Well Shit...RIP Amanda

I can't even begin to describe the multi-level suck-i-tude we're all feeling right now.

Basically my brother got into an icky hit-and-run car accident this morning. In short a red truck in the lane next to my brother's lost control and veered in front of his vehicle. After slamming the breaks to avoid hitting the guy, my brother's car hydroplaned, spun out of control on the freeway (it was raining heavily) and bonked into the truck and ricocheted off into the sunrise. The impact was so bad, car wouldn't start after that incident. Fortunately, two really kind Samaritans helped push my brother's car off the freeway and onto the shoulder.

Meanwhile, the asshole who swerved in front of my brother and caused this accident in the first place decided tear down I-35 and try to get away. WTF? What a moron! First off this is Thanksgiving weekend, so there were tons of people on I-35. Secondly, practically everyone has a cell phone so as this prick was speeding past a whole string of eyewitnesses, a bunch of which who were probably itching to go home as well, there was a lovely chorus of phone calls to 911 in rapid succession. In fact, by the time the police and ambulance reached my brother, a cop car had already caught the idiot in the truck who tried to run away.

As you can see my brother looks okay, but the car certainly doesn't.



He was struck in such a way that he whacked his head into the windshield, but aside from a mild headache, my brother appears to be physically sound. He's pissed off as hell of course. We're guessing the dude ran because had no insurance, which sucks balls, but we've got to thank God in the fullest for seat belts. It's a miracle that no one really got hurt. We're still waiting on more info...

Emotionally this has been taxing for us. I mean, we just lost out dad. To think we almost lost JBro is something too difficult to process at the moment. "Amanda" was my brother's first car and it was a generous gift from my dad. He received it his first year of college with the rationale being that since he commuted a bit he needed a reliable car. As he you can he was a very excited



Fast forward to today and Amanda is now a gnarled heap of twisted metal.



T, my mom, and I joined my brother at the wreckage yard helping him carry off his personal belongings. The freezing cold rain came out relentlessly stinging us repeatedly. That along with the grey over cast skies didn't help anyone's demeanor as we all dealt with this in our own ways. T was of course, was feeling thankful my brother was fine and joining in on cussing whenever we recounted the asshole who took off from the accident scene. My mother resorted to fretting and affectionate nagging wanting to be helpful, but really just getting into my brother's way.





I of course sulked quietly and took photos, my fingers barely able to press the shutter, it was cold out.

I focused on the damage trying to imagine how the impacts happened.






I fixated on the patches of red paint from the truck permanently fused into the surface of my brother's Acura. It had no business being there. Its brash red was adding insult to injury, flaunting itself, commanding attention like blood.




I was struck by how organic Amanda now looked post accident. Her smooth and symmetric lines were now marred by crinkles and blisters and cracks. She could not hold onto all her components. Her entrails were now exposed.



Soggy, wet and dejected we drove home in T and I's modest blue Nissan feeling tired and worn out trying to figure out the best scheme to get my brother back home to Dallas. I sat in the front with my brother's CDs balanced on my lap feeling oddly calm. I asked God to send good karma down to those who helped my brother. I sat back, feeling thankful that T and I were home when my brother called, that we had a functional car, that my brother wasn't hurt and did have insurance, that the accident happened close to home...it could have been so much worse.

Molly

Molly Potamus Reznor, my cat, passed away sometime between last night and this morning. :( Talk about shit hitting the fan. I guess she decided that my dad should have a feline companion in heaven. Or, perhaps my dad "picked" her up right after he passed. After all, she was a old kitty suffering from bowel issues and diabetes. She's crackle and creak as she walked.

My dear friend Summer was the one who discovered her. She had called from Austin last night after feeding the kitties that Molly seemed lethargic and depressed. We figured it was one of her phases especially since my husband and I have been gone for so long. She was old, diabetic and would get tired easily. As sad as I am about Molly, I suspect she was suffering too. She'd creak and click whenever she walked, twice a day she got poked with insulin shots and vomiting was a frequent occurrence. Anyhow, I'm sure she's happy and pain free in heaven spending time with my dad now.

