Monologue from a Dead Person

This is written from the point of view of a dead person. Don’t ask me why this came out, but it did so there you go.

Dead person: “Dead is the new alive” Now I know what you’re thinking. I was just being trendy. After all, more and more people seem to be doing it and I was always one to keep up with the current fashions. But this one is really cool. Trust me. And mark my words, it won’t be long before all of you start to follow my lead.

Now I’m not knocking life – life is good as the over priced t-shirts say. Have you noticed that t-shirts with ironic and acerbic statements cost half that of cute and or inspirational t-shirts. I may be dead, but I still like a bargain so I’d take a Bush Sucks t-shirt over the Life is Good one any day.

But I digress. Since you’re all assembled and probably feeling somewhat bad – I guess about being left behind – I wanted to tell you some things about life I really liked – back when living was “in.”

Dewy grass
Now this is something I remember from childhood. I think all the dewy grass was replaced by Starbucks and Bed, Bath and Beyond because I can’t seem to find any, but when I was young the dew would cling to the grass on a summer morning and I would lie in it and get all wet and look up at the clouds….which I think you still have since Barnes and Nobles hasn’t figured out how to annex the sky yet. At night as the grass got damp it was great to run and shout in it with your friends at the end of an endless day.

Hawaii
Go to Hawaii before you die. Since we don’t get to pick when you die, book a flight immediately and hope the plane doesn’t crash. Go to Napili Bay and swim with the sea turtles and take the road to Hana. Stay in a tree house or a yert.

The Marx Brothers
And other great comedy. I miss it all except Stephen Colbert who is so big that we all stop what we’re doing here in the afterlife and tune in at 8:30 every night. I miss having a belly though. I never realized how great it felt when your belly shook when you laugh. I must think of a great joke right now so you can feel your bellies while you laugh. A pedophile and a young child are walking through the forest. It’s dark and the child says to the pedophile “I’m scared.” To which the pedophile replies “You’re scared? How do you think I feel? I have to walk out of here alone.” If your belly isn’t shaking your head is, I bet.

Great Sex
I don’t miss mediocre sex or bad sex, just the great sex. There’s no gender up in heaven so it’s only this distinction that helps us figure out who was a man and who was a woman. The men even miss the disastrous sex.

Cheese
Can you believe there’s no food in heaven? It’s all down in hell – used to torture people. I remember loving cheese because it was something you ate just for fun and rarely if ever for nutrition.


Moments When Grief and Happiness Collide
I remember this one yoga class when I was sick – that is to say before I died. I couldn’t do most of the poses and my body kept cramping up in tremendous 30 second blasts of pain. I lay back on the mat and fought back the tears when I looked and saw two birds perched on the power line outside the window of the yoga studio. They were deep in conversation with one another, totally at home on this scary electric line, like angels sending me a message. “One day you won’t be able to watch these birds, but today you can” I said to myself and my heart flooded with joy. I miss that sloppy human feeling of grief and the tremendous relief when happiness barges in to save the day. I remember those birds.

You
I miss you.

Heroically Sportless Aromatic

So two more events are coming up. One is a fundraiser at BATS (Bay Area Theater Sports) on June 12 and the other a gig with my band at The Jazz School on June 14. (The answer is yes, I’ll be very tired. I also have recording and lithium trial business that week.) To find out about BATS’ fundraiser go to http://www.quiltmamas.com/dmc/ways_to_help.html. To buy tickets email the amazing Laura Derry at: batsfriendsofcarla@yahoo.com or call
(415) 759-1304. This is going to be a very funny and entertaining evening with some of the best improvisers around – period. Even if it weren’t a fundraiser I’d recommend it.

A brief digression from plugging: if you only know me from this blog you don’t know that I am bringing the hilarity to ALS – a sorely needed commodity. I’m pretty sure that if you held a summit with Stephen Hawking, Lou Gehrig, Shostokovich, Charles Mingus and David Niven, all of them together couldn’t come up with one ALS joke as funny as my friends and associates and I do on a regular basis. You can spell the word “laugh” out of the letters in amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (or Lou Gherig’s disease) and in fact if you mix up and use all the letters up you get “laugh or hoot my ass sillee - crises are topical, girl…. dss” or something even better than that if you’re smart.
If you just do " amyotrophic lateral sclerosis" you get “heroically sportless aromatic” which is fitting and just "Lou Gehrig’s disease" gets you “She is a sludgier ego.” Okay…

When I digress, I really digress. This is all by way of saying June 12 promises to be highly entertaining and big ups to Laura, Rebecca and Lisa for the legwork, the caring and the vision.


June 14 is a show at the Jazz School to launch the new cd. Info about that show can be found at:

http://www.jazzschool.com/html/events_concerts.html
http://www.quiltmamas.com/dmc/carlas_performances.html

Every singing gig has become sacred to me since I don’t know how quickly the voice, the energy, etc will go and how many gigs are left. Since I was 11 I had a ‘thing” for audiences but now the crush has blown up into an all out love affair. We’ll be doing songs from the cd as well as a new one ( or two if I can get it finished) that I wrote plus one or two from the upcoming cd which I’ll be working on all week prior to the gig. The amazing Kai Eckhardt will be stepping in for Jon Evans on bass and the rest of the band are the usual suspects – Mike Zilber on sax, John R. Burr on piano and David Rokeach on drums. All three of these guys are among the best on their instruments so it’s an honor to get to play with them.

If you’re in town I hope you can make one or both of these or tell your friends about the events.

In other news I checked off another bucket list adventure and I’m running out of things on the list. I still need to take something from a hotel minibar ( there was no minibar at the Vancouver Holiday Inn), Pacific Grove and the butterflies ( oct) Disneyland ( this summer) drive my miata in an abandoned area
(next week) and be reckless about love ( easier said than done). I also need to add to the list just incase there’s some unwritten cosmic law that once you’ve completed your list you die.

So here it is: 1) wheelchair athletics: skiing, whitewater rafting –something adrenaline inducing 2) go to the red light district in Amsterdam 3) go down a snowy slope on a toboggan 4) sleep under the stars out in the world not just on my deck 5) write a book or a screenplay or both 6) go to Vegas as someone else and stay in character the whole time – I want to go as a woman who wears skin tight purple pants and has decals on her really long finger nails. Her name is Dee and she’s from a suburb in Chicago since I like that accent. She likes roulette.

