attentive, good-humored, encouraged.  They came from different countries and different places, they shared a visibly passionate commitment to their work. They made me believe I was an athletic superstar when I had never done an athletic thing in my entire life, one of the many reasons I was there in the first place. From the first moment, they walked with me, they called each walk a “lap,” and as I pushed my walker around and around the ICU I saw a chorus of smiling faces cheering me on, praising me, telling me how amazing and brave and committed I was. I heard this so often I believed it, and walked all the more. They were always ready to walk with me, I was always ready to walk with them.

Sometimes they cared for people like me sometimes for prisoners in leg irons with guards and guns, sometimes they took care of angry people with bi-polar disorders and delusions, I never saw anyone lose their temper, be impatient, stop trying to heal every minute. They loaded me up with packs of gauze and lotions, talked me sternly about resting and being cautious, praised me constantly for my attitude, walked with me at any hour of the day or night. Their paperwork load was staggering, they helped me manage my pain and sleep and understand the sometimes horrific things that were happening to me.

Maria and I loved talking to these extraordinarily bright and interesting young men and women – it is intensely physical work, not too many older people can do it. Theirs is a life of intensity and purpose, they see human beings at their absolutely worst and most vulnerable and help bring them back to life, again and again, and again. I couldn’t count how many times nurses like Elizabeth and so many others were on me in a flash when I was choking, bleeding, struggling, sweating. They gave me water, propped up my pillows, gave me pain medication. Every time I looked up, one of the nurses was walking along with yet another battered human being, exhausted, confused and fresh out of surgery.

As they passed my room day by day, they looked better, more alive, healthier, almost every time they passed. That is the work, I guess.

But mostly I will remember them for the laps. They were all fun to talk to, open and bright and interesting, they made the walks – very painful things at first – fun.  We yakked with patients, doctors, other nurses, traded jokes and stories, kept count of my walks, which quickly became legend. As I took my final lap, the nurses waved to me, patted me on the back, hugged me. I doubt I will ever see them again, a loss to me.

Maria connected with a number of these nurses,  especially Elizabeth, I would be surprised if they didn’t stay in touch. Two peas in a pod, artists with heart. Elizabeth gave up a snazzy job with an art museum in Manhattan to be a nurse and do this very intense and extraordinary work, I doubt I could do it, but I know I would find it full of purpose and meaning. I am happy to have captured my last lap in the Albany Medical Center ICU, the only photo I took there.

6 July

The New York Carriage Drivers: “The Irresistible Nature Of Truth.”

by Jon Katz
The Rights Of Man
The Rights Of Man

Whatever is my right as a man is also the right of another; and it becomes my duty to guarantee as well as to possess.” – Thomas Paine, The Rights Of Man.

On this Independence Day weekend, I devote myself and my humble words to the New York City Carriage Drivers, whose persecution continues and whose rights continue to be trampled under the false rubric of mercy and compassion. Thomas Paine, the wordsmith of our Revolution – words and truth matter, he preached – said that all that is necessary for the rights of people to be lost is a lazy and ignorant citizenry. “When men yield up the privilege of thinking, the last shadow of liberty leaves the horizon.”

We are a lazy and distracted people, we get our sense of truth and reality from angry pundits, blogs, Facebook and Twitter messages. We are losing our ability to seek out the truth for ourselves and make up our own minds. That is at the heart of the  story of the New York Carriage Drivers. They are not perfect or heroic people, but ordinary people, in so many ways the rightful heirs to the people who created a nation based on the idea of the rights of man, especially the right to live in freedom and dignity. They are people like most of us, close to the immigrant experience.

They and their parents and grandparents came to our world in search of freedom, of the most basic rights to happiness, opportunity and freedom, they all came from the shadows of one kind of oppression or another.

Could any of them have imagined for a moment that riding a horse drawn carriage in a city would become a dehumanizing and almost criminalized experience? Or that a movement that says it wishes to protect animals seeks to take them from us?

Like so many before them for so many generations, the carriage drivers sought work with animals, some of the oldest and most noble work in the world. In many cases, their families had been working with horses for centuries. Under almost relentless assault, they have had to choose between surrender and endurance, and they have chosen the latter, becoming inspirational.

