T-59: The Meaning of Matter

We are now less than two months out from our big trip.  There is still a lot to do, but we making progress on all the easy fronts.  The easiest front of all is focusing on the stuff side of this equation.  What will we take?  How will we carry it?  

I particularly focus on this, making lists, and making piles and sorting, arranging, and measuring the pile.  Wes is very happy to let me do this.  I approach these matters with a combination of relish, fixation, and sheepishness. 

Beckett's playwriting/choreography for Quad

The relish part:  part of this is just the simple joy of numbers.  I, unlike so many, understood completely Samuel Beckett’s nostrum, uttered by his irrational character Watt, “there is nothing so comforting as numbers.”  Watt spends endless time trying to count steps (12 or 13 or 14, depending on whether you count the risers or treads), or figuring out the number of combinations of moves that will allow him to moving his sucking stones throughout his pockets without repeating either stone or pocket. 

I am embarrassed to say I understand this.  Ever since I was a little girl, I have been using math to help me cope with excess time, or stress, or boredom.  I remember when I was about 10 or 11 figuring out that there were 10 reflector poles per mile.  I would then figure how many poles there would be on this trip.  I would then do fractions in my mind to pass the miles.   

I still do this.  Yes, I truly do count swimming laps by doing fractions: 1/72, 1/36, 1/24, 1/18, 5/72, 1/12….  I suppose this is a mild form of autism.  It occupies the mind without engaging either the emotions or the body.

I like data.  I keep records.  It makes me feel grounded.  It is clear, finite, fixed.  It is not confusing and changeable, like people are, or interpersonal communications are.  My life is full of people.  Each one is wonderfully different and amazing.  Each one learns differently.  Each one communicates differently.  Some are good at it.  Some are not.  Some say what they are thinking and feeling.  A whole lot don’t.  I find it work to negotiate all these changes all the time.  I am amazed and jealous of people, like my friend Janice, who flow through the tides of diversity and emotion, with such grace and empathy. 

I find quite challenging to be a constant source of output.  My natural state is being a receptor, who then likes to arrange and systematize (see above), but who doesn’t much like to talk about it.  I do not have that whatever- it- is, that allows people to tell the same story over and over to different people.  This makes me a truly rotten promoter.  I have seen my friends like Rich and Keith go from person to person, happily sharing the same information over  and over, seeding a room with information.   I become either embarrassed, bored, or exhausted attempting this useful task. 

For better or worse and probably both, I have a wonkish, writerly turn of mind.  I can spend hours in silence.  I am overly stimulated, and as a result, way too talky and hyped up, when I get around a group of people.  Most people think that blatherskite is me.  That is the me they experience.…but it is not the comfortable and peaceful me.  It is the nervous and anxious and overcompensating me.

So part of this trip is just respite.  There will be days and days of  focusing on the simple, concrete need to deal with physical reality.  We need to pack the bike.  Is the bike packed? Check. We need to make our camp.  Is the camp set up? Check.  There are beginning, middle, and ends to these tasks.

Many hours on the bike are spent in silence, just being.  The body is active, the mind is quiet and receptive, perceiving the ever-changing panorama.  I love having a bike computer and watching the numbers go by and doing my fractions.    The ambivalences and endless interpersonal communications, with the constant negotiations and misunderstandings which make up the reality of my daily life will stop for a while.  I will revel in the concrete and rest in the simple meaning of matter.

T-61: When You Ain’t Got Health, You Ain’t Got Nothin’

There is an old saying, "for want of a nail, the kingdom was lost."  It speaks to the way small errors can cascade until real danger or loss can occur. 

The debacle that began yesterday continued through a real comedy of errors that ended with a life threatening situation for me.

At the dentist, I was asked if I wanted Vicodin as a painkiller.  I turned it down, saying I didn't do well on codeine, that ibuprofen would be fine.  Fine, no codeine, they agreed.

 
I went to another office where they extracted my molar, and gave me a prescription.  I crammed the prescription in my purse without looking at it, anxious to get home before the big storm hit.  That was a lost cause.  I drove home through sheets of rain in heavy traffic.