The Four Bullshit Truths

I began my drug trial on May15 and tomorrow I go in to get my blood levels for lithium tested. It’s anybody’s guess to know how long before we know if the drug is helping slow down the progression of the illness. The hands keep weakening, the neck cramps every day. I don’t believe I will beat ALS. I’ve never had that kind of fighter instinct. At Sports Day in Kindergarten I came in dead last, slowing myself down even more because I was yelling to my best friend at the time “Good luck, Jonathan, I hope you win!” I never pushed my career because of that same lack of killer instinct …or maybe it’s a lack of entitlement. It makes no sense to me that I could beat an incurable disease. And yet, I’m an optimist. Is that weird or what?

My career and relationship dreams never came true. The end of my marriage did not break my heart but events since then most certainly have. My body is betraying me and even when I do what I’m told and move into a wheelchair early, I still get injured, I’m still sore and still shaky from my launch the other day. (By the way, it’s not the flying that’s dangerous, just the landing). I adore my son and face the reality of leaving him and wondering will he allow others to nurture his tender heart when I’m gone? How can I bear to leave him? And yet, I’m an optimist. Go figure.

All the things I mention are true. They are unavoidable. The first noble truth is that suffering is inevitable and on bad days I want the Buddha to have called them the Four Bullshit Truths. But mostly I notice how blue the sky is, how delicious laughter sounds, how great it feels to hold a warm cup of tea in my hands. Mostly, I grab people and hug them and tell them I love them when I have the impulse to do so. Mostly, I see miracles everywhere – in my son’s blogs and jokes, in the earnest joy of little kids, in the beautiful melodrama of teens and college students, in my dad’s tears, in my amazing friends and their support and in loving someone and being loved back.

I had a dream the other night. I was walking down the street with a dear friend and I was walking completely normally. I felt completely normal and healthy. It was a glorious sunny day. I turned to my friend and said “ I don’t know if I’m happy because it’s sunny or it’s sunny because I’m happy.” And my friend said “it’s the latter.” I woke up in the warm glow of love and contentment.

How do I have time to fight ALS when all around me the world invites me to joy?

You Were Expecting Maybe Randy Pausch?

This is the speech I gave at the year end banquet at my school. It was also my last banquet period. It's kinda raunchy at times but hey, that's me. I think the underlying message is still good.

vancouver

I sat next to my father-in-law (he’ll always be my father-in-law) with my head rested in the crook of his arm, our arms around each other. What a funny pair – he slowly losing his amazing mind to Alzheimer’s, me quickly losing my young-for-my-age body to ALS. He came in and out of focus, sometimes making perfect sense, sometimes speaking some divine confused poetry. “I want to take you with me” he told me. To the afterlife, I wondered? We’re in a macabre race he and I, and that day I felt like I was winning. “I better let you go so you can eat” I said. “ I just did” he replied. “The food of love.”

I am still shaky from my first solo flight on the wheelchair – and I do mean flight. I was alone when it happened. The wheelchair hit a bump at warp speed and I flew 6 or so feet, landing on my knees. There was nothing to hold onto so I couldn’t get back up and had to wait for a construction worker to lift me. I was so shaken I didn’t even track if he was cute. I hurt – arms and legs both - but nothing is broken. I am however completely unable to use the left hand right now even for gross motor stuff. The fingers are jitterbugging and completely out of my control even with my brace on.

I worry about writing about this since just the other day I had to convince my dad that I needed to be independent. He and some of you other concerned citizens might read this and think “she shouldn’t be out on her own.” She should. She will. I would fall again for the chance to go find a restaurant, a card shop or a beach – as I tried to do in Robert’s Creek. No sidewalks there so I took the wheelchair along the side main drag of on my own. My father white knuckled it and apparently tried to get others to check on me, but ultimately let me go even if it meant me getting into trouble ( what did he think I’d do, take a flying leap out of the wheelchair? Oh wait….) I couldn’t make it to the beach
( too steep) but sometimes the reward is in the trying.

3 year old Annabel and 1.5 year old Atticus, my adored niece and nephew are the smart ones. They refused a ride on the chair – lap or no lap - but insisting on pushing me in it! I laughed until it hurt. It was so hilarious and a little heartbreaking to have these beauties behind me guiding my chair. The ultimate test in accepting help.

Don’t get me wrong. I accept help every day. I see the day when I need help all the time getting closer and closer. When someone does for me – from grabbing my arm to opening a door- I take in the care behind the gesture and I recognize that it’s a loving act to accept the kindness as well. I just cherish the things I can do on my own and I don’t want to let them go. If I fall down then okay, I fall down. We all fall down.

Still it is other people that matter in the end run and I’m grateful to have them around. I look back at images from my visit and I want to press them between wax paper to preserve them. Even still there were friends and relatives I wasn’t able to see ( such limited energy, have I) and wish they could have been part of my trip.

Here’s some moments from the folks I did see:

Annabel saying “Bravo boundaries Auntie Carla” or looking at a flower bed and saying “Look at this, I LOVE it!”

Snuggling on the sofa in between my brother and sister-in-law after crying because I can’t draw for Annabel anymore.

Weird man in the park remarking that you don’t often see a “hot redhead in a wheelchair.”

My brother walking up to me and putting his head on my shoulder.

My other brother telling us about his volunteer work for people in wheelchairs which entails, as far as I can tell, taking a quadriplegic to a strip club. I’m not kidding. That same brother crying in my arms in the White Spot parking lot.

Atticus throwing his ice cream down on the ground the way football players throw the ball after a touchdown or field goal or whatever it is they do, then grinning proudly or him intently singing “you” at the end of each phrase of Happy Birthday.

My parents leaving me alone to fall even though it goes against all their instincts. This is an act of love.

A dear friend calling from home to put me in touch with a friend of his who is going through his own health crucible. Listening to the message and thinking I might be able to help someone after all the help I’ve received.

Wheeling along the sea wall with my mother, looking out at the blue blue mountains and the sailboats in their slips and the Burrard St. Bridge. Remembering without regret that I used to ride this route on my bike every day to work. I’m still on wheels. Still traveling the same gorgeous path.

My friend Gordon referring to himself as a “tiling savant.”

My mom saying she’s proud of me.

