*deep breath*

You know how to reach me but if not, 411 will remind you.

We just went grocery shopping with him last night. They're supposed to be coming over for Thanksgiving. He and Velma were over last weekend for dinner and hanging out.

I'm praying for all I'm worth on this. I've seen the ill effects of stokes both in a beloved great uncle and my friend Pat Taylor. I know it's possible to recover from one, but repeated strokes are very bad.

I've already had a very bad 24 hours. Heavy sigh.

Coming back from the airport a couple days ago, I saw a couple on the T who reminded me a lot of Scraps and Velma, though I don't think it was them -- about their ages, and he'd obviously had a stroke and was recovering. Despite that they seemed very happy, and I sent positive thoughts skyward for all of them. Words are inadequate at this latest development, but -- keep us posted.

prayers started, candles lit

Word spread; mojo being mustered.

Please, please, please -- hang in there, Soren.

Jane: thank you, I texted your comment straight to Velma at the hospital.

Of course, it could just be that he's back in New York Methodist Hospital. I'd grouse too.

Goddamn.

deSelbyBowen.com.

Susan Palwick, Kathryn Cramer, Scraps, TNH, PNH, in 1988. This would have been when Scraps and Patrick and I shared an office at the publishing house where we worked as literary criticism reference series editors. The three of us are having our usual reaction to having our pictures taken without warning.

Scraps and Velma, this past July, at a KGB reading. The photo's by Ellen Datlow.

Another photo of Scraps from the same occasion. Even without the cane, I'd know this was a post-stroke photo -- there aren't enough quirks and crotchets in his facial muscles.

Photos from a happier occasion: Kat and Jamie's wedding.

Piano bar photos. Scraps and Velma love the piano bar scene. (They aren't the only ones. Photo #3, the one labeled "Andrew," is Andrew Willett.)

One of Soren's earliest daytrips after the stroke. Helen, in the black and silver sweater, is up at the hospital with Velma right now.

-Jeff

Prayers, can and will do.

I just saw him last week and marveled at how well he's recovering.

My thoughts and love are with them.

He has speech, though he's somewhat disoriented by the hospital setting, and he's unhappy and drugged-drowsy.

Thank you all for prayers, good thoughts, and spreading the word. I'm going to follow his mother's directions and go to bed. I'll try to be more coherent in the morning.

Dammit.

Prayin' as I am able.

35 years ago, and she's still around.

This ain't good, but it's not a "Call House" weirdness. At least, the hoofbeats aren't likely to be passing zebras.

Yes, attributed. Lack of sleep and worrying makes my typing and thinking skills less than perfect. My apologies.

Back from spending ~5 hours with my friend who had a stroke in August — his partner was driving up to the Central Coast to see and help her aged father, which she used to do every fortnight, but that's been disrupted — I've been using Soren's recovery as an example of what sort of progress and recovery can happen; they'd be similar ages. He's at screamingly-restless stage on bedrest and confinement to one room ~120 hours because he recently had a blood clot in his lung — very painful. It's put back his good progress with physio- and occupational therapy.

So hearing of Soren's setback too seemed like a chilling echo of this.

I don't pray, and am out of incense, but a neighbour gave me the first 3 gardenia flowers from her garden because I was well enough to come past her place for the first time in weeks. I'll put them as an offering by my little group of great-souled ones from several religions, and send thoughts while I'm still awake here.

Hopin yous all keep well and strong.

(it seems to be the day for awful news. I just learned yesterday that my mother has a huge 8x12cm malignant tumour in her pancreas. Not metastasised and apparently resectable, but still, she's not immortal anymore.)

This sort of thing makes me feel so helpless.

That 1988 photograph is so weird. You all look so young and thin and black and white and far away.

Nix: prayers for your mother as well.

Looking through the list, we represent an amazing spectrum of religious beliefs and non-beliefs, and yet we seem to get along pretty well. I wish the rest of the world was more like Making Light.

Look, God. You know we haven't been on the best of terms....

The only reasons I could think for running an EKG are a) it's routine; they do it on everyone who comes through, or b) something odd turned up in his blood work, and they'd like to rule out cardiac as a source of the anomaly.

Strength and courage to Velma and those who're helping her and Soren.

Am especially glad that Soren will probably be home in time for Velma's birthday! (Hers is the same day as mine, which is why I remember it. It's a granfalloon, but sometimes it comes in handy.)

Prayers and good wishes continuing meanwhile.

Please let Scraps be okay. And while you're at it, please let Velma be okay too.

Amen.

Very sincerely yours,
Caroline

Hope and more hope for y'all.

(And best wishes in siriosa's friend's direction, too.)

Best hopes and prayers for Scraps.

Thanks for your updates, Teresa, Helen, Velma. I'll continue to pray.

Further news?

Best wishes and thoughts for Scraps and Velma.