 Once home, I pleaded with Wes to go the pharmacy and get my prescription filled.  At the drugstore, the pharmacist made him sign a release, and warned him that the prescription was a narcotic.

At home, the Novocain was wearing off, and the pain kicking in.  I took two pills and went to bed.  Because the dentist had warned me to not let the pain get started, I wake up every hour or so and take an ibuprofen...or so I think.

About 4:30, I wake up to itching all over my body.  I take another pill, but have the presence of mind to look at the label. Acetaminophen.  That's odd, I think.

Around 6:00 wake up again to sound of Wes leaving.  I laid there, waiting for my alarm to ring at 6:05.  I felt weird and itchy all over.  My alarm rang and I sat up.  The room whirled, went gray.  The next thing I know is it is 6:30 and the alarm is still going off.  This time I make it out of the bed, and can barely walk.  My equilibrium is shot; I am immediately nauseous, and there are distortions in my vision.  I collapse back in the bed.

 The next sound I hear is the phone ringing in the next room.  I get out of bed and again feel distortions in my balance and vision.  It is Wes, checking up on me before school begins at 7:15.  Hearing my voice, he asks, “Are you all right?”  I tell him I don’t feel well.  Later, he tells me my answers didn’t make sense and my voice sounded clotted and heavy.

 I have to hold on to the wall and stair rail to make it to the restroom.  It is a race to urinate before I vomit.   Instead of feeling better after emptying my empty stomach, I feel worse and the visual distortions are beginning to resemble hallucinations as the room’s dimensions begin to wander.

 I make my way back to my bed and collapse again.  I have the vague thought that something is really wrong.  The next moment of consciousness is an hour later.  I cannot sit up without getting dizzy, so I look at my phone to see if something about acetaminophen[SN1]  that could be making me so sick.

I read about acetaminophen overdose: nausea, upper stomach pain, itching…check, check, check.  I find out it is the most common source of poisoning today.  The maximum to be taken is 325 mg every 4 hours.  Thinking it was ibuprofen, I have taken way too much.

I try to get up to feed my whining cats.  This time I make it to the basement, but I am quite ill.  I vomit in the sink and begin to really worry about what is happening to me. 

I get the number for poison control and call.  A kind woman named Danielle takes me through a series of questions.  When I tell her about my visual distortions and passing out, she says, “Read me what is on that pill bottle” 

 I tell her acetaminophen and she asks, “Does it say anything else?”  I peer at the label, and pull the “Do not drink alcoholic beverages when taking this medicine” label away from name label.  “It also says Cod #3”

 "Codeine!  How much have you taken?  What size are the pills?”  There is a real note of urgency in her voice.  She helps me find that each pill is 325mg.  “How many have you taken?”  I don’t know.  “How many are left in the bottle.”  I count the pills which seem to be wandering in my hand. 

There are 13 left.  I have taken 7 in the past 10 hours.  The normal dose is 2.  She quickly figures that I have taken a dose of 2.275 grams.  A toxic dose is 4 grams.  She asks about my side effects, and especially about the all-body itching. 

She makes sure there are no respiratory effects and that my heart rate is neither too fast nor too slow.  It appears I am having an allergic reaction, as well as taken too many pills.   She tells me to call my dentist, get some salty food in my stomach, and keep my head below my feet as much as possible.  

I do all that, losing the contents of my stomach several more times.  I conk in and out at least two more times, with each awake period becoming a little more cogent, a little more mobile.   I listen, with dread fascination, to the horrifying and surreal news coming out of Boston.  Who would have dreamed of any of that just a week ago?

By 3 in the afternoon, I am well enough to do some work, and get a proposal to a donor completed and sent.  When Wes comes home, and hears the story of my bad day, we are able to untangle the chain of errors. 

 Error #1: I tell my regular dentist no codeine, but she does not convey that information to the doctor who does the extraction.

Error # 2:  The extraction doctor gives me a prescription for pain without discussing it with me.