I really feel for Summer. What an awful phone call to have to make.

Speaking of awful phone calls, this is what my mom and I have been doing all morning. My dad never told his brothers of his condition (he tends to suffer in silence) and towards the end when his health was really failing, he was too weak to do so himself. They all live far away in Taiwan. They cried of course, but I was also struck by how understanding they were of my dad's ways and wishes. They understood why he didn't tell them and they also knew not to come down for his funeral since my dad has always wanted a small intimate service only consisting of his wife and children. Getting my mom's church to understand this concept has been a little trying though. Ugh...they mean well, but I'm going to do my best to make sure there are no grandiose speeches, rituals and frou-frou hoo-haa getting added to the service.

The mood at home is somber but unfortunately, activity filled...I had no idea dying would generate so much paperwork. I don't really look forward to speaking to Haliburton's HR department, but it is necessary. At the moment, we're waiting for the hospice to pick up the hospital bed, oxygen concentrator, bedside commode, narcotics, etc. etc. I think the reality of my dad's death and the fact that she is now a widow at age 56 has really struck my mom hard. She's washing the sheets that were on the hospital bed right now, doing his laundry for the last time. She doesn't cry, but I know she feels sad.

scary evangelist woman

I feel like my family is a carcass lying in the middle of the dessert and the various hospices around here are the vultures.

The last rep to visit my home was so distasteful, disrespectful and irritating that it sent me into a mad crying fit after she left. My dad is barely cogent at this point. I don't know if it's the medication, his deteriorating health or plain depression but he is barely able to communicate. Hence, it takes him a long time to answer and the lady who visited today was completely incapable of waiting. The hospice rep (VITAS Houston) was supposed to be answering our questions, not shoving glossy brochures in my dad's face and presenting the history of her unit with her fucking power point printouts.

I was about ready to get up and slap her when she kept snapping her fingers at my dad and asking him to wake up. "Don't go to sleep on me," she's say in a cheerful voice.

Aren't these people supposed to be properly trained?

She prayed for my dad which I guess was comforting for him, but it all left a bad taste in my mouth. All the showiness and shit. Pseudo Christian concern. She went on about how she wanted to "save" one of her jewish patients. That did it for me. I decided I was gonna hate her, but when she almost got my heavily medicated dad to sign a consent form that sealed it for me. Get that woman the hell away from my dad!

I intervened stating that this was a lot to swallow and that I wanted him to think things through. "I'll call you guys tomorrow!" she said as she left.

Please don't fucking call us.

There is just too much going on. We got a torrent of phone calls from various hospice reps and palliative care units this morning. It's like we've got a sign hanging on our front door advertising that we've got a dying human being or something. My dad just wants to rest right now! Ugh.

The social worker, Lynn sure made hospice sound like fluffy bunny rabbits and rainbows. The last rep made it seem like hoards of nurses would be invading our privacy. She also mentioned that there was no such thing as a hospice house where my dad can be amongst others who are terminally ill---and I just don't believe that.


*sigh*

I have so much on my plate right now. Gah. Okay, here's my to do list:

-Call my boss and get the next two additional weeks off so I can get things in order
-Call Lynn the social worker and get a lot of the conflicting info straightened out
-Schedule out other hospice reps while I'm here
-Request a Mandarin speaking rep for my mom
-Ask the palliative physician if he can siphon off the fluid in my dad's abdomen and ankles on Monday
-Somewhere in there acknowledge Trav and I's 5 year wedding anniversary date
-Check up on my aunt who has breast cancer (she and my mom are unable to speak to each other due to their personal griefs...)
-Give my mom a massage
-Vacuum upstairs
-Catch up on email inquiries

The anger phase

Of the 5 stages of grief, my dad's going through the angry phase. He's been in his room for the past 6 hours and hasn't emerged yet. I don't know if I should check up on him or just let him rest since yesterday was such a long and frustrating day.