Hugs to everyone.

Jane

He's groggy, and unable to focus, and still having spasms in his right leg, particularly as he falls asleep. The main drugs he's on are Keppra (IV at first, to saturate his bloodstream, then pills for maintenance, and Baclifin, to help with the spasticity.

Emotionally, he is scared and depressed, and frustrated. I am feeling oddly flat much of the time.

Um, that would be exhaustion! Try to get some sleep when you can, and once he's home, do your best to recharge.

I'm still wishing you the best.

I don't know either of you personally, but sympathies, best wishes and good luck for a speedy recovery from this latest.

And what Davis Harmon said @ 125: get some rest when you can.

I'm sending gobs of "get better" thoughts. Please make sure that Velma takes care of herself, too. Let it be that Soren is home with her on her birthday. Make it a Happy one.

I'm so sorry can't be of more assistance.

The truest aspect of God is the love of family and friends which surrounds you.

All Good Wishes to siriosa's friend, too. Seen these turn out both well & ill, so a fearful/hopeful time.

Also crossing available body parts for Mez's friend. Hope he will be up & improving lickety-split. Keep yourself well as well – there's a lot on your plate. One small bite at a time.

Meanwhile, my divorce (amicable, and long overdue) from Mark has been granted, and I am now a single woman.

Happy birthday to me.

Hold fast. We're praying for you.

For your birthday, here's one of my favorite quotes, attributed to Dorothy Bernard:
Courage is fear that has said its prayers.

We're thinking of you.

*croggle* You did NOT need to hear that.

Just at first blush, I would advise you not to believe this. It is born of despair, and comes not from the Scraps you know and love, but the one who believes himself to be the prisoner of a body that is betraying him with no end currently in sight, for him or for you.

My disbelief is not come to lightly. Having just freshly read the accounts from the last year, and seen the clear indication that his determination to get better was more-than-partly fueled by his love for you; it is easy to see how this set-back would be discouraging on all fronts.

But, oh god, I know how it must hurt.

And I don't know Scraps as well as you do, but I agree with Paul. I'm sending good energy your way.

My prayers for both of you.

In re: Soren's declaration to you, it may be born of depression or desperation, or it may be that he feels badly enough about his prospects of survival that he is trying to cushion its affect on you, by his trying to put distance between you two.

Those who are profoundly depressed are not always making really good choices when an event disrupts things.

Others have said wise and true things here, to which I can only add this, a passage which has been giving me comfort and perspective for a long while. (It was one of the readings at our wedding, going on a dozen years ago.)

"My wife said to me the other day, after a knock-down-drag-out fight about interior decoration, 'I don't love you anymore.' And I said to her, 'So what else is new?' She really didn't love me then, which was perfectly normal. She will love me some other time - I think, I hope. It's possible.

"If she had wanted to terminate the marriage, to carry it past the point of no return, she would have had to say, "I don't respect you anymore.' Now - that would be terminal.

"One of the many unnecessary American catastrophes going on right now, along with the religious revival and plutonium, is all the people who are getting divorced because they don't love each other anymore. That is like trading in a car when the ashtrays are full. When you don't respect your mate anymore - that's when the transmission is shot and there's a crack in the engine block."

- Kurt Vonnegut, Fates Worse Than Death

I don't know Soren, but I agree with everyone here who believes that he does still love you, but is in too much emotional pain to be clear or careful about it, right now. I hope that will change for the better very soon.

May you have what you need, today and each day. May a moment of joy or peace find you, even in the midst of this. And then another moment of joy or peace.

Right now, hold fiercely on to the fact that you love him.

When my partner had cancer, my mantra was often "I can bear this." Also: "One foot in front of the other." There was so much that needed doing, so much processing that had to happen. I dedicated myself to living the moments I got so as to minimize regret.

Another thing I liked to say: "In 100 years, everybody I know is going to be dead. I already know how this comes out."

This moment here, horrifying or tender, exhilarating or eviscerating, is the only one any of us has. What we do with it is the substance of our lives.

Light light light light light.

YES!

Hang in there. Both of you.

Still sending out thoughts and prayers that things will work out OK for them both.

My birthday was not as bad as it could have been, even sitting in the hospital room with Soren. Ellie came to keep us company, and brought me a delicious cupcake; Teresa came, and spent the afternoon and evening with us, and snuck out to bring me a flourless chocolate cake with candles and ribbons; and then she and Patrick took me home with them, plied me with delicious food and rye, showed me some footage from Leonard Cohen's recent shows in London, hugged me fiercely, and then made sure I got home safely. And in the middle of that, Soren called, to say that he would be released today.

Ellie came back to the hospital today, as I was showering Soren (and trying unsuccessfully to get all of the glue from the EEG out of his hair). We did final paperwork, got prescriptions (Levetiracetam, Baclofen, and Lexapro, for those of you keeping track), dropped them off, went for lunch, then Ellie went in pursuit of wine, cheese, and potatoes, while Soren and I picked up the prescriptions and came home.