Some lengthier scrapbook items:

My sister-in-law who has undergone that transformation that many women do when they have children. They become mother to the world. She was always a lover of people but now she is such a remarkable mother (they’re both great parents) and their children are so damned happy. She is much taller than me (I’m 5’8” to put that into perspective) so when she holds me, my head is against her chest and I feel very safe. “How am I supposed to get through this?” I ask rather rhetorically since of course there’s no choice. She coos in my ear “You’ll get through by being weak, you’ll get through by being strong. You’ll get through in love and you’ll get through all alone.” Then she kisses my forehead and says “wow, you smell the same” referring to my brother and I. It makes me happy to know I smell like him. Like me he is also funny but if I’m Edward G Robinson with a machine gun spraying jokes like so many wild bullets, he is an elite Israeli sniper, only taking the shot when he is assured of deadly precision. In other words he kills me every time.

My mother and I down at Granville Market. We walk by a theater where I had planned to try to do Wedding Singer Blues. I was about to get wistful when I see the marquee – fucking Tuesdays With Morrie!!! Based on the book about an old teacher with…you guessed it…ALS. That’s some funny shit. My mother suggested she take my picture underneath the poster, which is of course the only thing to be done on such an occasion. If I can figure out how to add the pic, it’ll follow this paragraph even though I don’t look like a “hot redhead in a wheelchair.”



Reunion. In my late teens I loved my best friend so much and she me, that we bemoaned the fact that we were attracted to men. We were madly in love except for the sex part and would consistently close down a restaurant, a bar, you name it. We had a heart-wrenching falling out 14 or 15 years ago but this trip we picked up where we left off – closing a restaurant, spending the day and night walking, wheeling and talking about the real stuff, crying and loving each other. She helped me take my first wheelchair bus adventure and my first wheelchair cab ride. It’s a miracle. After well over a decade of not being friends, I sat across from her and observed how the love gushed out from me and thought “She must immediately meet the DMC girls.” She quizzed me on them – asking for a profile of each of them. She looks the same as she did in the 80s – a couple of crow’s feet that only deepen her great beauty. I am so very very grateful to have her back in my life.

Talking for an hour and a half with Mac on the phone about Robert Byrd, the large number of left-handed presidents and Ted Kennedy’s brain tumor. Missing him. Annabel told her parents at the airport “We’re back to our 4 family now.” I am anxious to return to my 2 family. We have a lot of catching up to do.

I read what I’ve already written and it really feels like unfiltered journal material rather than blog material, but here’s the thing – these snapshots are the important moments. When I have a bad physical day or trauma like the wheelchair launch, I feel very close to the notion of my own mortality and I love this world and its’ inhabitants with a teeth clenching zeal that I see in my niece. I want to hold tight, fiercely to all of it. To all of you. These are, to be sure, just moments that bring great meaning to me and those who were there, but you all have your own moments like that too. I hope you can love and honor them now, even the ones that hurt.

That’s the perk of this disease – I get to be preachy.

Partici-blog 3 - because your comments matter!

Here’s the latest idea for a partici-blog ( though not to late to write comments on the first two. Just hit comments at the bottom of this blog and write your list.

Things I never took for granted

1) the northern view of Vancouver on a sunny day – the way the sky and mountains were impossibly blue. For 45 years it’s taken my breath away.
2) Maclen Jacob Zilber – enough said
3) Singing – I loved it even when it was hard
4) The honor of performing in front of an audience
5) Dark chocolate
6) Candlelight – sitting alone or with someone listening to music or dancing
7) The beach on a warm night
8) Peets
9) Kindness of friends (whether I told them or not)
10) My Dad being there whenever I needed him, no questions asked
11) Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell
12) The BC Ferry – standing on the deck looking at the blanket of evergreens
13) Practical jokes
14) Ocean kayaking at Robert’s Creek
15) Breast feeding
16) Walking on the street in New York City

Things I did take for granted but wished I hadn’t

1) using my body – moving, walking, dancing, yoga
2) simple activities - turning keys, lighting matches, cooking food
3) red hair
4) alcohol
5) attracting the opposite sex
6) down time
7) having the time and funds to travel
8) writing, typing, communicating in any way
9) breathing
10) eating
11) walking dogs
12) dawn breaking

Okay, now you.

love- the renewable resource

Remember hot summer nights when your parents would let you sleep outside? Pitching a tent was cool but oh so much better with nothing between you and the canopy of stars
(that was before light pollution). Why do we stop doing that except on camping trips? As an adult, I remember one night on a Brooklyn rooftop but that’s it.

I slept on my deck during our last little hot spell. I looked out at the Berkeley Hills and without my contact lenses I could imagine the lights were stars. It was a challenge to be sure to get up and down from the ground to go the bathroom but oh, so worth it. If I had had more than one loaner fan I probably wouldn’t have done it and I would have missed out.

It reminded me of a scene from my friend Kim’s play – I think it was Tattle Tale. All the other girls at the slumber party are running around in their pjs on the street but Kim doesn’t want to get in trouble so she sits in the tent listening to the sounds of the others’ joyful laughter. I’ve been inside that tent too much in my life. Now I want to run wild on the street and damn the consequences. I’m not saying sleeping on the deck is running wild but it’s a start.

We had our annual Drama Banquet on Friday night. My last. The kids tied pieces of muslin around my waist fanning out like the points on a clock. They held me up so I could dance and when I would almost fall they’d pull the muslin the other direction. Mac picked my all time favorite dancing tune and I danced. Magic! You have no idea what a joy it is to dance with abandon when you thought you’d already said goodbye to that part of your life. Later, I got to slow dance with not one cute guy ( a la my bucket list) but a line up of cute guys and one hot blond girl. Each dance had it’s own particular flavor of love and I basked in it all. I don’t even know if they knew they were making my dreams come true. Mac and I stayed up that night to the wee hours talking – tough topics but necessary and rich.

I would rather lose sleep in a painful conversation with him than have 8 uninterrupted hours when he’s out of the house.

Later Mac was too sick to go to his Model UN Conference so my friends rallied to take care of him so I wouldn’t miss my plane to Canada. They also went looking at apartments for me in case my other housing options fall through, emailing me a slide show of the apt and the surrounding coffee shops, raw juice bars, etc. Many of the pics include Edith or Kris waving into Wendy’s camera, looking enthused. Wow. If you read this blog regularly, I needn’t tell you that my friends are an elite squad of super heroes that make the Justice League look like pussies.