Error #3:  I take the prescription without reading it or discussing with the doctor.

Error #4:  I send Wes to get the prescription that I still haven’t read.

Error #5:  The pharmacist tells Wes that this is a narcotic, but Wes doesn’t tell me.

Error #6:  The pharmacist partially covers the name of the drug with a warning label.

Error #7:   I just take the pills without reading their documentation.

Error #8:   I compound the damage by 1 pill every 90 minutes or so.

Error #9:   When I woke to full body itch, I should have realized it was an allergic reaction, and not taken another pill.

 

Who knows what would have happened if I had taken another pill?  It was bad enough and scary enough as it was.  Thank goodness, someone-- and woman named Danielle-- was watching over me today.  

 

Lessons for the day:

1.        Never, ever take acetaminophen and codeine again.

2.       Always, always read and understand your prescriptions.

3.       Life is fragile and can slip away in a moment.

4.       American Association of Poison Control Centers (www.aapcc.org or1-800-222-1222) offer a wonderful service.

5.       When you ain’t got health, you ain’t got nothin’.

.
j

---

 [SN1]

T-64: Too Damn Busy

A saying captures the damnable nature of the day today: “There's never enough time to do it right, but always enough time to do it over.”

I rushed up to the dentist today, as part of our effort to make sure we have dealt with all our physical maintenance issues before we leave on our trip.  I stopped at the Starbucks before going to my appointment because I had not had any breakfast, and I needed to get a small proposal done before tomorrow.  I wrote the proposal and went happily to my appointment. 

Because we all have to be connected all the time now, I checked my phone only to find out that I had the wrong time for my appointment on my phone (an after effect of learning new technology).  I was 45 minutes late for a 90 minute appointment, during which I was supposed to be getting a new crown on an upper molar.

The dentist was fairly nice to me considering I had just screwed up their schedule.  They took X-rays, and then came in with grim faces and told me that the tooth was too deteriorated and could no longer support a crown.   They then took a photo with camera that looked like toothbrush.  When the picture was posted on the screen in front of me, we were all horrified.  The tooth had a big black hole that peered right into the center of the tooth and the root canal.  Yuck. 

There was going to be no crown.  In fact, that tooth needed to come out of my head. Today. And then I will need to get a bridge.  This was a genuine “that sucks” moment.  The worst part was that it was totally avoidable.

This sad saga began months ago, when my dentist told me that a cavity had opened above my gum line…above a previous filling.  A root canal would be required, followed by a crown.  We did that and then scheduled the follow-up appointment.  On the day of that appointment, a work emergency came up and I missed my appointment.  I didn’t have another free slot for several more weeks.

When I go there, the dentist informed me that the root had been too exposed and would have to be re-opened and re-drilled.  We did that again.  Another appointment was scheduled…again on the first opening I could find in my 50-60 hour a week work schedule. 

So when I got there today—late because I was cramming in some more work before my early morning appointment-- the tooth was already gone. 

So then I am on the phone, making sure that I can cover my obligations:

1. see the bookkeeper and get current financials;
2.  pick up supplies for the opening tomorrow;
3. call the chair of the fund development committee about the upcoming event;
4. make sure the proposal I wrote that morning  is edited;
5. make arrangements for  our landlord to meet with an artist with a proposal for our building and grounds so she can submit a proposal by Monday;
6. brief the staff on emergency procedures because of the tornado watch. 

And do it all in the 2.5 hours before the tooth had to be extracted. 

So I run around and juggle, juggle, juggle. I pray, "Don’t drop any balls."

Except, of course… I had already dropped a big ball right on my head.  I was going to lose a tooth and several thousand dollars because of this particular bobble. 

I am constantly in a state of triage, dealing with the endless urgent demands, the unrelenting need to keep the money flowing, communication up to date, and everybody more or less happy and focused.

