Family Crisis

April 11, 2012

Hey Andrea—

I don’t even know where to start tonight. 

I’ll start here--your Grandpa is still in the hospital.  Still in the Critical Coronary Care Unit.

Sometime this morning he “crashed.” 

The doctors cannot explain it, do not know what happened. 

He is not responsive. 

When I whisper to him blink your eyes, with some difficulty he does.  He is trying to focus on who I am. 

I cup the palm of my right hand over the crown of his bald head.  I whisper in his left ear.  This is Sherry.  Close your eyes.  You need to rest.  Let your body heal.  Just know I am here.

The nurses come.  Pull the feeding tube from his nose.  My dad gags.  They poke, they prod, suction him out, he gags, they swab his mouth. He gags.  Tears fall from his eyes. 

I wipe them away with my thumbs. 

I watch his chest rise as the ventilator inflates his lungs. 

A pace line keeps his heart beating.

At 7 a.m. I got a call from his wife he was fine.

At just before 10 a.m. she called again.

“Something bad has happened with your dad.  They think he had a stroke.  I am going to the hospital.” 

“Do you need a ride?” I ask.  I feel her anxiety through the phone.  The need to be there with him NOW.  The need to see for herself what has happened, how bad it is.

“It would take too long for you to get here.” She tells me.  “Just stay where you are and I will call you when I find something out.”

Just stay where you are. 

I cannot sit still. 

I call my sisters, Karen and Linda.  Tell them the news.

I cannot sit still. 

I cannot simply sit and wait with the news my father “crashed”.  He is on a ventilator again.  He has a pace line in is heart.  He is not responsive.

I try to call my sister, Kathy who is with my dad’s wife.

No answer. 

I cannot sit still.

I have to be doing something.

I text my dad’s wife, “I am headed up.”

Meaning to the hospital.

Within seconds she calls me.

“I told you to stay home.  I do not want you there.  I had to deal with all kinds of drama yesterday.  Can’t you just do what I tell you and stay at home.”

I am 10 years old, my stepmother is yelling at me.  I shut down.

“Ok.”  I say.  “When the doctor comes could you put him on the phone so I can hear what he says, too.”

Yesterday my sister Kathy told another sister my dad was thrashing and he had a brain injury.  It was not true.  She is not a reliable source of information.

“You don’t trust me or think I’m smart enough to report back to you kids what is going on with your dad.  Fine.  I’ll put the doctor on.”

Click of the phone.

Stunned.  I sit in my big leather chair.  Paralyzed.

Afraid if that first tear begins to fall…..

Everything I have been building with my dad crumbles.  Sits like the broken bowls, plate, cup pieces, shattered on my dining room table ready to make into mosaics.

I hear nothing from the hospital.  An hour passes.

I cannot sit still.

I call my sister Kathy.  She has nothing to update, and acts snippy towards me.  I ask her if she has changed her flight. If she is going to stay longer.

My dad’s wife has been telling me for two or three days she needs her space back.  Kathy has been joined at her hip since last Thursday.  When Kathy extended her stay another day, she was not happy.  “Kathy needs to go home.”  She told me.  “I need time to myself.  I need to be alone.” 

“Kathy, have you changed your flight again.”  I ask.

“I have.”  She answers.

She is staying.

“Dad’s wife needs her space.  You need to find another place to stay or you need to go back home.”  I tell her.

Kathy answers, “She asked me to stay.”

Apparently Kathy and I have been getting different stories.

Or we interpret them differently.

Kathy has ammunition now and she will run with it.  She will tell everyone I told her she needed to leave.  She will not tell them the rest.  She will create her own drama, and then stand back, smiling, no accountability.   She plays the victim well.

I wait. 

I cannot sit still.

I cannot get information fast enough.

What I get is not what I want to believe.

I have to see for myself.

I have been told to stay at home.

I cannot do that.

Only a few people are allowed in my dad’s room at a time. 

The elevator takes me to the 8^th floor.  The doors open to a crowd of family—sisters and brothers—I have not seen in years.  Members of the motorcycle club my father belongs to are there.  The room is full.

Barely out of the elevator, my younger brother, Dale approaches me threateningly.  Jimmy, my stepbrother, flanks him.

“We don’t want no trouble here.”  Dale tells me.

Under attack, I answer.  “I have no idea what you are talking about.  And obviously you do not either.”

“You told Kathy she had to leave.”  Dale tells me.

Who knows what else they have told him. 

“You obviously do not know the whole story.” I tell him.  “You need to back away from me.  Go back over to your wife.”

Sound comes out of his mouth.  I cannot hear what he is saying—other than, “I am not backing away.  I am staying right here.”

His body threatening me.  Wanting a fight.