I’m both prodded into adventures and covered in a blanket of protection – all on account of love. I feel useful when I can give love and gratefully vulnerable when love is offered to me

Love shape shifts. It blindsides. It comes at you from different angles. You think it’s one thing, then it turns up as something else. It’s tenacious. It’s unpredictable and there appears to be an endless source of it.

Love is bamboo.

captain oh my captain

“Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone?”
Joni Mitchell

How many times did I think “if only I didn’t have this job, I would have more time for my work?” or “this job is going to kill me” or “it’s impossible to draw boundaries with this job”? I was right on all three counts probably. This semester I co-wrote a full-length musical, wrote several poems and songs, did several gigs ( okay some of them were benefits) and started a screenplay. Plus the blogs. I imagine that’s only going to get easier now that I’ve taught my final class.

I’ve taught my final class. Why can’t I type that without crying? Class ends at 6. Nobody left. “Go away now” I said. “I don’t want to cry.” “But we want to watch you ride off into the sunset on the wheelchair with your red hair flowing” said one of the girls – a poetic nymph who wrote to me that the galaxy had decided to throw a big party and make me the piñata. “I will cry when I pick up the loot” she continued, “ only because the stardust inside is so beautifully, blindingly, brilliant.”

All of their words and smiles are little treasures that expand like sea monkeys when my tears fall on them. Later that night I would come home to check my myspace and another student, a young man, had written a full-length poem which I will immediately put up on the wall with some of my favorites. The line he chose for the book the kids gave me was “loving you is simple, taking in your smile like a child gazing through the night at a mountain, never bothering to wonder what lies beyond.”

They humble me, surprise me, entertain me and occasionally shock me. I always used to accuse them of sucking all my chi but now I realize I was the vampire feasting on their youth and joy to stay eternally young.

We all sat there a little longer, casually chatting. Outside the sun was shining, dinner was waiting, some of them had an improv show to attend or to work on but we just sat. One burgeoning talent played with my hair as she did on the last night of the show. Several of them followed me out to the car and helped Lisa load up the wheelchair ( which fits in the back of a 2 door Honda Civic!!! ) It was unremarkable, quiet and sweet. No tears, just the sunshine and smiles and long luxurious hugs.

Then I drove away from 14 years of my life.

The Wendy Lady

It’s not the web savvy, the inventive updates on the DMC site ( linked here as Driving Miss Craisy) or the fact that she buys the voice recognition software and offers to install it plus more RAM on my computer. It’s not the delicious wheat-free, dairy-free baked goods that keep appearing – green, not green – all scrumptious. It’s not all the sewing – making clasps into magnets, rendering un-wearable clothes easy to navigate. It’s not the rides, so many rides, that often come with a snack or the fact that she’s accompanying me to Greece.

It’s the way she sings and dances her heart out to Earth, Wind and Fire, Ohio Players and Prince. It’s her inner “music yenta” that makes her call and insist I buy tickets to Stevie Wonder, Flight of the Conchords, Herbie Hancock, James Taylor. It’s the way she cried before I had a clue I was really sick and pleaded with me to go to the doctor. Then called again the next AM to nag. It’s how she looks like a hobbit bride when she stands at the front door at Mt. Herman and how she’s raised these two amazing girls I love. How her kindness and unforced generosity has leaked into them so that her daughter offers to move into her sister’s room so I can move in. How that daughter phones her mom who is tending to my broken heart and says “I’m making dinner – tell Carla there’s enough for her to join us.” She’s 13 by the way.

It’s how she holds my secrets, urges me on to write ( always has), comes up with solutions to problems I didn’t even know I had. It’s watching her run through a sprinkler in a polka dot bubble dress, offer to bake me special brownies, and it’s her urging me to be more cautious, use the wheelchair more. “I just want to wrap you in bubble wrap and protect you” she says, then after hanging up the phone realizing I’m too stubborn to pay her mind, it’s how her solution is to sew a bubble wrap dress with purple trim. It’s how I know she’s teary right now as she reads this.

But mostly I think, it’s her dancing.

mother's day

It’s Mother’s Day, 6:27 pm. I have just gone back and forth – do I blog or watch a stupid movie? I blog. The week has been overwhelming – it occurs to me it has been like a play that only I would write: big fun, belly laughs, boundary crossing, deep unbearable sadness and music – all of it coming at too quick of intervals to process it properly.

Last night Mac told me there would be no Mother’s Day this year. He can’t handle my reaction and keep it together to do what he needs to do. I am so proud to have raised a son that can tell me that. We stayed up until 1am talking about all the things that hurt and haunt him. Oddly enough, that was present enough for me. He is the most beautiful tender soul. When I listened to one of the songs I wrote for him today I had to leave the theater so as not to distract the cast with my crying. I love him so much it hurts.

I watched our show one last time and they knocked it out of the park. I was proud of all of us and more than a little sad that I won’t be doing this anymore. I’m really good at it. At the end of the show the kids brought me up for thanks and gave me gifts – not unusual for a play but under the circumstances very huge for me. Lots of tears – mine and my students – some of us sobbing in each others’ arms. I was moved beyond words. They gave me a spa gift certificate ( yay!!) a framed, signed poster of the show and a little book of inscriptions. The inscriptions were beautiful, heartfelt and profound and the comments on the frame were vile and unrepeatable. That is why I adore them. They are an alarming mishmash of angel and devil, irreverent, sacrilegious and holy.

Well, I’ve run out of things to say – probably stupid movie was a better plan.

So this week – final improv class, lithium baseline appointment and the year end Drama Banquet. Then it’s on to Vancouver and my inevitable collapse once I get to my Dad’s place.

What a lovely ride.

yoshi's

At the Yoshi’s benefit, I was approached by J., a beautiful young woman who had studied with me last year. At that time she was undergoing radiation treatment for cancer. So anyway, on Tuesday, she brought me a journal, which she had inscribed along with a heartfelt poem she had written. I was preparing to go up on stage in 10 minutes when she hit me with the news: the cancer has spread all over her body. I looked at this gorgeous black-eyed beauty, so quietly determined, hardworking and subtly funny and the waterworks started. When I watched the movie Young at Heart I was struck by how sad I felt when one of the octogenarians would die . Natural order of things my ass. The loss of a bright soul is hard no matter the age. Then this. It DOES smart worse when it’s someone so young and full of promise and possibility. I don’t know how I got on stage at all. All I could do was cry and stroke her hair.

I had a thought in the middle of the night, which was “I’m going to phone J. and see if we can’t think of a bucket list adventure we have in common and go do it pronto.” I think I’ll do that and report back here.