I have been telling Wes that I can’t seem to keep all the balls in the air.  I can work, and exercise, and write.  Or I can work, and cook, and have a social life.  Or I can work, and exercise, and have a few friends.  I sure can’t seem to do them all.  It seems that working and taking care of myself with healthy food, exercise, relaxation, and outside interests is utterly beyond me.  

It is true that I have let work become the first and last thing I do.  I think about it constantly.  I let myself down to keep my obligations up.  Or so I tell myself.  I can’t keep up with my work load either.  I am never caught up.  There is not a moment when I am not concerned about the pile that waits on my desk and the to-do list running in my mind.  This is a fool’s bargain and I am the damn fool who created it, sold it, and bought it.

T-68: Getting Ready--Technology Version



How many hours in front a screen?
 

I am still mixed about whether taking all this technology on the bikes is  a good idea.  In rides past, part of the beauty was being untethered.   For our last big trip, in 1998 (!), I don't think we even carried a cell phone, which were still novelties at that point. 

Now, however, screens are us.  I am on my 3rd smart phone.  There are many nights where I am on my phone, Wes is on the pad, and conversation is slight to none.  There is irony here.  We chose to give up television when it went digital at least partially to participate more fully in conversation, reading, and activities.  How ridiculous is it that we are now staring at our small screens instead.

I am also mixed about it because technology is never as easy as it seems it is going to be, as you want  it to be, or as it should be.  Inevitably, it takes me 20 minutes to figure out where that one necessary button is,  or because I cannot figure out how to do that one simple thing...like change the font size, or saving to a new directory...that I did in the previous version of the software or operating system.

Right now, I am struggling to figure out a new Nokia 920 Windows Phone, after happily using my tiny WebOS Veer for the past two years.  That is certainly going better than the fight I am having with this new Asus Windows 8 Zenbook.

I spent long frustrating hours trying to do something which was very simple on my previous technology...put a photo on my blog.  Blogger fights with Windows 8, so I can't automatically take pictures with the great camera on the phone, and put them on the blog.

This, of course, was my big idea.  I could use my great new phone to document our trip and preparations for the trip.   So no, I have to save to the cloud, then find a way to download it without tripping up the stupid blogger photo interface.

That is assuming that the more than a little erratic track-pad on the Zenbook isn't popping my cursor all over the page without warning.  Not only does it flip around without warning, because it is Windows 8, I find myself on the tiles, or on the previous page without ever having meant to go there.

So now I am wondering about the whole damn thing.  On previous trips, we were unbound and free.  Technology is looking and feeling like a tether.  About the last thing I want to do is spend my lunchtime and camp-time fighting with technology, instead of enjoying my surroundings, meeting new people, and losing my stress.

I do want to record my experience.  I do want to share my experience.  I know we are undertaking a life-changing challenge.  Why can't the technology be simple and seamless...like they promise? 

T-73: Getting Ready -- Bearing the Load

Last Saturday, I drove Wes crazy with insisting we gather everything we think we might want to take and seeing if we could even begin to bear the load.  Wes wondered, with reason, why I was so hell-fired up to test all this, when we were still more than two months from leaving?

My future kitchen

This is true, of course, but we have been buying clothes and equipment, and I was assembling the kitchen and bathroom from our camping equipment.

The kitchen had the requisite cooker and gas.  The cooker itself is  a miracle of tiny-ness, weighing less than 8 ounces and yet capable of boiling water in a few minutes.  A cooking pot, a frying pan, a grabber, and two small metal plates make up our cook kit.  Add a Swiss Army knife, lexan knives, forks, and spoons, along with little spatula, a pourer, a couple of tiny bottles for olive oil, plastic salt and pepper shakers, a silicon pouring spout, and you have a pretty functional camp kitchen for less than 7 pounds. 

I debate whether to take the water purifier, knowing that we will be in some very remote areas in what will likely be a drought year.  It’s heavy and bulky, however, at more than 1.5 pounds.  For now, it is out, though with trepidation.  I remember only too well getting giardia while backpacking without water purification during a drought year.  The only water available was highly suspect, and sure enough it wasn’t long before I was feverish, with streaming bowels, projectile vomit and stomach cramps that doubled me over.  This was more than a little nightmarish when we were more than 3 days from any possible help.  (Of course, Wes of the cast iron stomach did not get sick, and the night of the fever, more than 40 elk walked through our camp).  Maybe we will carry it on the western half of our trip and mail it back when we get to more reliable water country.  