I see my dad’s wife out of the corner of my eye.  She sees me.  She quickly walks away with my Uncle Ken to my dad’s room.  Does not invite me.

“Back away.”  I tell him again.

He will not.

It is clear I am not wanted here.  Kathy glares at me.  My father’s wife exudes hostility towards me when I am around here.

“This is about me and your father.”  She tells me.

This is about my father.  The fact that he is laying in a bed, a machine breathing for him. 

For me, now, this is only about my father. 

And my need to know he is going to be ok.

I have done everything I can to help my father’s wife, and she turned against me.

I hear her bragging to the bike club friends how she got in to see one of the best personal injury attorneys in Tacoma because of my dad’s connection to me.

Because of who I am.

Under attack, I try to explain what happened from my perspective.

The damage has been done.

No one wants an explanation.

No one wants to put this behind them.

It is a grudge to be born with enormity.

I am the outsider again.

The voices of my childhood drown out my own.

Or try to.

I leave the hospital feeling as if my chest has been ripped open. 

Steve saves me. 

Steve knows me.

He came over, all the way from Issaquah.  Pulled me to the couch, put his arms around me. 

“Tell me what happened.”

I do.  Recount the day, same as I am doing here with you.

He holds me close to him.  Closes his eyes. Listens. 

“Breath.”  He tells me.

And when I can’t, he gives me mouth to mouth resuscitation. 

He reminds me I am a good person.

He reminds me who I have become.

“Promise me you will stay away from the hospital.  Your family is toxic.  They only use you and  hurt you.  Promise me you will work in your garden, pull weeds, harvest the last of the carrots, plant the Pacific Crabapple tree I gave you.”

“I need to be with my dad.”

“You need to be with yourself.  You need to protect yourself.”  Steve tells me. 

“Breath.”  He says.  “Hold it in.  Release.”

“You are a good person, Sherry.”

I am a good person.

I need to write  I am a good person on a page of college lined paper 100 times, 1000 times, 10,000 times, a million times.

Until I believe it.

You whisper through me.

It will be ok.

I love you Andrea--Mom

Back from Vacation

January 28, 2012

Hi Andrea,

Yes it has been awhile. 

Steve and his neighbors are out picking up tree limbs.  There is devastation from ice and snow and wind everywhere.  Last week, while the snow fell and ice covered trees breaking huge trunks and branches, froze pipes, left homes without power, Steve and I explored Kauai from the beach at Ke’e to Barking Sands.  Purposefully, I unplugged from phones, computers, televisions, newspapers.  I got lost in the pursuit of solitude and sun. 

I have not looked at the weather for Kauai, but I am certain the sun is shining there today.  The sand is pink speckled with miniscule bits of broken shells still sparkling from the receding tide, the dolphins are surfing the breaking waves, the shearwaters are diving for their daily meal, and a whale blows a plume--waves a pectoral fin, rolls over, then launches its massive body from the ocean, forms an arch and dives back in.  If I listen hard enough I can hear a rooster crowing.  A shama singing.  I hear the doves wings flutter as a tanned old man with long gray hair, held back in a ponytail sits in the sand throwing breadcrumbs in the air.

Today I spent the day with Lisa and Annalise.  Next Saturday is Annalise’s first birthday.  She has two little teeth right in the middle of her lower gums.  Her laughter opens doors in my heart that would rather stay closed.  Love is risk.

When Annalise polks her pudgy index finger in my mouth, I nibble it with my front teeth.  She giggles, pulls her finger back, puts it in my mouth again.  Then she teases me, holds her finger out, makes me come after it.  I let out a little growl. Annalise  laughs with all her being. 

Love is really all there is.

It is worth the risk.

In the end, it is all we can take with us.

………………………………………..

Last Monday night, my last night on Kauai, I slipped between cool sheets wearing nothing but Fig Leaf and Cassis lotion.  Outside, there was a breeze blowing towards the northwest--towards home.  It rattled the wood blinds as it entered the room.  Finding Steve and I curled up together, the breeze traveled the hills and valleys of our bodies.  

Back to back, I aligned by spine against Steve’s, pressed into the warmth of his sleeping body.  He did not stir.  I closed my eyes, let the sound of the outgoing tide, the eerie moan of the wedgetailed sheerwater escort me to the realm of sleep.

Tuesday morning, 6 a.m. my alarm went off for the first time in 10 days.  At noon, Alaska Airlines Flight 852 would speed down the  runway, lift in flight, travel the jet stream pushed to Sea-Tac by strong tailwinds.  After I hit the snooze button, buying five more minutes, I thought, “I could leave everything for this moment.”

The alarm rang again.  Steve stirred, rolled over, pressed his stomach into my back, tucked his knees in behind mine.

“Mmmmmm.”  He said.