So the night at Yoshi’s was a complicated mix. On stage I had a ball. If I could live on stage I think I’d be happy almost all of the time. I have the most awesome band and my dear friend Andy did a couple of duets with me that rocked. Mac as usual brought the house down with his singular wit and rapping. It was his birthday, which had to suck for him. All the attention on me once again.

Off stage in the audience it was a delight – watching the embarrassing wealth of talent up on stage, laughing, grooving, drinking it all in. Talking to some of the musicians, especially the guys in my band was awesome and my amazing friend Kaila was a radiant light on stage and the rock of Gibralter off stage. I don’t know how she makes that transition so seamlessly.

The day before had been rough – 4 hours at the ALS clinic dealing with heavy stuff, worrying about where the hell I’m going to live which has become a more urgent concern with the recent health developments and just dealing with the general fatigue and challenges of this disease. I thought at about 6pm that I’d have to not go on but somehow it happened and I pulled it off. Talking with Stephanie (treasured friend and wife of the aforementioned Andy) I came to the conclusion I pulled it off because I was bathed in the beams of love light from the audience which included the Driving Miss Craisy crew, College of Marin and Los Medanos College students and faculty, Albany school people, yoga people, theater friends, musician friends and even a large contingent of the folks from the Forbes Norris ALS clinic!!

My ex organized all the musicians and ran the event and Christina, Edith and Kaila among others did an amazing publicity effort. Thanks to all of them and the participating musicians we netted almost 6000 bucks not to mention cd sales for another 500 bucks! Stephanie and Andy are going to help me get the cd on Itunes and it will be available on the website in a week or so by the way.

SO the performers: David Allen Moss, actor, friend and funny man presided over the event and Mike Zilber ( my ex) pulled together a first class big band for me to sing with. There are too many of them to mention in this blog but they were something else. My dear band from the new cd and the upcoming cd were there being their brilliant supportive selves ( Jon evans, John R. Burr and David Rokeach) Roy Zimmerman – greatest living folk political satirist was there bringing down the house (check him out on youtube and at royzimmerman.com), Kaila Flexer and Gari Hegedus, aka Teslim played a couple of magical and haunting numbers from their brand new remarkable cd, (kailaflexer.com) Mike (michaelzilber.com) brought two bands to the stage – his tribute to wayne shorter band and his Billy Collins Project which has mighty writing in it plus the vocal gifts of Andy Kirshner (andykirshner.com). One of the songs made me ball my eyes out during sound check and made Andy cry on stage during the show was a musical rendition of On Turning Ten by Billy Collins. The musical accompaniment for the song is perfect and Andy interprets it beautifully. It’s a poem which made Mac cry when I first read it to him when he was ten and he said “that’s how I feel sometimes.” It goes like this:

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

I love a funny poem with a lethal sucker punch.

Our life is so fragile and so brief and we really are only sustained, held up, buoyed, etc by one another. I have felt that so acutely lately. Yesterday Wendy presented me with a dress she’d made for me out of bubble wrap – a gesture to indicate her desire to protect me from all of the falling down. It’s a divine dress (which makes me feel like a POP star!) but in reality, it is all of you – from the nurse I’ve never met who commented on the blog, to my parent’s high school friends, to former colleagues writing in, to my intimate circle, to my family and all of the aforementioned groups who supported me at Yoshi’s – all of you are bubble wrap for me and for each other.

Here’s how it works: I can’t possibly thank you all in a way that does justice to your efforts – I already hear the Academy Awards band playing me off the stage now. Just know how much I love and appreciate all of you – including those I have yet to meet.

zzzzzz

I'm way too wiped to write both a Yoshi's blog and a limo night blog. My right hand fatigues easily and from what I understand it's best not to push it. I have been one-hand typing 50% of the time but now I'm doing 2 fingers on each hand until I train my voice-activated software. In other bullshit, my falling risk has increased because of the weakness in both my hip flexors and ankles and my OT wants me out of my apt and into a more suitable housing situation asap. This is easier said than done.

On the brighter side, lithium trial screening is this friday and the limo night and Yoshi's were amazing. To learn more about limo night go to:
http://seehowwealmostfly.blogspot.com/2008/05/ten-women-of-certain-age-lets-say-long.html
and read alison's account of the evening. She does it much more justice that I ever could....But play some Bachman Turner Overdrive in the background as you read it.

Balloon Liberation

My Mom sent me a bouquet of balloons in between opening weekend of War and PeaceMeal – The Musical and the Yoshi’s benefit on May 6. Now nothing makes me sadder than watching a bunch of helium balloons slowly die, the air sucked out of them until they sag. They are never as beautiful as they are the day of their inflation. They should always either be inhaled or liberated shortly after that. Mac and I did the latter though I wish we’d saved one for inhaling so we could sing a falsetto goodbye to them as they began their ascent. They were remarkably beautiful flying up into infinity….or the Berkeley campus…. becoming brilliant colorful dots against the blue backdrop of the sky. We attached a note to the last one in case it landed somewhere. A mystery for someone to discover. I would love to find a note like that. How much more beautiful things are when we let them go instead of clutching on to something that used to be.

It made me think again about what a mismatch this disease is for me. Not for me the slow, defeated deflation. I want to be popped so I whir in a wild zigzag jig through the sky like a Looney Tunes character, leaving only freckled skin and red hair in a perfect sheath once all the air as been let out of me, I want to have my strings cut like the happy face mylar balloon we watched cheerfully bounce it’s way into oblivion it’s grin intact. I want to be inhaled, absorbed, devoured, to spontaneously combust, to go super nova. Anything but this slow goodbye to my old life.

My right hand is starting to weaken now. I had two dramatic falls – one a full-on face plant. I’m not ready to give up yet but I can see how it’s going to get harder and harder to have fun. If it gets too sad down the road, I hope people will understand if I prefer to cut the strings and fly.

Tonight a few stalwart supporters and I are dressing in 1970s prom dresses, blaring Foreigner and Bachman Turner Overdrive and driving around in a stretch limo. I will report on the results and I will dance even if I take a tooth out falling down.