I gathered the bathroom with pack towels and travel versions of our personal care items.  We debate: swim shoes or flip flops.  It is absolutely necessary to have shower shoes at campgrounds, but we also want to be able to swim in lakes and streams when we can. Wes opts for swim shoes, even though they take forever to dry.  I choose flip-flops.  Along with an emergency kit, necessary candles and lanterns, we now have another 7 pound pannier filled.

We pick out our clothes for hot, cold, and wet weather, for biking, and for town.  This fills two big panniers.  I placed technology, maps, and personal items in the rigged up bags for the handlebars.  Of course, there was the bedroom.  The pile looked gigantic. Would we really be able to carry all that?  Was this whole pile going to fit on two bikes? 

Even more to the point, even if it fit on the bike, could we carry it? 

I rounded up all the bungees and rigging I could.  I was able to put the big panniers on Wes’ big old Schwinn (which he is not taking), along with the bed and his pads.  I put the small panniers, the tent and my pads on my Trek, which I am (probably) taking.  Two handlebar bags and we were set for a trial ride.

We gingerly mounted our bikes and took off.  Hey! This was not bad at all.  We have carried far worse on previous rides.  Granted, we were riding around flat Detroit and we only went about a mile, but this was definitely a success!  We found we could carry everything we needed to survive –without a trailer and with the equipment we had.

I was buoyant.  I still am.  Our total load was 70 pounds, less than the absolute maximum of 80 pounds.  We could add food, a few luxuries like my penny whistle, a book or two, and still make it.  We can make it.  This trip is for real.  And we are truly getting ready.

 

 

 

 

 

T-76: Getting Ready--Body Version

When we tell people we are going on a cross country bicycle trip, they have two responses.  The majority shake their heads ruefully and allow that we must be soft in the heads to do such a ridiculous thing.  A certain number bounce with enthusiasm and wish they could join us as we head out.  Though their responses are quite different, they share a common question, “How are you training?”  In the case of Wes, the answer is, “I take an occasional walk with the dog.”

In my case, the story is quite different.  Not only have I returned to the gym and started working with a personal trainer---more on that in a moment—I also thought I should get a physical for the first time in years and years. Thus begins a journey that has not yet ended.

I go to my long time physician and friend.  I am prepared for the worst, I think.  Multiple tests—blood, urine, height, weight.   “Weight shockingly high….let’s check one more thing.  One of my staff will be in shortly to give you an electrocardiogram.  It will be good for a baseline as you have never had one.”

Ok.  The assistant, who seems remarkably surly, comes in and rather roughly attaches contacts to various points on my chest and ribs.  She connects a whole handful of wires to me.  Turns on the machine.  Pulls off the leads.  Leaves without a word.  I gingerly pry the contacts from my body.  And wait.  And wait some more.  In desperation, I grab an out of date Readers Digest, and discover that a friend and an acquaintance are the cover story. 

My doctor comes back and tells me to sit down.  It is clear she is shaken.  She shows me the EKG and points out that it shows a major problem on one of the sectors.  I need to see a heart doctor…pronto. 

Well, what the hell.  I knew my life was stressful; I knew I was heavier than I have ever been, but I had been exercising hard at the gym with no problem.  But what do I know? 

My fifth line was going up instead of down

It will take two weeks to get an appointment.  Don’t worry, we’ll figure out what’s going on.  Ok.  I won’t worry, my mouth says, but my brain has already started spinning desperate scenarios at warp speed. 

The spinning notches up a few days later, when my doctor calls me with the news that though my blood pressure is great, and my heart rate is low, my cholesterol level is dangerously high.  So now I am convinced that I am going to have a heart attack at any moment.  I tell myself that my grandfather died of a heart attack in March (it’s March now! I worry) when he was younger than me.

