The consistency of one event after another left us with no lag time. We were totally engaged with doctors and meds and hospitalizations during almost all of my recovery. Our calendar seldom had an open spot, and when it did, we double checked our schedules to be sure.
I decided to go through my IPhoto library (God bless you again Steve Jobs), and yank out one or two photos for each month, starting on Sept 10, 2011 up until now. It turned into a sort of multi-dimensional experience. There is no such thing as time, really. After picking out a “few” of them and running them all through Photoshop (no blemishes were airbrushed, and no authenticity was harmed in the process), I had entirely too many photos. With a considerable amount of whittling, I hope I’ve managed to choose the most representative shots, many of which will be viewed for the very first time ever, right here on this page. There will be no graphic post-surgery images, although I was tempted.
Without further ado.
On the day before surgery, I appeared just about as critically ill as I actually was. I think I was a little amused, and looking for whatever was making that sound of approaching hoofbeats.
It was six days later before I got so much as a popsicle. An orange one. A delectable, frozen treat that nearly made me weep with joy.
The next day I was sitting up like a proper toddler. Wingman kept asking people about the bruise on my chest and never got much response beyond a mystified shoulder shrug. I wondered if somebody had been leaning on it with his elbow during the surgery, you know to get a better view.
A couple of days later, my day nurse took me for several long romantic walks while Wingman snapped photos.
These are swollen feet. A little bit of edema there.
At the middle of October, Wingman took me to a friend’s house to photograph the fall colors.
The last week of October, I asked Wingman to take some photos of me. I had pain everywhere in my body, but I wanted to look all casual and cool. Grady [Artist in Residence] told me I looked like Mick Jagger on vacation. I’m still trying to figure that one out.
Wingman did not miss the chance to record a more accurate image.
Three days later my scenic little haven was covered with snow.
About a week into November, I had a feeling something wasn't right. Besides my delusional state of mind, my lab numbers had been all over the place, and I wasn't putting on any weight. I took a photo of the scale, thinking I might need to verify this at some point. Just because I was thoroughly loopy was no reason for people to ignore my ravings.
I went through Hell and all I got was this t-shirt. I had Wingman take this photo on November 11.
I went back to the hospital with a rejection episode a couple of days after I showed off my new apparel for the camera. I stayed through Thanksgiving, managing to amuse myself by photographing the construction workers on the high beams.
Wingman came by often. I hated to see him leave to go home alone. I especially hated watching his shoulders get heavier with worry. Thanksgiving was nearing, and it would be his dad's first without Edie. The same was true for Wingman.
Pikes Peak from my hospital room window at 6:30 am the day before Thanksgiving.
At the present time, this new wing is almost completely built. It blocks our view of the sunrise.
After going back home, on Dec 1, we went to see my surgeon, happy to learn that all signs of rejection were gone. It was an icy day, as we walked through the hospital parking lot back to the truck, and it was snowing. I let go of Wingman's hand so that he could open the truck door, and my feet went out from under me. With an instinct born of all God’s creatures, I placed my hand out and slightly behind myself, at the precise angle required to produce a clean fracture of the wrist snapping both the radius and ulna.
It was a clean break, which healed surprisingly fast. At the middle of January, we attended a drum circle as the MLK parade passed by on Colfax. Wingman brought my walker along so I could sit on the sidewalk.
On Feb 2, we had a significant snow storm.
Only a few days later, the first crocuses showed their faces.
And at the beginning of March, the Daffodils were greeting us.
Lars was enchanting as usual. He loves the Spring.
At the end of March I had a dentist appointment, and Wingman enjoyed a nap in the waiting room. He was always tired, taking his Dad out for groceries, house chores, the lawn, the garden, continually taking me in for blood draws.
By mid-April, everything was extremely green, flowers were coming up all over the place and the Lilacs were going wild. Their fragrance filled the yard.
Wingman built us a cozy little cove between the houses, and cleared an area so that I could put in Hosta bulbs. I was beginning to feel somewhat puny during that time, but I got those bulbs in.
Although my stamina was starting to wane, I could never resist a photo of our kitty soaking up some lovin’.
Around May 20, I was told my system was again trying to reject the new liver. This time, I knew I was legitimately ill.
I felt much worse at the start of this rejection episode, and spent a full ten days receiving treatments. For me, this seemed like the last straw. I had reached a point of desperation, feeling like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. This time, as the treatments did their magic, I got better. I got way better. There was improvement physically and spiritually by the time I came home. I could tell something was different this time, and I knew I had finally turned a corner.
It was almost like the foliage was welcoming me home with a display of growth and blossoms. I was presented with an explosion of color in every corner of the flower beds. The Hosta had not yet sprouted though.
The Catalpa and peach trees had begun their summer activity of looking stunning, to the delight of the squirrels.
A lily plant that began to spring up in April, had gotten huge, and was threatening to bloom at any moment.
The clematis bloomed for the first time ever in the four years since we planted it.
The purple onion blooms were bigger than, well, a softball.
Wingman and Greg put the finishing touches on the Cove.
Such a cozy little shaded retreat.
This darling flicker became a regular fixture at the birdbath, and was only too happy to allow photos.
Color everywhere. And I was feeling better and stronger every day.
The Yarrow and Mexican Hat were bustling with growth.
That lily was so close to blooming, it was practically trembling.
And finally she pops open.
The Indian Torch was spitting out little yellow flowers.
Lars was beside himself with excitement.
The bees were more colorful than I ever recall seeing them. I was not afraid of them, admiring their colors with, of course, no sudden moves. I'm not like, completely stupid.
We had a drenching rain at the beginning of July, making the bell flowers almost translucent.
Lars fell asleep with the remote - again.
Our Hen & Chicken almost never flower. But they did this year.
Wingman and I went to the Donor Dash (a fund raiser for organ transplantation), and balloons were released at the end of the festivities.
I went to Confluence Park (where the Platte meets Cherry Creek) during the middle of July, where I watched kids with questionable sanity drop from the bridge into the water.
The last week of July was filled with activity, due to a recent tragedy drawing the national press to an apartment only 5 blocks from our home. An alleged mass murderer had recently left the building and would not be returning. The media alone was a fascinating study in human nature. It still is.
We had two full moons in August, the second of which being the “Blue Moon”. Through a trick of the light, or supernatural influences (right), my camera took the term literally.
So today, though not all our dear friends were able to be here for the event, Wingman prepared a celebration. A group of us shared burgers and dogs and macaroni salad, while we enjoyed a communal sense of having walked together through a storm ultimately reaching the peaceful shore. I delightedly wrapped myself around the day and the loving words from my gang of buddies, especially you guys who admired my new haircut and said it made me look younger.
Namaste. Thanks for the light.
Wingman, Grady, Greg, Rachel, Mitch and Tony, EJ, Sam and Richard, Sue, John and Cheryl, Alex, Pat and Teri, Helen and Jim, Maeve (a Gaelic name hideously misspelled with my apologies), Robin, my lovely family in South America - Bertha, Carmen, Cynthia, Karen, Michelle, Dani...
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