We already knew my dad's prognosis would be terminal. We already knew there would be no treatment and no real options. It seemed like up until our visit with the oncologist, my dad accepted this, but now I know he hadn't.

He's so angry now. Angry that he's only got 3-6 months to live and that chemo would only increase his life span by a couple more months. He's angry at the battery of tests he needs to continue to go through (6 vials of blood yesterday alone) for a few more hours of a compromised life--most of these hours spent in downtown Houston traffic and hospital waiting rooms surrounded by sickness and impending death. He's angry that he's incapacitated and dependent on his wife and kids.

He chewed my mom out this morning about her driving ability telling her she was an awful driver and that all the accelerating and swerving caused his current nausea. He has tons of bruising on his left side caused by the cancerous mass popping the blood vessels against his ribcage. Somehow that was her fault too. He said he was hungry and she scurried to make him his breakfast, when she wasn't fast enough, he got up and shuffled back to his room. My mom offered to bring it to him and basically replied with "Just shut up."

Part of me wants to just spike everything he eats or drinks with massive doses of opiods and sedatives and put him out of his misery. We've got all them right here--morphine, fentanyl patches, hydromorphone, vicodin, versed, lortab...heck we might as well add the ambien to the mix just to make sure he does fall asleep. All of these were prescribed within the last 3 months. Shit, I'm surprised there aren't any anti-depressants in the cabinet.

Now, before everyone runs off and calls the feds, I assure you I'm not going to do that, but it is tempting. I almost told my dad during our 2 hour delay for his next appointment that if he chose to not even attempt chemo, he wouldn't have to go through all this-all the waiting and lab work, but I kept my mouth shut.

Before the definitive word that his condition was terminal, I was able to talk to him freely about how he felt. Now, he just shuts me out.

what to do when there's nothing to do?

My dad looks like my cat Molly now: saggy skin hanging off of knobby bones, scruffy hair and huge eyes that display that unique combination of intelligence, annoyance and indifferent stoicism. Like Molly, he moves slowly but deliberately, taking shorts breaths (his swollen liver pushes against his diaphragm making it hard for him to breathe). He's irritated that he needs to be taken care of and every once in a while a distinct eye roll reminds me that this faded character before me is still my dad. That's when he cogent, of course.

To be honest he looks better than I expected although he looks far from good. He's also incredibly doped up. At the ER, he apparently pointed to the Iv bag and said to the doctor:

"Whatever the hell is in there, just give me more." So, they doctors complied and sent him home with Methamorhpone. It's basically morphine.

Later in they day he mentioned that he didn't care about dying as long as he wasn't in pain. He couldn't function prior to the morphine, so I'm fine with all the doping, although seeing him in the cloud of artifical euphoria really is disturbing at times.

My frustrations so far have very little to do with my dad or my family. I nearly lost it yesterday when I discovered that my dad's doctor had called my mom asking about my Family Leave paperwork saying he had been waiting for the past 2 days for them. Turns out his mornic secretary never gave him the form when my mom called back inquiring. If you recall, I had contacted her on Friday asking her to please give them to him and she reassured me she would, so you can imagine how pissed I was when I discovered she hadn't. I wasn't the doctor's patient she explained to my mom. Ugh. Fucking moron! Had she read the cover sheet she would have known the paper work was for him to describe my dad's situation.

"ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID????" I wanted to ask her.

If she had only gotten the paper work to him on time, I wouldn't be feeling so anxious. I am thankful the doctor called inquiring because we wouldn't have known his secretary still had the forms if he didn't.