Like Paine, we need to love the man and woman that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength through distress and grow brave by reflection and persecution. That would be the carriage drivers. The big surprise for me upon entering this story in such a belated way this January was the very powerful realization that the movement to ban the carriage horses has little to do with the horses. By almost all credible accounts, the horses are not in trouble or in need of rescue. The crusade against the horses has to do with power and irrationality, politics and money. Although many in New York have been slow to see it, it also has to do with the the rights of the New York Carriage Drivers, who have been abused and persecuted for some years now and whose liberty and rights are in great peril.

What is happening to them could happen to any one of us who owns and loves an animal – a dog, a horse, a pony, a cat. At stake is the future of animals in our world, and the survival of the great horses, who have walked and worked with us since the beginning of time. Will we be left only with the pets we are told we deserve to have? Will all of the domesticated animals left on the earth be confined to rescue ghettos where they will be sent to slaughter or never again be seen by children or the vast majority of people who live in urban areas?

One of the miracles of this story is the scores, perhaps hundreds of people who have decided to seek out the truth for themselves over these months. It is a shocking thing that every single one of them – neighbors, veterinarians, horse and animal lovers, cab drivers, writers and journalists, actors and waiters – have seen the same thing, reached the same conclusion.

I think often of one horse stable neighbor – Cathy Stewart – who hears the clip-clops of the horses every day and understands the horse’s magic. See how she assumed the most noble duty of the citizen and sought out the truth for herself. She did not accept anyone else’s truth, mine or the angry protestors who shout insults at the tourists and carriage horse drivers every week in the park.  I was lucky to meet Cathy last month, she is an admirable human being, a true and gentle friend of the rights of people. She is a credible witness, an honest citizen.

The horses are not abused, they are not in danger, they are not suffering, they are not in need of rescue. It is the drivers who suffer the great abuse, who have been cruelly handled. You can find this truth for yourself, and if  you believe in the rights of man and woman and live near New York City,  you will. So many have answered the call.

The stables are open to anyone at anytime, there is nothing hidden, nothing to hide. Try walking into an animal rights group office to see what is happening there, they will not speak to you, give you their names, show you their documents, explain their beliefs, open their doors, answer their phones. They seem to live in a cloud of paranoia and wild accusation, they feed off a gullible media and emotional imagery online.

They are a secret society, they seem to have little regard for truth, rationality, fact or reason. They are, in addition, cruel to human beings, they have squandered the right to speak for animals or their rights.

Another attack on the drivers this weekend, Independence Day, this one also a lie and distortion sent out into the ether without honor, truth or shame.

It seems another weak and desperate thing, another manufactured narrative,  so easily debunked, so lame. It probably raised a lot of money online. Is this the best they can offer to justify taking away the freedom and property of 300 people and endangering the lives of more than 200 horses? As Paine pointed out, all arrogant rulers and ideologues need is ignorance, they feed on it, and a lazy and manipulable citizenry is happy to embrace it.

Are the people who claim to be supporters of animal rights this desperate, is their cause this pathetic and hopeless? I happen to know this driver, this victim very well, she is Christina Hansen, a life-long horse lover, she has given up her life as a cushy academic to ride the streets of New York in a horse carriage, to spend her life with the horses. My wish for every horse in the world is to be her horse.

Is this the great cause, then, sneaking around taking videos of people doing their work, then lying about what they mean? We need a wiser and more mystical understanding of animals than this.

On this weekend. I think again of Paine, who warned us of the men who make their living and find their purpose in conflict, war and injury, who “make it their duty to sow discord and cultivate prejudices.” Such people, he says, are not friends of freedom, but are “unpardonable.” I have been following Thomas Paine my whole adult life, he is a great inspiration for my work, his spirit stands with the carriage drivers, he understood what the loss of their rights and liberty and way of life would truly mean.

The New York Carriage Drivers have broken no laws, violated none of the 444 pages of regulations that govern their work, drawn the ire of a single one of the five government agencies who watch over their horses, committed no crimes. Yet none of them can say their way of life is safe and secure from the very government that is supposed to protect both, none can say they know how they will pay their bills and educate their children next year.

