Sunday, February 12, 2006
How are we doing???
So … how are we doing??
How are we doing? I’ve been asked that question a lot lately. So, how are you [really] doing? The answer?? As good as can be expected.
We’re all feeling the strain, each in different ways. We’re all staying very busy and that has worked well, but time is now throwing reality in our faces. And it all comes out in funny little ways.
Our jokes and comments about brain surgery have increased incredibly in the last 2 days. And frankly, some of it’s not very funny. Our little comments and references to tumors and brain surgery are now a frequent event.
Evelyn, who appears on the outside the calmest and least concerned about it all will casually say (like this Friday morning), Alice’s surgery is next week isn’t it? Yes. Do you think she’s going to get through it?
John and I frequently talk about how strange it is that it feels completely impossible to even think about the future, beyond the surgery. Anything beyond Tuesday seems unreal. It all feels surreal.
Things are very crazy at my office and we are in the middle of a huge change in the practice. And while I have been putting lots of energy into the process (staying very busy is definitely my best coping mechanism), the reality is … I can’t even visualize Wednesday morning, much less what May or June will look like.
And then there’s Alice. How is Alice doing? As anyone who looks at her would tell you, she’s doing great!! She’s busy and seems happy and jokes around about brain surgery with the best of us. She minimizes her symptoms but tells me she “knows her tumor is growing”. And her concerns come out, often unexpected. Yesterday it was little fits of stubbornness, surpassing her usual stubbornness, and needing to have her own way (with lots of tears involved). The biggest outlet for her concerns has been her guinea pig. Alice had a guinea pig who, most unfortunately, died. It was incredibly sad; yet also (forgive me guinea pig) strangely useful for Alice to verbalize some concerns she obviously has, but needed an avenue to vent them. As Alice is holding her dead guinea pig and sobbing, she looks at me and says, if it’s this hard for me to loose a guinea pig, how hard is it going to be for you to loose me? (As you can imagine, this resulted in an intense cry for both of us – perhaps one we really needed.) And several days later when Alice wanted to get a new guinea pig and I suggested we wait until after her surgery (and I in fact had this great plan, thanks to out local pet shop, to bring up a box a guinea pigs to Portland after she was out of ICU and let her pick out a new guinea pig) her response was, what? are you afraid I’ll die in surgery and you’ll be stuck with the guinea? … We immediately went to the pet store and purchased a new guinea pig.
OK and then there’s my dream two nights ago. I’m not a person who usually remembers her dreams (or cares much to analyze them) but this one was unforgettable. It’s weird so please, feel free to skip over this if it’s too much … but I keep thinking about it and need to get it out. So in my dream, Alice was born with four heads. She is a child, about 5 or 6, and would draw pictures of her 4 headed self. Next to her pictures she would write, in sweet little 5 year old printing, the technical term for it; “quadracephalism” (spell check does not like this word and is telling me there is no such word and do I want to add it to my dictionary. NO THANKYOU). Anyway, what I recall from my dream from there was that since she was 6, we had surgically been removing one of her heads at a time. Now the first two were sort of dead heads (no grateful dead reference intended); they really didn’t do anything, they were just there, kind of hanging out, but with no personality or real interaction. Getting rid of them seemed relatively easy. But now, Alice is her age, 12, and she has two heads left. We are told she can no longer survive with two heads and one must go. One head is very calm, sweet, caring, compassionate, and quiet; a very loving soul. The other is more … “Alice”. Sweet, caring, loving, … but also stubborn, feisty, inquisitive, and strong willed. And we are told one must go, or she will die. In addition, the one that is “more Alice” also has a head full of tumors. The other head has no tumors. We were about to tell the surgeon which one must go, when I woke up.
OK. So in thinking about this dream (and it has stayed with me) I have come to realize that initially I thought this was all about my fears over Alice’s survival and having to make difficult decisions which will affect the rest of her life. Now it feels like it is much more about my fear of this surgery altering Alice, affecting her brain and somehow making her “less Alice”. I guess it’s really all of the above (and more). Oh Freud would have a field day with this one.
So, how are we??? We’re OK. We’re wishing time would stand still, and wishing it was all over and everything went great. We’re feeling sad and scared and totally living a surreal reality. But, we’re all together, and we’re OK. And what will be will be and we are accepting we have no control. We are here, now.
We are also thanking all of you for loving us. We feel the love and truly appreciate it all.
We are wishing you love and peace, and health.
We are with you, and glad you are with us.