We see the oncologist tomorrow, but what I've read so far is a bit grim. The proposed chemotherapy is most likely for his lung cancer only--liver cancers do not respond well to chemotherapy and of all the medicines only 1 kind has any sort of effect on the liver cancer, although negligable. Most liver cancer patients who wait for a liver transplant die before they can receive one from a donor. The survival rate for those with late stage tumors, based off of a 5 year gain, is only 10% I've been instructed by Mom not to ask about chance of survival--to only allow my dad to ask the doctor that question.

I don't know what to think or feel. I guess I have to wait tomorrow, but still I guess I'm the pragmatic one on the family. I get it from my dad.

Dad in the hospital

My dad is in the ER right now. They discovered his potassium levels are way too high and he's been so weak lately due to not being able to fall asleep because of the discomfort and the condition itself. He's on an IV getting high doses of pain killers and has been sleeping soundly. Thank God. According to my mom the hospital is so full that there are people in the hallways. He'll be under watch and then released because they don't think he's sick enough to need a hospital room for extended stay. I can't help but wonder if it is really due to a space and staffing issue. We're headed down tomorrow.
My boss has been so helpful. Without even asking he arranged for me to be able to leave at a moments notice. He brought me all the necessary paperwork this afternoon and explained in clear layman's terms what a lot of the HR mumbo jumbo was and how it would effect me, advantages and disadvantages of using sick leave versus vacation, etc...It was all very helpful. Anyway, I've got my family leave documents in hand and will fax them to my dad's doctor first thing tomorrow morning. When I spoke on the phone with the physician he promised to get them filled out and signed asap. I feel much better with how smoothly this end has been going. I am very concerned however with the docs last statement before we said bye: "You need to go home right now. Your dad needs you."
I hope the doctor faxes me soon....

the highs and lows of a convoluted emotion ridden weekend

I don't even know how to begin this most-likely-to-be long post. I hesitated even bothering, but at the same I think it'll be therapeutic.

I think my dear friend Wendy said it best when I wrote about the icky news in my Live Journal yesterday.

Your LJ is all about real life today. The giddiness of happy silly appreciation for fine men and music and wit, then the reality and pain of mortality and family and fears and sadness.

Let's start with the bad and far more important news...

I discovered Friday that my dad has liver cancer. Now, he had feeling been sick for a while. It all began right after coming back from an extended trip to rural China.



He had abdomen pain that would come and go. He started getting diarrhea and then he had issues with losing his apatite. He started losing weight. Being a well traveled man, the doctors decided it was parasitic infection from eating the foreign cuisine.



Then they discovered he had gall stones. That seemed bad enough at the time, but certainly not life-threatening. In fact the doctor even mentioned there was no real urgent need to remove them. A change in diet should fix things, yada yada... However, after tending to those issues he didn't get better. He merely got worse. His abdomen became distended. He constantly felt weak. I really didn't hear the details of all this until a couple of days ago...my mom has known for weeks and to hear the big "C" word really floored me.

He's headed off to MD Anderson Cancer Center on Wednesday for further testing and evaluation, a day before his 59th birthday. Essentially none of us really know what the prognosis is until he's done with testing at the center. He'll be going in for a biopsy and MRI to cross check the blood tests, make sure the cancer hasn't spread and to see if it is removable. There is concern that they won't be able to take out the tumor due to cirrhosis, but it isn't a definite.

I asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He asked for Christian Hymn CDs and soothing classical music. I found a nice classical guitar hymn CD by an Austin area musician (Tim Brace) and ripped some John Rutter, Laurisden, Chichester Psalms and other classical sacred pieces onto another CD. It was therapeutic typing out the lyrics and translations. I'm glad he has his religion and I think the fact that my dad isn't afraid of dying puts me at ease.

In some ways from his heartfelt letters and phone conversations with my brother and I, I get the sense that he's not going to fight tooth and nail to live if he has to. Funeral requests, wills, instructions on taking care of Mom, what to do with assets and property roll off his tongue as if we were simply talking about the weather. There's even an air of jocularity when he speaks. For instance, I had asked them about funeral arrangements (if that ends up being the case.) My dad said he wanted to be cremated. I offered to spread the ashes in Galveston since he loved fishing....