“When it can be said by any country in the world, my poor are happy, neither ignorance nor distress is to be found among them, my jails are empty of prisoners, my streets of beggars, the aged are not in want, the taxes are not oppressive, the rational world is my friend because I am the friend of happiness,” wrote Paine. “When these things can be said, then may that country boast its constitution and government. Independence is my happiness, the world is my country and my religion is to do good.”

The debate over the carriage horses is not a rational world, it does not support independence, it erodes it, it does not address the grave problems of people, it distracts us from their real needs. There are many animals in our world in need of assistance, the horses in New York are among the most fortunate and contented in all of the world.

The New York Carriage Drivers deserve the rights of man, they are our brothers and sisters.  I think of them on this holiday weekend, I wish them continued strength and courage. They deserve to live in security, free to pursue their way of life. People who own and love animals deserve the right to have them, care for them, free of harassment and insult, fear and hate. No law abiding person deserves to be hounded and harassed, insulted, to have their privacy  violated, their reputations and livelihood besmirched without rules, due process or reason.

Reasonable people can disagree about the future of animals in New York, but when we give ideologues the right to take away the rights of human beings, we are giving away some more precious than any horse in any stable.

The carriage horse agony transcends the suffocating politics of the left or right. There is nothing progressive about the persecution of the carriage drivers, there is nothing exclusively conservative about loving liberty.

The horses call to us to move beyond argument and hate, to show compassion to animals and human beings, to accord both their rights and well-being. They call each of us to make our own decisions, come and see for ourselves. Ignorance is our common enemy as well as theirs. To the carriage drivers, I pass along the very good news that you are not alone, there are many people awakening to your plight, committed to justice for you and your families and your cause. Freedom is always worth fighting for.

“But such is the irresistible nature of truth,” wrote Paine,” that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing.”

Friends, I am happy to tell you that my new e-book: “Who Speaks For the New York Carriage Horses: The Future Of Animals In Our World” will be published this coming week, it will be available wherever digital books are sold – smarphones, Amazon, Bn.com, Ibooks, Ipads, tablets and computers. Some of the proceeds will go to the fund to save the horses. The book is dedicated to the New York Carriage Drivers, I wish them peace and freedom.

6 July

Journal Of Recovery, Vol. 3. A Walk In The Dark

by Jon Katz
Light And Dark
Light And Dark

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream…” The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe.

I’m home now, but the world seemed to crash suddenly around me tonight.

Of course, it makes sense.  The excitement, the drama and adrenalin of the rush to the hospital, the surgery, the recovery and trip home ended abruptly. In the hospital ward, I was a good boy, a good patient, motivated, praised for my determination and athleticism (I could hardly believe it), much excitement, goals and steps to conquer. Here at home, it is just life, and a lot of it, every single day. You are in your life, but not really. This is not my life, not yet. Life goes on for people, as it should, they have their own struggles and pain and sorrows.

Now, there was the reality of it, it has struck home, the dream within a dream, the nightmare. It just all hit me like a punch to the nose. We have our pill schedules in hand, the refrigerator stocked, we have arranged the furniture in the house learned how to change bandages. No loving and cheering nurses, exhorting doctors, supportive friends and fans.  I have comfortable walking clothes, I can get to the bathroom by myself.

It was late at night, I could not sleep. Maria was exhausted, sleeping on the couch nearby. I was in it, enveloped by it.

I had installed myself in the reclining chair the way I was supposed to, my feet up in the air. There was a rush of pain in the center of my chest, especially around the three holes where giant tubes drained the fluid from my lungs and around my heart. I felt every breath deeply.

I think the removal of those tubes was one of the worst things for me in the hospital, the image and memory kept coming back from midnight on. I couldn’t sleep at all, and for the first time. I didn’t realize the power had gone out at first, I just realized I couldn’t move the recliner, I was stuck with my feet far up off the ground and no safe way to move. When I looked around, I saw all the other lights in the house were out.  Maria, exhausted from days of sitting by my side and caring for me, was asleep, breathing deeply, I would not wake her for the world. Sitting up by the waist would be the most dangerous thing I could possibly do for my healing sternum, held together with wires and plates.