Clown Under a Truck

Old habits die hard. In the midst of directing the play I’m currently involved with I was also desperately trying to finish my cd in time for the May 6 benefit and also flying down to LA for a couple of benefits organized by the patron saint of off-beat performers, Jeannine Frank. Now this may not seem like a ridiculous amount to do but don’t forget that fatal illnesses are – among other things – huge time sucks. I returned from LA spent and wondering if I could continue directing the show.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The benefits were amazing. It featured artists that most people have never heard of but who have racked up impressive bona fides over the years and who I’d go see over famous people any day. As I belly-laughed over the musings of people like Bob Duvak, Betsy Salkind and Ray Jessel or marveled over the beautiful voice of Marie Cain or the brilliant mind of Kres Mersky and all the other wonderful artists I couldn’t help but think what a miracle it is to create works of art. I completely forgot why I was there and just thoroughly enjoyed myself. I feel the same way in rehearsal sometimes. Life will not be ignored. It goes on in all it’s clumsiness, hilarity and absurdity despite our little tragedies and that’s a marvelous thing.

I was trying to explain comic tragedy to my students. We have a new recruit in our play ( in the war movies they always call them “Cherry”) who wears a giant cherry costume with a stem coming from his pith helmet ( or pit helmet – get it?) and who explodes in his foxhole leaving only a bunch of cherry pulp. Another recruit tastes it and says “Fuckin’ Cherry.” It was hard to explain to them that tightrope that we dance on between absurdity and tragedy. I likened it to running over a clown. It’s horrifying and unbearable to have killed the clown and yet …peering over the hood of your car all you see are giant shoes. The paramedic tries CPR and is squirted with a flower. Or maybe a horn honks. Unfortunately as I tried to explain this I went into an uncontrollable laughing fit until tears flowed. I feel like that clown sometimes because this shit is so funny and so tragic.

But back to the benefit. So many beautiful people were there to offer support and love. Jeannine put together two great shows and Danna Hyams ( who is mentioned in 2006 blogs on this site) hosted the second night and made it her 50th birthday party! What a cheery birthday event – an ALS fundraiser. Only Danna is loveable enough to have people show up for a party theme that makes Mary Tyler Moore’s parties look like a laugh riot. I was so deeply moved and had such a great time. The highlight for me was Betsy Salkind doing a joke by a fellow comic that may have horrified other audience members but had me in stitches. It went something like this: Can you imagine how surprised Lou Gherig was when the doctors told him what he had?

That’s funny. I’m going to adapt it and steal it for Yoshis.

It was tremendously difficult to perform the second night – maybe fatigue, maybe being back at a theater in which I’d performed, who knows? Yet despite my challenges, the whole evening was funny and beautiful and deeply moving – Chuckles under the wheels of a hybrid suv – his tiny little bicycle crushed. Jeannine was amazing, loving and indefatigable in her mission to create this wonderful event. It shouldn’t surprise me that she would be like that – this is a woman who works tirelessly for wonderful and talented artists who are unlikely to ever make her any money – Broadway Danny Rose with more discerning tastes or as she puts it “ a cross between Mel and Murray in Flight of the Conchords”. You all love her now too, don’t you?

The work of entertaining has become so difficult for me and yet I’m still good at it. I can still make people laugh and cry – in the same set! I can still come up with arresting visual images and hilarious/horrifying sight gags ( Osama in an I love NY t-shirt). I can still occasionally sing the hell out of a song. It’s work that I believe is valuable and where I believe I can contribute to the world. It’s work that fulfills me. It’s hard work and it’s getting harder and harder. Time to pull out the giant shoes and the squirting flower.

Why I haven't been blogging...

The show I'm directing opens tomorrow night. It's called War and PeaceMeal - The Musical. It's at College of Marin April 25, 26, May 2,3, 9 and 10 at 8pm and May 4 and 11 at 2pm in case you want to laugh your ass off. Also I'm singing on a benefit ( for moi) at Yoshis on May 6 ( also Mac's 16th birthday). More info on that at www.quiltmamas.com/dmc or at www.yoshis.com. My cd will finally be done and on sale at that gig. I hope to be back to blogging this weekend - in the meantime, be well!

Sing With the Voice You Have

I don't actually write poems but I wrote this poem anyway after a brief but inspiring discussion last night with a colleague. Thanks Bill for your support and inspiration.

Sing With the Voice You Have

“Sing with the voice you have,” he told me.
Sing even though it makes you feel like a grounded plane some days.
Disregard the cracks in your voice because they are really the cracks in your soul
And slivers of silver light escape and dance for us.
He quoted the passage “the forest would be a quiet place if only the best birds sang”
And I thought of the 86 year old man on an oxygen machine singing Fix You by Coldplay.
Sometimes the only thing we have to offer is our pain.
Sometimes it is our sweetest song.

Partici-blog Two - the final frontier

I wrote about a wonderful woman in the blog entitled Orange Carpets and Little Deaths…or something like that. She came over again last week and we finalized the Advanced Medical Directive and living will. I was proud to have created a Living will that made her laugh out loud. P is a woman who has helped shepherd many terminally ill people to the end of this life and she has a remarkably poetic and mystical and at the same time brass tacks way of approaching it.

The day began with Kathy bringing my week’s supply of food over, lovingly cooked by Cecilia and very delicious. I had another fall – my first with someone besides Mac around to witness. For some reason it was very hard to have someone around for that. You’d think the opposite. That fall and then ensuing pain which crept in throughout the day plus the meeting with P resulted in one of “those” days.

I sit perched between two worlds. One foot is in the world I have always inhabited. In that world I have been so happy and fulfilled making shows, making music, making love, making jokes. It’s an action-packed universe where I am this energetic force barreling my way from adventure to adventure, making people laugh, connecting, doing. I have always loved this world and I don’t think I’ve squandered too much of my time here. Okay, there was that brief addiction to General Hospital and maybe a little too much time in Target, but beyond that, I’ve lived, I think. I’ve lived.

My other foot beckons the rest of me to join it. The pull to this other, quieter place is seductive. In this world I can read the same poem all night, sit and gaze at the Berkeley Hills for hours, and feel myself drawn to a place where my inner universe completely overshadows the world of the other foot. It is the most amazing journey – vast and infinite and impossible to describe. It’s only mine you see and the closest I can come to a definition is Ps who described it as being akin to a medium – a foot in both worlds.

Trouble is my weight is centered between these worlds. I’m in limbo and its painful sometimes. Letting go of the trappings of the first world, clinging to the things I’ve loved so dearly. Observing my body betray me or maybe not. Maybe it’s leading me to this deeper knowing.