"No, I don't want the fishies to eat me!" He exclaimed. "Stick me in the backyard and plant something on top."

We all had a good laugh which was much needed, morbid as it is.

Emotionally, except for the obvious sadness, I'm not sure where to stand. I won't worry until I hear about the results from MD Anderson. I guess guarded hope is the best way to describe how I feel at the moment. I'm calm too, but admittedly a little detached. Perhaps when I see my dad in person, this'll all change. At the moment, both my parents want space and I've been sternly instructed to stay put until my assistance is necessary.

I did find this cute photo of my parents from this past Thanksgiving. If you know my dad and his quintessential engineer personality (as if you can't tell from the tucked in shirt and socks) this image is quite a shocker. Two of them were dancing around in the living room which just never happens:


***

So, what made the news so jarring to hear?

I'm sure many reading this will think it is just in utterly bad taste to talk about this in the same post, but I think Wendy's sentiment earlier about my own juxtapositions punches the point: Life can be such an emotional roller coaster.

A mere 12 hours earlier I was getting a sweet dainty kiss from an eloquent and well groomed faculty member from the New York School of Visual Arts...I guess it's hotter if I mention that said faculty member happens to be the musician Voltaire and that it was right on the mouth, slightly more than a peck and enough to send me swooning. Sammi got one too and we wallowed in our girly giddiness for hours. You can read all the details here if you so desire. I just want to remind you, gentle reader, that I'm 29. 29, people! Sammi's 30. We're old and yet, we're hotter than the 20 year old sorority chick groupie that was standing next to us...ramble ramble ramble.



Hence, I'm sure it is easy for one to imagine how I felt when I was just about to tell my mother about the lovely incident and getting the news about my dad before I could begin. Suddenly what seemed most interesting became incredibly insignificant.

I honestly believe things happen for a reason. It could very well be that the lovely night I experienced occurred in order to cushion the foreboding news I would receives later. Perhaps it was a message to remember all the little things in life that can make us happy? I don't really know, but I'm sure there's some sort of connection even if it won't make sense to anyone else.

***

I can say this whole weekend has reminded me to be thankful. I feel so fortunate that I have the type husband who screams "whoo hoo!" instead of "you did what?" when I tell him I got kissed by a rock star. I fall in love with said husband even more when he tells me "If you feel like you need to see your parents all of a sudden, even if it is in the middle of the night, just tell me. I'll take you." I'm lucky to have friends who are there during the happy times and the sad times and lend an ear whenever events necessitate such duty even if it means they have to endure another Cindy Rant. These are the kind of friends who understand how much of a difference a piece of carrot cake or celebratory Pho can make in a day. I truly love my friends afar who read this journal and my messages word-for-word and drop me a note even though I haven't seen some of them in person for years. I'm appreciative of my loved ones who openly pray and send thoughts of healing no matter what their religious (or lack-of religious) affiliation is.

So yeah, it's 1:30 in the morning and I'm feeling peaceful and calm, but admittedly a little emotionally drained.

Mahler's "Resurrection" Symphony no. 2

Happy Easter Folks. :)

Supposedly my boss's wife is training their little girl on how to find eggs. She's been planting plastic ones around the house, showing her hiding places, and timing her retrival abilities. That's pretty hard core for a 2 year old! I have a feeling that she's most likely going to be an over achiever in the future. :)

I discovered that I can't find any free Mp3's of David Sedaris reading "Jesus Shaves." Sigh. It's freaking funny. I've got his book, but it is so much funnier when he reads his essay. If you haven't seen this before, here's an except.