I stayed calm, stayed still, the power came on after 30 minutes or so. Maria woke briefly, asked me what was happening, I said things were good and she fell back into her deep and desperately needed sleep. This is just the second day of being home, I thought, how can she survive weeks and months of this, the never-ending chores, tending, cleaning, lifting, helping?

My mind had taken off. If the power did not come back on, I knew we would have to call for help, perhaps Jack our neighbor, the rescue squad if necessary, trying to crawl off that chair was precisely the kind of movement I had been most warned against. I have rarely in my life felt so helpless, I remembered how I calmed myself when I woke up in the hospital room with a breathing tube down my throat, I just told myself to breath, regularly and deeply, Red appeared at my sight, he senses changes in moods. I’m sure he spelled my rising panic.

What if I had to go to the bathroom? Or got nauseous?

I had to walk, even outside in the pitch dark, even at 3 a.m.  It is my affirmation, my salvation, my identity.  I lowered my chair, hugged my heart pillow for dear life, rocked back and forth, wiggled to the edge,  slipped my shoes on, waved to Red, who slipped out the door with me.

I have this faith that Red will watch over me even when he can’t. And what, after all, could he do if I fell or stumbled in the dark?  Still, his eyes followed me like a bodyguard. It was so black I knew it was foolish to  walk, but sitting still in the house was worse, I could feel the gravel part of the driveway under my feet,  and knew that part was flat and safe. Keep walking, keep moving. Walking is life, healing, dignity and movement.

I thought I heard Simon stirring near the gate – but no bray. I walked around the car and down the driveway.  I saw lights coming from far down the road. A coyote called out to me in a mournful way across the the road far up in the hills. I waved to him, then felt silly. I heard owls talking to one another in the pasture, one of the lambs calling out to their mother. I began my walking, listening to the crunch of the gravel, the barn cats skittering along at times, interested to see what I was doing, hoping perhaps for a cuddle. Red made a move to the gate, then saw we weren’t going there. He figured out what I was doing,  followed me partway each time, then lay down, he will not go near the road without permission. He never took his eyes off of me. He was with me.

I walked steadily, I had a lot of fluid in my lungs, I kept spitting it out, I can hardly believe how much fluid comes out of these wounds, out of my tell-tale, still broken heart. It never seems to end. I had to be quiet. Maria would kill me if she woke up and found me walking around in the darkness by myself. But she of all people would understand. Sometimes you just have to find your identity.

This will happen more than once, I reminded myself. This is not a straight line, not one path, not a matter of laps and recording good mileages. It is a marathon, not a sprint.  I kept moving, I felt my body begin to come to life, to loosen, to move. I heard the frogs and the crickets in their soothing and ancient symphony, I decided they were singing for me, cheering me on, my angel chorus.  Minnie and Flo appeared, curious, emerging from the shadows. My eyes adjusted a bit. The farm, it seemed, was strolling along with me, part of my walk.

There was a savage burst of pain, stars in my eyes. I had hit the car mirror with my left arm, a bad thing in a bad place, the pain shot through my side like a lightning bolt, I cursed, prayed, blasphemed, swayed, sweated, Red up on his feet, assessing me in his professional way. Keep walking. I did a dozen more trips to the road and back, I had my footing now,  the pain throbbed but eased, I had my markers, a car came sweeping down the road, and slowed a bit, catching in it’s big beam a huge man, robe flapping in the breeze, marching up and down his driveway. I waved, they honked, a connection out their in the darkness. What could they imagine?

I decided that was enough of a walk, I was tiring, returning to ground, I brought Red back into the house, drank some water, spit some more, fixed some of the clocks blinking after the outage, I took one of the pain pills I had been avoiding. Stay with the pain, the nurses said, keep up with it or it will get away from you. For the first time, I am feeling sleepy.

My walk was a dream within a dream, all that I saw, all that I seem. Life and death, darkness and light, they are not different things but one and the same thing. Light is just around the corner, crisis and mystery tiptoeing right behind.

.

Email SignupFree Email Signup