There are times when I’m so excited for this adventure. There are times when I think I will turn into pure love. The other times, the times I long for what is lost, are almost…but not quite…unbearable.

The trick to a happy ending is this: don’t decide the ending ahead of time – leaves too much room for disappointment.

I’ve been thinking about bucket lists lately ( a la the Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman movie). When I first wrote about my list it was unrealistic. It included being around for events over which I have no control. My updated bucket list is reassuring because besides the cliché of traveling to places I’ve never been, the rest are very simple. Many involve things I’ve done many many times and enjoyed thoroughly.

The list includes using a hotel minibar in flagrant disregard of the financial ramifications, sitting in front of a roaring fire with a snifter of brandy and driving in a limo with 70s music blaring, sticking my head out of the roof window and yelling woohoo. It also includes driving my convertible one last time, singing in front of a big band and being reckless about love.

If dying well is a lesson in living well, this is what I glean from the list:
1) minibar: don’t let money be your guiding principle. It’s fine to be prudent but if your financial choices stand in the way of your happiness or the well-being of someone you love, spend the damned money.
2) Brandy: make the quiet, peaceful moments as big of a priority as the daily checklist. Trust me – when you know you’re going to die the checklist doesn’t mean jack shit and it sure as hell doesn’t make the bucket list.
3) Limo: have fun.. Duh.
4) Driving: it’s a gift to be able to drive. You don’t know that until you can’t anymore but take my word for it. Enjoy every little thing you do.
5) Singing: well that’s just me.
6) Be reckless about love: why not? Tell someone you love them even if you don’t know if they reciprocate. Give your love freely and without expectation. Love begets love though not necessarily from the place you expected. Also don’t be afraid to write Hallmark-esqe blogs. Corny is also true and if you’re sharing corny shit because you love your readers then who cares if one person out of a hundred thinks you are too precious.


Also on my list – go to Pacific Grove and get up at dawn to watch the butterflies open their wings, slow dance with a cute guy ( this one is time sensitive so help me out fellas!), go to Disneyland with Mac ( no really!) and love, love, love all of you.

OKAY – so here’s the homework: Hit comments and leave your bucket list. Then make plans to do something on the list and report back with a comment. By the way folks, the comments are the best part of this blog. Check them out and be prepared to be amazed!

Rolf

I went to a memorial today for Rolf. He worked in the box office at my college for 10 years. I was already in tears before the service began, looking at the slide show his son had compiled. Here's the little boy in Hamburg who walked 200 miles home after the war, ducking American and Russian soldiers as well as artillery planes. Here's the young bride and groom delirious, hopeful, in love, the entire family on the beach - him lying on his side, her head resting on his ribs, a look of sheer content on his face, the children all nearby. When I looked at the photo I could almost feel the sun on his face and the quiet glow inside him as the woman he loved reclined on him and I wondered if in that moment he had ever so briefly stopped to survey his life and felt satisfied. There was one slide that really got me - he and his wife intently playing chinese checkers not even noticing the camera. The little moments, so important.

Later in the afternoon the daughters and son would recall the man who would drive all day for them, who would carry them on his shoulders, who loved listening to music, who taught his son the value of work and of just showing up and once again it hit me like a thunderbolt that all this running and searching and chasing we do, all our accomplishments, all our acquisitions are nothing compared to those moments - walking home, lying next to someone you love, showing up for people, driving them - these are the things that we remember about someone who passed - these are the real accomplishments.

There is so much I wanted to accomplish in my life that I didn't. I feel like my performing career was just taking off when I got this diagnosis. Now I can no longer do my show at all and yet all those little seemingly insignificant moments in my life are still there regardless and I can call them up whenever I need them. My son telling me the latest current events, a friend I haven't spoken to for awhile on the other end of the phone, walking to the bus stop to meet my dad after a long day of work. Pure gold.

The play my students and I are creating is based on a play by Aristophanes in which a man goes up to the heavens to persuade the gods to rescue Peace who has been buried by War. He succeeds. In our play, however, Peace is not buried. She is right there where everyone can see her. They just don't see her. And in the end, our heroine goes to great lengths to find Peace and is literally leaning against Peace....but doesn't notice. Life is like that I think.

This n' that

I made it through the night. Sounds like a song by Neil Diamond or someone like that. It’s a wonderful thing to sleep 8 uninterrupted hours. Besides the stomach issues which are better but still annoying, one thing that wakes me is the macabre dance of the fingers on my left hand. They jerk around like William Dafoe dying on the battlefield in Platoon only in this case there’s no Barber’s Adagio for Strings to accompany their poignant jitterbug. They seem to keep a schedule so never more than one finger is going nuts per day. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. The thumb is particularly vexing since it jerks out sideways as if to defect from my hand. My attempts to stop the twitching are right out of a Charlie Chaplin film only in the middle of the night, I ain’t laughing.

Around six am comes the leg cramps, which go away as soon as I stand on them but some days it takes longer to get out of bed than others. The other morning I needed Kaila’s help (she kindly slept over a couple of nights) since I rely on stomach muscles to vault myself into a seated position at the edge of the bed and my stomach wasn’t having any of that.

I read last night that even positive stress is bad for ALS and weakens the body. I have no doubt that directing this show is taking its’ toll but what is my alternative? Give up all creative expression except for this blog? Too too sad. No thanks.

I love the process we are undertaking. It is going to be a great show – guaranteed to have several huffy Marin patrons walk out mid performance. My delightful students suggested I park my scooter at the exit door and look sad with a sign saying “Don’t leave, I have ALS.” They also suggested that I pop out of a coffin at the end of the very funny opening number saying “What? Too soon?” They get through the tremendous challenge of having a woman with a fatal illness falling over as she tries to demonstrate a jazz square, or not having enough air to finish a sentence or inexplicably bursting into tears ( an ALS symptom) by testing the boundaries of humor. Just what kind of joke IS okay? I welcome all of them if they’re from people I love.

Yesterday I went back to my therapist after 2 years away. She is treating me for free which is astonishing to me. I think what we will work on is how hard it is to take in all of the kindness I am receiving and not be able to reciprocate except with this blog. I think the blog works best for me when you all write in a la the Partici-blog and share something that is going on for you. The lady whose son joined the Marines blew me away. Hearing the little things that light your day or present a challenge and knowing that so many other people are reading your comments is nourishing. We are weaving together this community through this instrument of the internet which can be such a source of alienation. Write a comment about anything you want. It can stay anonymous. Keep writing about what makes life worth living ( have you checked lately? The list keeps growing) and I’ll think of a new partici-blog and post soon.