I was flipping through old journal entries late at night and came across one from Feb 10, 2003. This was back when I was a member of Choral Arts Society and we had just finished performing Mahler's "Resurrection" symphony. To this day, I feel it is one of most powerful pieces ever composed. You can hear a sound clip of us in my music blog but it just doesn't compare to the live show. I remember afterwards I met up with my friend Shawn backstage and he was in tears. "It was better than a fucking rock concert" he bawled. I'll never forget that. Here's a snippet of my journal entry:

Dr. James Morrow, my choir director, told all of us on the first day of rehearsal this would be a life-changing piece. It would be a work that would stir and awake our innermost passions to the extent that all of our emotions-pain, glory, reverence and joy- along with our massive efforts would be melded together into something so great and complete, that words would fail to describe the moment. I realized last night, when I performed the piece for the first time, everything he said was true.

In the Mahler Second, the choir only sings in the finale. Before then there's a slow and tension filled buildup comprised of four movements. An English horn solo starts all alone and then a trombone choral plays on top. Suddenly, an off-stage trumpet trio begins. Alone, they fill back stage with their cadence and then slowly taper off. The violins tremolo so softly that no one in the audience even recalls when they began. On top, a flute and piccolo whips out bird-like 32nd notes and then a horn and a timpani join in. This all builds and builds with the violins getting louder and then suddenly the volume drops. So quietly, that our sounds are almost just a sensation, the choir comes in a capella singing in German:

"Rise again, yes rise again
wilt thou, my dust
when rest is over
When life immortal,
then life eternal
He thee will give in realms"

The soloists add on top of our textures as one by one, each orchestra section joins in. The sound is so rich and voluptuous at this point, you feel as if you could cut it with a knife.

"With love enduring, will I be soaring to the light.
On pinions faith for me created,
Will I be far soaring, soaring
Will I be soaring"

And as we soar we become louder, brassier and brighter. I could feel myself drawing energy from everyone around me and at the same time I was giving all of myself self the the music and everyone else. We were sharing everything with each other. All of our instruments started to play to their full volume and ability. The basses behind me sang so well in tune and loud that I could hear an angel of a harmonic wailing two octaves above them. I felt like swooning-- this sensation was so amazing to me. The organ began to hit heavy chords on the down beat and the strings were going ballistic. We belted in heavy notes:
"Rise again
Yes, rise again
Wilt though, my heart
In moments blest. . .
To God, To God
Shall thee be bearing!"

And everything clanged and soared and the beads of sweat were running off of everyone's face. So beautiful it was! At the very end, I just stood there in awe. The audiences applause almost hurt my ears. All of us gave everything we had for this performance and it was truly wonderful. We received a standing ovation and the soloists had three curtain calls. I've have not felt the sort of exhilaration for the longest time.


I'm a religious person, but perhaps not as deeply religious as I used to be. However when a piece of music such as this exists, one can't help but acknowledge at least the concept of an all-powerful, awe inspiring God, and I don't necessarily mean the Christian God either, but rather the existence of a god. One can't help but wonder if the Holy Spirit does indeed exist. How else could Mahler have been inspired to create something of such magnitude and beauty?

So, amongst the pastel colors, bunny rabbits and chocolate, I try my best to remember what Easter is about: rebirth, faith, trust, empowerment and inspiration

***

On a totally different note, here's a pic of me trying to write a song for my darling husband:



Unfortunately, the deepest words that came out were something to the effect of: His name's Travis...He ain't a cat.

Not that I'm aiming to be a songwriter or anything, but it is nice to serenade one's spoude every now and then.

It's officially been 3 months since I first acquired my guitar and I still suck at it. Any notions I had that this would be an easy transition from violin are totally false. Fortunately, I'm not alone in my suckitude. My neighbor is a really awful drummer (when I say awful, I mean the guy can't hold a beat for more than 3 measures). I'm tempted to go next door as ask: "Hey I'm awful at guitar and you're even worse on drums, but do you wanna form a terrible garage band? I'm sure our mutual crappiness can inspire us to get better fast."

Or maybe we'd be better off going Easter Egg hunting together.