Day: July 30, 2014

Tomorrow, an important day in the recovery. We go back to the hospital to see my surgeon for the first time since she stopped my heart, cracked open my chest and rebuilt my artery system. Perhaps saved my life as well, and surely improved it. Dr. Adanna Akujuou shocked me when she appeared in the doorway of my hospital room, she was a vision, a dream, not what I expected. A tall, strikingly beautiful African-American women from Nigeria, trained in New York city, she had a wide smile and shoes that were the envy of many of the hospital nurses.  When I met her, she was wearing five-inch heels, she was nothing like the other surgeons, they mostly looked like homicide detectives, all men in their white shirts, crewcuts, ties and shiny shoes.

She was confident and charismatic, a vision.  I had an instant crush on her which I confessed to Maria. I told her I trusted her with my heart, she said the operation was not a big deal for her, it was the valve surgeries that were creative. Maria said she understood (she usually doesn’t.)  Meeting her, I did not again worry about the surgery.

I last saw Dr. Akujuou two days after my operation, she warned me against using my big camera or moving my arms much or lifting things for months. They kicked me out of the ICU and sent me home before I could say goodbye, so tomorrow I will thank her and, perhaps, say goodbye. If all goes well, I will be turned over to a cardiologist and not see her again.

Ironic for someone who changed my life so much. Tomorrow, she will check me out, look at an X-ray of my chest, looked at the bloodwork, ask me a lot of questions, listen to my heart. I will ask her to clear me for driving and for permission to carry my camera, again, which I will bring with me. I hope she will let me.

I hope she likes what she sees, I will tell her I am feeling good, doing well, I walked more than four miles today and am storming hills all over the county just like Teddy Roosevelt in the Spanish-American war. One friend dropped off a treadmill, another brought over a stationary bicycle for the winter, I will try both of them out. In the meantime, I am a walking fiend, and I am loving it, although it often tires me out.

I see tomorrow as an important day, the end of this phase of open heart surgery – the struggle to walk, the diagnosis, the hospital, the surgery, the recovery. I believe I am healing well, I understand it is a long progress and it will last for months, even a year or so, but I am ready for the next phase, it is time. I am  working through most of the day, I feel strong and eager to resume life. Unless I sneeze or cough, I am in little pain and am beginning to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. I still crash most afternoons and sleep the deepest sleep sometimes. It is a little bit better every day.

So back to Albany, back to the hospital. I admit to not being eager to return there. But I want to see my surgeon again, and thank her for returning my heart to me. It might be a routine thing for her, but she changed my life, and she needs to be thanked.

Donkeys are the most intuitive animals I have ever known, they known when it is time to appear for a treat or for attention, they know when you will give them something and when you will not. When I come out to tend the garden or do a chore, they ignore me, when I mean to give them an apple or carrot, they are right by the gate, they simply wait for their due, they come up to me, stand and stare at me as if all of us understand the outcome, it is only a matter of time, of which they have plenty. I am not sure if they have trained me or if I have trained them – actually, I have a pretty good idea. Today I had three carrots stuck in my back pocket, and they knew it or sensed it or smelled it and were standing by the gate.

When I came inside, they simply stared at me until I turned it over. Then they went out to graze, done with me for now. I suspect they hear us talking inside the house. I know they can do that.

At Lauderlake Lake today, I saw this American Family Tableau, family picknicking at a table by the water, teenager in the now unmistakeable cell phone reading posture.

Today was the artist Donna Wynbrandt’s 65th birthday, she had a celebration at Lauderdale Lake a few miles away from the farmhouse. She and George and their friends brought a cake, watermelon, corn and hot dogs to her birthday party, I walked from the farmhouse to the party.

It is always a beautiful thing to see the pure love that has connected and sustained these two original, idiosyncratic and artistic people for so many years. They adore one another, it is a gift to catch it once in a while with my camera, which Maria carried for me (I had the heavy lens.) They are an inspiration to me, they are supportive of each other every minute, creative every day of their lives. Donna was also celebrating the publication of her latest book, a story about family, anger and reconciliation. These two light up whenever they see one another. George has agreed to come to the second Bedlam Farm Open House on Columbus Day Weekend to do portraits of people who wish to have them.

A special privilege to have one’s portrait taken by a master, I think I might have him do me and Maria, if she is agreeable.

As one of those men who understands little about how the world works, I am somewhat in awe of those special men who understand well how it is put together and can put it back together when it is broken. Jay Bridge is a geologist who worked for years on the General Electric/PCB cleanup of the Hudson River. Afterwards, he became a craftsman, a carpenter. He is quiet, soft-spoken intelligent man who whistles while he works, loves to work by himself out in the weather, and has an intimate knowledge of wood, posts and beams.

It turns out our porch was rotting away, splits in the wood and posts had allowed rainwater to pour in, probably for years, the corner of the porch was about to collapse, several boards on the porch had rotten. Jay has been here for several days digging out the rot, measuring each piece of wood, cutting and sawing wood to replace it. We are getting there. We gulp a bit at the cost, as everyone does, but we are also grateful that we found the rot in time – Maria saw it – and that there was somebody around like Jay to fix it.

Before Jay, our friend Ben Osterhaudt, also a wizard with wood, would come by, but Ben got busy and his work took him elsewhere – men who know how things work are in great and eternal demand in our world –  I ran into Jay’s wife Judy at the food co-op and she gave me his card. “You will like him,” she said. I do, we had lunch together at the Round House, I enjoyed it very much. Jay is one of those men who has shaped his own life without complaint or drama. He also had open heart surgery – a tumor removed from his heart – and it is good to talk to him about it.

Someone e-mailed me yesterday to express sorrow about the porch, but I don’t feel sorry. This is life, there is no normal, just life. If you live in and love an old farmhouse – ours was built around 1840 – it will take very good care of you, through storms and blizzards and winds and rain. But you have to love it back and take care of it from time to time. Like my heart, our porch was saved just in time.