I am still exhausted, and feeling flat and wary, but . . . well, we'll see. I know that I love him, and want to spend the rest of my life with him, and that's a basic fact of my universe. Let's see what we can build on that foundation.

My most recent natal anniversary celebration was memorable. It was in the little private interview room outside ICU — we felt awkward in the general waiting room, where other family groups were, as normal, rather more sombre. Tea and orange cake. One slice each, cut up the rest, put it on plates with napkins, and, just before leaving, lined them up on the ICU nurses' desk. A very small thing to show our gratitude for their care.

So glad to hear things seem to be improving again.

Hurrah for home turf. Everything's better if you've got your own bed. Yay for friends, and yay for solid solid solid foundations.

Holding you all in the light.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

Maybe this will be helpful and maybe it won't, but it's the best I've got and figured I should share.

I remember when my father destroyed several discs in his back--he yelled at me for two weeks, I yelled back, and the arguments went on until he went into the hospital for back surgery.... surgery which the prognosis was 50/50 if he's be able to walk after it. The pain was so bad, though, that he was willing to take the risk, simply to lessen the pain.

I remember when my father destroyed several discs in his back--he yelled at me for two weeks, I yelled back, and the arguments went on until he went into the hospital for back surgery.... surgery which the prognosis was 50/50 if he's be able to walk after it. The pain was so bad, though, that he was willing to take the risk, simply to lessen the pain.

And, well, problems can be serious problems. I have heard some horror stories, one of which was in my own family (a distant relative by marriage). Considering some of the weird dreams I've had, I sometimes wonder what evil visions some people see under the influence of a poorly chosen antidepressant that lead to psychosis.

I am very tired.

Beg to differ. My, er, prep lasted over twelve hours. More than enough said.

Don't drink that gallon jug of Evil they'll try and make you take to clean out your system. Ask for -- nay, insist -- on some of the alternative, gentler methods.

Trying to drink a glass of that crap every fifteen minutes like I was supposed to ended up with some of the worst vomiting and dry heaves I've ever had. Yeah, it was going to clean out my system, but in the wrong direction!

I got half the jug down before giving up. I couldn't have had the colonoscopy the next day as scheduled, anyway, because I was still too wrung out to leave the house.

Scraps and Velma, I'm still thinking good thoughts and lighting candles for both of you.

And most importantly I said to Scraps and Velma that I am sending good thoughts and lighting candles for you both.

We are contemplating going out for a walk in a couple of hours, as we are out of seltzer, and possibly having a belated birthday dinner somewhere in the neighborhood. The McGarrigle's French Album (I think that's what it's called) is coming from his end of the apartment, and, while we're both drained, there is autumnal sunlight coming in, and the roses Fred gave me on Tuesday night are still upright.

Re l*x@pro and c*l*xa, that's interesting and possibly useful. I'm in the process of being weaned off generic c*l*xa, as it damps down my anxiety but makes me sleepy/groggy 24/7 and worsens my depression. OTOH, it is the only antidepressant that works for my sister (after trying and discarding 4 others).

With regard to the prep: I strongly recommend you ask your GP/hospital department/person in charge to schedule the procedure for the afternoon, which should permit Scraps to do what they call a "split prep." He will drink 1/2 the foul soap-tasting mixture the night before, starting around 6 pm, he will get a good, though short, night's sleep, and he will drink the rest of the foul stuff in the morning. I also recommend, if it's possible, that he go on a bland diet 3 days before the test, and if he can, fast from solid food for 24 hours before starting the prep. (Jello, as long as it's not red, is okay. I allowed myself orange jello until the evening before the procedure.) If he's diabetic or has some other reason why he can't not eat for 24 hours, of course he mustn't. But I found that bland food (and not very much of that) for two days, and then a 24 hour solid food fast, made the pooping part of the prep very easy -- no cramps, no discomfort, and it was over in 3 hours.

YMMV.

It is, unfortunately, more expensive in the U.S. because there is no generic. Luckily I have access to health insurance that covers it, so it's not prohibitively expensive.

Rant rant universal health care rant single-payer rant inhuman, this is supposed to be a civilized country, rant.

The way my dispensing psych explained it to me is that the formulation of Celexa is a slower release which, for some people, makes them groggier. Oddly, my daughter found that Celexa was less groggy making than Lexapro. Brains is different stuff.

Yeah--C*l*xa was the first thing my GP tried on me, and it was like flipping a switch. All of a sudden I could sleep at night, and was awake during the day, and I could tell when I needed to eat...fantastic. (I did have to up my dose when a friend died in a freak accident, but it was still helping, just not quite enough.)

The instructions look like they'd be extremely bad for one.