IN other news, I’ve mentioned this before but we’re drawing close to the actual dates: if you know people in LA, please tell them about the fundraisers happening on my behalf. The performers are all really funny and I’m going to get up there and sing a bit and try to make people laugh.

For info on all the fundraising efforts you can send people to www.quiltmamas.com/dmc - a website started up by Wendy ( one of my angels) and the other details are here.

Just the Facts: A CARLA-BRATION for Carla Zilbersmith: A Special Variety Night to celebrate & support a friend and artist in need!
When: Saturday, April 12 at 8pm
Where: Steinway Hall @ Fields Pianos * 12121 W. Pico Bl. (one door w. of Bundy * Level P2 under the store) * Park free in lot!
Price: $25 suggested donation
Reservations & Info: Jeannine@FrankEntertainment.com or (310) 471-3979

When: Monday, April 14 at 8pm
Where: The Hayworth Theatre * 2509 Wilshire * Los Angeles 90057 (between Rampart and Alvarado)
Price: $25 suggested contribution
Reservations & Info: www.thehayworth.com or (800)838-3006

Here I sit, broken hearted….

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. It’s quiet except for beeping noises down the hospital corridor, the occasional nurse calling out a question to the one on-call doctor. Most of the rooms are empty. Edith and I sit quietly, occasionally launching into the kind of conversation you can only have in the pre-dawn hours. Quiet. Slow. True. We talk a little about the emergency room at Children’s Hospital where she spent her share of time when her son had leukemia. We don’t talk about it often. It seems to me like another lifetime. I have that luxury since it wasn’t my kid who was sick. Now he shaves and writes research projects on octopi.

Edith looks unjustly attractive and well put together. Way too nice for someone whose friend has called them up at 1am and said “ I need to go to the hospital now” to look. She wears her usual unflappable look (though I’ve seen lots of flapping in the last few months – an honor) and as Kris says she exudes calm. She knows how to hold the silence and when to break it to make an always useful suggestion or ask the perfect question.

“Please go” I implore her several times but I’m met with a look that is both loving and condescending. As if to say “if you think I’m leaving you’re insane.” Sometimes no look at all, just a quiet grin or chuckle. She’s like that. I try a few strategies until finally success – she’ll call Lisa at 5 and go home, rest then catch a nasty cold from staying up all night. I know Lisa will say aye and I will take her word – but Lisa is another profile for another day. Today I will tell you about Edith.

I'll tell you about a port in a storm, a blanket of calm over a scary and profound evening, full of tremendous, childbirth-level pain and sweet moments of connection and the utter hilarity of scab nurses. I think of myself as pretty stoic but it was a tough tough night made tougher by the indignity of the circumstances. All this fuss for a little constipation. That’s right. Tried to shit but only farted. ( now you understand the title of this blog, don't you?) No appendix, kidney stones, pancreatitis – just a rilutek/als side effect – a new fun thing to watch for.

But back to Edith. No vibe about waking her up, leaving her kids alone. She just says “I’ll be right there”. And she is. Edith deals with financial issues for me, drives me and Mac around fixes my jewelry, frames my pictures, calls social workers and healthcare professionals, makes my thank you cards, shops for me and most importantly just sits with me if I need to cry. One day while at the bank setting up a fund for my medical needs she says to me “ I thought of something I can do for you…” “Well it’s about time you chipped in” I quipped. I mean really – when do these women stop giving?

Edith is the glamour puss of my group of friends. She always looks perfect. Perfectly accessorized, perfect color combos – a walking work of art. She doesn’t die her gorgeous black hair so it is streaked with silver and looks glorious. She never wears contact lenses. She looks the same with or without makeup ( I found out that little tidbit at 1am….the bitch!) and she calmly dispatches her self-imposed duties with the élan of Grace Kelly. She also has a wicked sense of humor and is not afraid to deliberately run a red light when her friend is in pain. She runs red lights in a very dispassionate way (“oh this is silly.” Then Vroom!) Very independent movie.

Edith was there the day of the diagnosis and told me she and Kathy were there with me all the way. I knew they weren't just words. I love how Edith smiles impishly about her kids even when she's reporting that they are doing something less than adorable. I love how her husband has just stood in my general vicinity of late and I've felt his support even though we haven't exchanged many words. I love that her parents and sibs have supported me even though her sister is the only one I really know that well and all I really know about her is her penchant for cuddly kitten T-shirts and 85 year old lovers.

I like that Edith finds the same people insufferable that I do. Just before administering the morphine, the scab nurse at the hospital said “Praise the Lord, Jesus and Mary “ or something to that effect with this smile that made her look like she was a cartoon character that had just been hit in the face by a two-by-four. I looked over at Edith who seemed as alarmed as I was. I don’t want someone religious putting drugs in my arm…..unless she knows I’m still a sinner and I’ll be going straight to hell if she isn’t very careful….but I’d hate to think some chick thought she was doing me a favor to send me to Jesus. I could tell Edith was on my side on this one and understood the mantra I repeated over and over :“most hospital deaths are a result of medical error. most hospital deaths are a result of medical error. most hospital deaths are a result of medical error.”

Speaking of Jesus, I had this image of him reading The Secret up in heaven and all the other gods making fun of him and him saying “Hey, if it’s good enough for Oprah, it’s good enough for me.” I’m going to put it in the play.

There are other magic moments to this bizarre evening: Lisa lovingly massaging my feet and hands, brushing my hair, putting sweet smelling lotion on me and later me wiping a tear from her cheek, Kathy sweeping in with such purpose and strength that the X Ray tech said admiringly “Man, she’s on it!”, Natasha the nurse hitching her pants down and shirt up so I could see her “Made in Canada” tramp stamp ( that’s a tattoo on the low back for you older folks), the homeless man leaving robe untied in back with the IV still in his arm shouting “Ya’ll be hearin’ from ma’attorney!”, Kris offering to be the go-to gal in the ever-daunting 4 am hours, Kaila overcome, crying “Oh my god, your dad wrote a blog comment” and giving me her amazing and haunting CD dedicated to me ( and someone named K. Mell which sounds suspiciously like a rapper name) and finally, lying in Alison’s lap while she stroked my hair and cooed to me softly.