The First Quarter 2025 -Yippie! We Made It

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I am not sure if it was the dumbest or the smartest thing we ever did, but at the end of 2024, it was all set in stone. We all would go under the knife in the first quarter of the New Year. Two humans and a dog named Patches – our second dog Vader was spared the surgery frenzy.

I have always appreciated “Ladies First”. A privilege given to women by GENTLE men, and so I started on February 6th with an overdue thyroidectomy. Four weeks later, on March 5th, our oldest dog Patches had four skin tags and one mass removed, and my husband’s colon surgery took place on March 17th.

“Let’s suffer together and heal together” could be our new hashtag, but since I don’t know what a hashtag is or why I should need one, it’s just our new motto, and we live by it. Boy, oh boy, what were we thinking?

Let’s start with January. There is not much to write about. It was work only. We prepared ourselves for two months of half – or possibly no income – and worked senselessly because this is America and this is what most of us do. We worry about medical bills and survival. Most people here think SICK PAY is something out of a SCIFI movie, and only privileged workers, aka THE RICH and WEALTH (yes there is a difference) who don’t need it, have paid sick leave because we just don’t make sense (but oh, these egg prices).

We knew we had to cover co-pays and deductibles for both of us and even with pet insurance, our dog’s surgery was estimated to cost a whopping $900. At the end of January, we were tired as dogs. A few hours of deep sleep under the care of an anesthesiologist sounded heavenly to me at this point.

Who was the best patient? I think our dog Patches won by a mile. Dogs live in the moment and they adjust quickly to new circumstances. She didn’t like her Elizabethan hard plastic collar and was moping around a bit -and looked pitiful by doing so. Already at day #3 in recovery she only had to wear it at night. During the day I had an eye on her most of the time but failed miserably around lunchtime when my body required one of these wonderful short naps I had just discovered.

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Patches, who I call “My special needs child” (I say it with lots of love and as a reminder to myself that she is different and in need of a dose of special devotion and patience) sailed through her recovery and we could tell she was feeling better right from the start (also she seemed to like her pain meds). One of the skintags, the largest one, had been right above her eye. Another one had grown on her front paw, one on her neck, and a 2-inch mass had been taken out on her hind leg. Her biopsy would have cost another $450 and we decided to not care. Which sounds horrible, but considering that she is going to be already ten years old, what good would the knowledge do?

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The day of my husband’s robotic colon surgery came quickly and I found myself in the waiting room of a hospital, just one mile away from our home. Waiting in line at a register, or being put on a holding line, brings the worst out of me. The full repertoire, from eye-rolling, desk heading (yes, it is a word, sadly not made up by me), and dramatic sighs, and sarcastic remarks, I do it all. So it’s safe to say that I didn’t make new friends in the waiting room. “Are we there yet?” a question kids ask when traveling came to my mind when I looked at the billboard-like screen with names or numbers, meant to give us an update on the patient. ‘In OR’, ‘Out of OR’, ‘ICU’, ‘Waiting for a room’. All the info one needs to know where a loved one was – or perhaps the billboard was put in place to stop people like me from asking too many questions, which did not work in my case.

I was nervously pathing up and down the hallway and after coffee #3 (or was it #4) with – caffeine of course – because why not (I drink normally decaf) I could not handle myself anymore. “What do you mean he is waiting for a room? Did you not know he was coming?” (Oh, Bridget, shut up).

It drove me mad that I wasn’t allowed to see him in the ICU. I didn’t understand it, because my husband was beside my bed in ICU after my surgery. If one hospital can do it, why not the other one? (Beats me).

At the end of a three-hour waiting time, they finally had a room ready and they sent me up first, to get rid of me I suppose – and I understood.

Room #525, empty, waiting for a new patient was occupied by me for about an hour. 🙂 No coffee though, which sucked. By then, at 2 pm, I was in full caffeine withdrawal, ready to take a nap in the empty hospital bed, thankfully I had my Kindle with me, and I read a bit. My husband was finally moved in and joined me in HIS ROOM and right from the start – still UNDER THE INFLUENCE of the anesthesia – he started flirting with the nurses, the kind way of teasing older men have. My husband is a charmer and he let it all out. “The nurses like me,” he said with a grin and I smiled. Yep, that’s my Prince Charming.

After two days he was released and I became his caretaker – again.

