What's Important

Last week my father texted me to say that he probably had the flu and wouldn't be able to get together one night. On Saturday my mother called me to say that it wasn't the flu. Dad had a blood infection. A serious blood infection. He'd finally gone to see the doctor and that he would be starting heavy rounds of antibiotics that day. Even more worrying, my father has an artificial heart valve that was put in almost 25 years ago. If the valve became infected it would mean another heart surgery.

On Sunday my mother called to say that they were admitting my dad to the hospital on Monday morning. They wanted to watch him more closely. He still had high fevers. Thankfully on Monday we found out that his valve was apparently not infected. He'll most likely not need another open heart surgery. Now it's just a matter of blasting him with enough antibiotics to kill the bug. When I saw him on Saturday, before the hospitalization, he looked gray and pale and weak. He was clearly sick, clearly hurting. And I went home with a pretty heavy  heart. But the news on Monday and seeing the return of his appetite and color has made these last couple days a relief.

From the first phone call on Saturday until today, I've been in a bit of a daze. I spent part of Saturday with my dad, I spent most of Monday at the hospital with him, and I'm making it a point to see him every day. The news of his illness was a wake up call. It has reminded me that most of the issues I thought I had, aren't all that important. It reminds me that there are things in life that are important (family, friends, time, interests...) and there are things that are unimportant. I've been slacking at the office but I've been writing up a storm. I've been laying off social media but I've been spending lots of face-time and phone time. I've been telling people I love them. I've been making time. I've been doing the things that make me come alive.

As I watch my dad recover, and his color and personality return to normal, I send my gratitude out into the world. And I'm reminded of what I know is important and what I used to think was important. It's sad that it took almost losing my father to realize this, but I'm happy to have both the lesson and a soon-to-be healthy father. I'd rather not have just the lesson.

Coed Sports

First things first, I have to say a few words about my poor husband. Poor Jeff has been sick and suffering for the last two weeks. He's been coughing, wheezing, and in pain. What started as a cold has been getting worse and worse. This morning we finally decided that he should go to the doctor's office. And not surprisingly he came home with a diagnosis of bronchitis. I've had bronchitis enough times in my life to know exactly how miserable it is. The constant coughing, the chest pain, the shortness of breath. So I have to say, considering all of this, he's been a real trooper. Hopefully the meds he got will help. Until then at least they will help him breathe.

Because of his illness, we decided to take last night easy and stay home. I caught up on some writing, helped him with a paper, did my exercises, and watched the women's basketball final. For those of you who missed it, UConn won, not surprisingly. Although early in the game that was a bit in doubt. Halfway through the game Jeff said something that got me thinking. He wondered how UConn (the women's winning team) would do against Duke's men's team. How would the best women's team in the country do against the best men's team? It's a game I would happily watch for no other reason than to see what happens. I know that men and women tend to play different styles of basketball but I would be interested what would happen. How would the scoring go? I would bet that many others in the country would be willing to watch a game like that as well (Hint, hint NCAA!!).

That question got me thinking about a conversation that Jeff and I have occasionally: Why are some sports or activities still sex segregated? Particularly sports where strength doesn't matter. Like bowling. Or darts. Or archery. I know that physiologically there is a strength difference between men and women. But I think that many women have become just as strong if not stronger than some men. A Sport Science episode compared the hit rating for a male and female boxer. The punches were identical in terms of force. But even for sports where strength isn't involved as much, there is little competition between the sexes. We are finally starting to see a more coed approach to racing (auto racing that is) but even that is unusual. I would love to see how some of the women golfers would do against the men golfers. So I'm asking, is it just that it would be hard for a man to be beaten by a woman? Is it still the old mistaken stereotype that women can't compete with men? What do you think?

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

In 1995, Jean-Dominique Bauby had a massive stroke. Before the stroke he was the very successful editor for Elle magazine. Afterwards he is completely paralyzed, only able to move his left eye to communicate with the world. He is completely conscious but cannot communicate his thoughts or move (called Locked-In Syndrome). In his hospital room, he begins to work with therapists to try to regain some of his movement. He works with a speech therapist and develops a code for communicating. The therapist will go through the alphabet (most popular letters first) and Jean-Dominique will blink when the correct letter is reached. The letters become words and the words become sentences. And over a year, the sentences become a book. 

The book, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death, describes the struggles that Jean-Dominique has with communication and his disconnect from the rest of the world. He describes visiting with his children who he can no longer talk to or touch. He discusses the nursing staff who he comes to love and hate at the same time. He goes on elaborate flights of fantasy to relieve the boredom of being stuck in his own head. His paralysis is the diving bell, pinning him within himself. The butterfly is his mind which is able to fly free, exploring and imagining. He sees everything, noticing details that others would miss. His descriptions of the room, the hospital, and the world around him are amazing. 

This book is a beautiful reminder of how precious the simple act of living can be. It is a reaffirmation that the mind is an amazing thing. And it is a miracle that it ever got written. Jean-Dominique and his very patient speech therapist create a beautiful book one letter at a time. One blink at a time. Jean-Dominique died two years after his stroke and two days after the publication of this book in France. He left a lasting legacy of his Locked-in experience and a new way to view life. The book has now become a motion picture. But this book is an amazing reminder of the value of life, and worth reading. 

Distance

Sometimes distance sucks.

It's really hard to be far away and be helpless. Last night Jeff got a call that his dad had collapsed and had been taken to the hospital. They think it was just his blood pressure but he was kept overnight for observation. I'm optimistic but still worried for him. And mostly I feel helpless. I so want to help, want to do at least something. But with six hours distance there was little we could do last night. And I think that really bothered Jeff.

When Jeff came up here to go to college, he left all his family down in St. Louis. After graduation he stayed up here and met me. As much as he hates to admit it, he's been an Iowan now almost longer than he was a Missorian. We get down to see family about two or three times a year but it never really feels like enough. Most of the times it is only for the weekend and those two or three days are often a whirlwind.

So today I'm worried. Jeff has said he'll call me when he finds something out and I know he's anxious to hear. But waiting by the phone is not quite as comforting as waiting by a loved ones side. We had discussed going down in two weeks but now we might push that up. Sometimes the only way to make a true connection is face to face. Until then our thoughts and prayers have to make the six hour journey down south. Get well soon, Dad.