Susan
How are we doing? I’ve been asked that question a lot lately. So, how are you [really] doing? The answer?? As good as can be expected.
We’re all feeling the strain, each in different ways. We’re all staying very busy and that has worked well, but time is now throwing reality in our faces. And it all comes out in funny little ways.
Our jokes and comments about brain surgery have increased incredibly in the last 2 days. And frankly, some of it’s not very funny. Our little comments and references to tumors and brain surgery are now a frequent event.
Evelyn, who appears on the outside the calmest and least concerned about it all will casually say (like this Friday morning), Alice’s surgery is next week isn’t it? Yes. Do you think she’s going to get through it?
John and I frequently talk about how strange it is that it feels completely impossible to even think about the future, beyond the surgery. Anything beyond Tuesday seems unreal. It all feels surreal.
Things are very crazy at my office and we are in the middle of a huge change in the practice. And while I have been putting lots of energy into the process (staying very busy is definitely my best coping mechanism), the reality is … I can’t even visualize Wednesday morning, much less what May or June will look like.
And then there’s Alice. How is Alice doing? As anyone who looks at her would tell you, she’s doing great!! She’s busy and seems happy and jokes around about brain surgery with the best of us. She minimizes her symptoms but tells me she “knows her tumor is growing”. And her concerns come out, often unexpected. Yesterday it was little fits of stubbornness, surpassing her usual stubbornness, and needing to have her own way (with lots of tears involved). The biggest outlet for her concerns has been her guinea pig. Alice had a guinea pig who, most unfortunately, died. It was incredibly sad; yet also (forgive me guinea pig) strangely useful for Alice to verbalize some concerns she obviously has, but needed an avenue to vent them. As Alice is holding her dead guinea pig and sobbing, she looks at me and says, if it’s this hard for me to loose a guinea pig, how hard is it going to be for you to loose me? (As you can imagine, this resulted in an intense cry for both of us – perhaps one we really needed.) And several days later when Alice wanted to get a new guinea pig and I suggested we wait until after her surgery (and I in fact had this great plan, thanks to out local pet shop, to bring up a box a guinea pigs to Portland after she was out of ICU and let her pick out a new guinea pig) her response was, what? are you afraid I’ll die in surgery and you’ll be stuck with the guinea? … We immediately went to the pet store and purchased a new guinea pig.
OK and then there’s my dream two nights ago. I’m not a person who usually remembers her dreams (or cares much to analyze them) but this one was unforgettable. It’s weird so please, feel free to skip over this if it’s too much … but I keep thinking about it and need to get it out. So in my dream, Alice was born with four heads. She is a child, about 5 or 6, and would draw pictures of her 4 headed self. Next to her pictures she would write, in sweet little 5 year old printing, the technical term for it; “quadracephalism” (spell check does not like this word and is telling me there is no such word and do I want to add it to my dictionary. NO THANKYOU). Anyway, what I recall from my dream from there was that since she was 6, we had surgically been removing one of her heads at a time. Now the first two were sort of dead heads (no grateful dead reference intended); they really didn’t do anything, they were just there, kind of hanging out, but with no personality or real interaction. Getting rid of them seemed relatively easy. But now, Alice is her age, 12, and she has two heads left. We are told she can no longer survive with two heads and one must go. One head is very calm, sweet, caring, compassionate, and quiet; a very loving soul. The other is more … “Alice”. Sweet, caring, loving, … but also stubborn, feisty, inquisitive, and strong willed. And we are told one must go, or she will die. In addition, the one that is “more Alice” also has a head full of tumors. The other head has no tumors. We were about to tell the surgeon which one must go, when I woke up.
OK. So in thinking about this dream (and it has stayed with me) I have come to realize that initially I thought this was all about my fears over Alice’s survival and having to make difficult decisions which will affect the rest of her life. Now it feels like it is much more about my fear of this surgery altering Alice, affecting her brain and somehow making her “less Alice”. I guess it’s really all of the above (and more). Oh Freud would have a field day with this one.
So, how are we??? We’re OK. We’re wishing time would stand still, and wishing it was all over and everything went great. We’re feeling sad and scared and totally living a surreal reality. But, we’re all together, and we’re OK. And what will be will be and we are accepting we have no control. We are here, now.
We are also thanking all of you for loving us. We feel the love and truly appreciate it all.
We are wishing you love and peace, and health.
We are with you, and glad you are with us.
Susan
# posted by heinzfamily @ 8:55 AM 