By now, because it was his fourth surgery since 2019, we both knew the drill: What I say…goes! 🙂

My husband’s diet was a bit of a challenge. No fiber, only ‘soft’ food, didn’t give me much to work (cook) with. Mashed potatoes, patties and gravy. Some pudding or ice cream. He was in heaven. Me? Not so much. 🙂

March was our recovery month. I started working again, but not at full speed, only six hours a day, which wore me out quite a bit. My husband’s recovery continued to the end of April.

We celebrated a very special anniversary together. Another milestone in the BOOK OF COUPLES MILESTONES was celebrated with a special order cake (which we both hated and not because it was dairy-free and gluten-free) a bottle of Italian BUBBLY (which we enjoyed) and a home-cooked Surf-and-Turf dinner, we both relished. There were presents we both insisted on and lots of hand-holding, extra hugs and kisses.

We are good together, always have been, and always will be. Today I read an article in a newspaper that started: I’ve always loved my husband, but now that we are older and in our 60s, I definitely hate him less. It made me laugh. I suppose (or hope) everybody my age, men and women who are in a relationship for decades (with the same partner) will understand, if not, then I am just plain weird (which would be ok as well).

MOVIES/TV

We have watched a lot of TV in the last three months. There were chick flicks like “Ginny and Georgia” which I used to fall asleep (and it worked) but also good series like “The Pitt” and “Hawks” which I rewatched with him.

One movie left a mark and I would highly recommend it? One Life with Anthony Hopkins. The true story of Sir Nicholas ‘Nicky’ Winton, a young London broker who, in the months leading up to World War II, rescued over 600 children from Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia. Anthony Hopkins is a brilliant actor and he gives a stellar performance, but the most important aspect of the film is the message. Human kindness is still a force in the world. Everyone can make a difference. No good deed, be it great or small, is ever wasted. May I never forget~!

My work

“The fabric costs $165 per yard,” my customer told me and I started sweating instantly. It never gets old to work with materials I can’t afford. “What if I mess up?” That’s always my first thought and then I do the math.

7 yards x $165 = Sigh and shiver

But the truth is it doesn’t matter and I quickly shake it off like a performer on stage. The stage fright disappears when the curtain is lifted. Mine disappears with the first cut. The customer loved the result and so did I.

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Oh, this was the before:

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And a second chair for the same family. I love brave fabric choices.

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I love dramatic transformations. It never gets old.

The rest of March and April was full of cushions. Sewing, repairing, and restoring outdoor cushions like every year in spring, and I was happy for the break. I still feel a pulling sensation on my neck scar when I lift heavier furniture, so sewing cushion covers gave me a wonderful break -and I still made money.

“Can you recover 53 seats for a nursing home?” You bet I can. “How about 25 stools for a pedicure place? “Sure bring it on!” My husband’s recovery and my own had strained us financially a bit. These cushions were a nice present from the universe.

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Good news

There is so much good news (yes, you read right) that I decided to make an extra post full of joy, goodness, and humanity. We all need it.

Spring

And then Easter came and I decided to go all in. I even colored eggs this year. They brought color and joy into our lives and right now I need all of it and I suck it up like a sponge.

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And from one day to the next it was spring. Our little crooked tree started blooming and just like every year I got spring fever. A few newer plants had died last winter and needed to be replaced. Ok maybe they didn’t die but I had planted them under the roof, too close to the house, right where Vader loves to lie down? Perhaps he had snuggled up to the plants a bit too closely? Well, there is no proof, so I guess the story of the cold winter will do.

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Books

I read two Pulitzer Prize winners and I cannot pick a winner. Both books were incredible. One, Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver, is a 565-page turner. I recommended the book to an Austrian friend, that’s what she said:

I’ve rarely read a book that has given me so many new insights into American society as this one.
Great story, insightful language, optimistic, touching, sad, and yet a joyful book despite all the protagonist’s suffering.

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The other book was TRUST by Hernan Diaz. I wasn’t sure if I would like it, but loved it. Four chapters are listed at the beginning. Each by a different author. In reality, it is the same story told by different people, and, of course, all by Hernan Diaz.

It’s May already, and as usual, my review is late -but I hope still worth reading.

My husband is back to work and I enjoy being back to our normal life. May (pun intended) it stay like this for a while.

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