I try to beat back the dread, but I fail at it miserably.

I have several visits to the cardiologist, who, of course, is miles and miles away from my office.  I have to miss a bunch of work, which only adds to my stress and anxiety.   More blood tests, a carotid artery sonogram, a stress test, another EKG.  The doctor calls me in.  I can feel my anxiety tighten a fist around me.

“We can find nothing wrong with your heart.  The previous test must have been done wrong.   You need to keep exercising and get your cholesterol down.  Oh, by the way, there is a nodule on your thyroid that needs to be checked. We’ll see you when you get back from your bike ride.” I guess I am relieved, but now I have to take a bunch of tests on my thyroid. I read about goiters and worry about cancer.  This is ridiculous.

I will keep working out and trying hard to increase my fitness level.  I am making good progress, contacting muscles, like those cut during my abdominal surgery,  that have been out of communication for years. I find I like the free weights.  I sweat to achieve minimal results like walking 2 miles or biking 5 miles in 30 minutes.  I need a Masters in body knowledge and maintenance, but I am struggling for basic skills.   It is what it is.

I know I will get in better shape on the bike, but I sure do wish I wasn’t starting at such a deficit.  But like my trainer says.  It’s not where you start, it how long you keep going, that matters.  Well, I can see a long and winding road ahead of me.

T-79: Securing Our Stuff

The last few days have been all about securing our stuff.  Not only have we been amassing what seems an impossibly big pile of clothing, equipment, and gear to take on the trip, we also have been dealing with the need to make sure our homes, assets, and responsibilities are ready for us to be on the road for six months. 

The 1st Step:

The pile o' stuff to go on the bike.

Wes and I spent a few anxious hours last Saturday making sure that he has appropriately filed for his retirement.  This was very nerve wracking because it was easy to do it wrong.  The website was far from friendly and we were faced with difficult decisions about medical insurance, survivor benefits, and long-term care.  We decided to switch to Blue Cross Blue Shield from our much loved

HAP because of its portability.  We decided to put me on 50% survivor plan, which was a balancing act between making sure we received the largest possible payment on Wes’ pension and the need to make sure I on had some income if Wes should pre-decease me.  Let me tell you, talking with your husband about who is most likely to die first is one of those not-to-be missed husband and wife interactions.    We decided not to purchase long care insurance…with trepidation.  One of the realities of entering the third third of your life is seeing families torn asunder, including our own, by the difficulties, expense, and heart break of long term care.  I am still not completely easy with this decision because our choices need to be shaped by the fact that we do not have children, but this decision was deferred to another day.

We have also been back to our lawyer, dealing with other end of life questions. 

At the lawyer's

Wes and I dealt with the will and completed the papers to set up a trust to receive our properties a couple of years ago.  However, we actually did not do the work of transferring the ownership of anything into the trust.  In other words, it was all talk and no action.   This morning, we transferred the ownership of our house to the trust, and filled out the papers to do the same on the cabin.  But the same has to be done with all our assets, so there a many more steps, and many more papers to be filled out.

Boy, is this a difference from the trips we have taken in the past.  Did we even consider these issues?  I am pretty sure we had no medical insurance when we went on the British Isles trip (though we could have use the socialized medicine there). I know we weren’t insured when we cycling into the Great Yellowstone Fire in 1988.  I don’t think we even considered it.

As for assets, we laugh.  For most of our life, our assets were whatever we had managed to save from our jobs.   But we are in a different phase now, having just spent the last twenty years doing the middle thing.  We have been securing our place in the world, easing our elders through their transitions, and helping the young ones get ready to be in charge.  My goodness, but this middle phase generates a lot of stuff.

Looking at the pile we plan to carry on the bikes, it is astounding to think how much more complicated, and risk aversive this planning has become.  The children who would jump on a bike and leave to float free in the world seem pretty distant from the thoughtful, worried elders who must first do no harm before they set themselves free.