I felt delicious, ripe from seven full days of sunshine.  I let out a small moan of pleasure as Steve ran his open palm over the rise of my hip.

“You have no jammies on.” 

“Mmmmmm.”  I answered.

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”  Steve whispered as he nuzzled his nose behind my left ear.

“Perfect.”  Because on this last morning, while the winter sun was still working its way over the southeast horizon 22 degrees from the Tropic of Cancer, a walk on the beach would be.  Perfect.

I wrapped myself in a pareo, dark blue with yellow flowers blooming on one edge.  I tied two ends criss-crossed around my neck, making it into a dress.

Hand in hand we quietly left the little cottage at the beach.  It was still dark, in front of us the planet Mars was the brightest light in the western sky leading to the place where vegetation stopped, beach began.  Right over us was Saturn with its pronounced and visible rings.  Just off to the side was the star Spica. 

Saturn and Spica.  USS Saturn and USS Spica.  I have t-shirts, baseball caps, from those two ships you served on as an able bodied seawoman.

We stopped at the picnic table, the last point before beach.  Facing the island Ni’hua, the channel where humpback whales spend winter days, where dolphins wait for the tide to change to feed in breaking waves, I turned my face toward Mars, navigated to your planet Saturn, star Spica, breathed deep. 

The wind tugged at the corners of my makeshift pareo dress.  Steve, behind me, encircled me in his arms.   

The ocean rises with a single tear. 

Crying dissolves unseen parts of me.  I taste the salt of ocean spray as it falls from my eyes, making its way to waves broken at the steep drop before shore, still moving across a polished sandy beach until worn out.

Yesterday I saw my tears pass through a humpback whale that waved a pectoral fin, then blew a plume of water.

Humbly, bare, beneath a piece of cloth tied with one knot behind my neck, I invoked a blessing from sky, ocean, sand.  From who ever, what ever, might be listening.

I turned to Steve.  Stood face to face with him under a sky still dark enough for stars and planets to show themselves as tiny specks of light.  Pulling apart the front of my makeshift dress, I exposed my most vulnerable self .

My breasts that fed you, my belly that carried you, the passage to your birth.

I am safe in a way I have never been with anyone. 

Steve pulled me close.  Burying my face in his neck, he and I danced together as the sun rose over his left shoulder. 

The stars and planets disappeared.

I accepted my blessing.

To know, to feel love, is worth the risk.

                                      Love you Andie—

                                    Mom

Initial Diagnosis

November 17, 2011

“You’ll love it here.  The winds are beautiful when they blow.”

Those words you whispered in a dream haunted me this morning as I drove to work.  The remnants of last night’s windstorm littered Barnes, then Crosby Streets as I drove over, then down the hill to my office. Brilliant yellow orange red leaves wet, pasted to the pavement.  A ribbon of baby blue lined the sky above and below a hedge and then a wall of clouds in varying shades of gray.

I am trying to make sense of the senseless.  Piecing together what medical records and what you wrote in emails, on Facebook, Twitter, My Space.  Notes I find written on college ruled 8x 11 sheets of paper. 

The struggle with Lyme disease was really your story to tell.  It is a story that can only be told from the perspective of the participant.  The story I tell, will be different than yours.  But it is all I have.  You want me to write what you no longer can.  I feel it as thoughts flip cartwheels through my brain.

My lawyer’s training, my work now as a judge, demand that I look at all the evidence I have before me, come up with a conclusion based on a preponderance of the evidence.  It is the discipline I use approaching everything. 

In this case, your death was the conclusion—the final order I must grapple with.  It is the hedge and then wall of clouds in varying shades of gray that frame a ribbon of blue sky outside my window as I sit here going through your papers.

Notice of Occupational Disease and Claim for Compensation

US Department of Labor

Employment Standards Administration

Office of Worker’s Compensation Program

I found this application in the Banker’s Box.  On the outside, written with a black Sharpie the letters-AMP-your initials.  In your handwriting—IMPORTANT PAPERS.

I read further.

Name of Employee

ORTIZ-PETERSON, ANDREA M.

Employee’s Occupation

ABLE SEAMAN

MILITARY SEALIFT COMMAND

AFLOAT PERSONNEL MANAGEMENT CENTER

VIRGINIA BEACH, VA

Date you first realized the disease or illness was caused or aggravated by your employment

02/07/05

Explain the relationship to your employment, and why you came to this realization

MY TRAVELS WITH MSC HAVE LED ME TO AREAS WHERE TICK-BORN ILLNESSES ARE PREVALENT.

Nature of disease or illness

LYME DISEASE

Your signature on the bottom of the form.  February 15, 2005.

Exhibit A.  Admitted. 

Attached are your medical records to substantiate your claim.  I keep flipping back to the first page.  Exhibit A  Running the tip of my index finger over your signature. 

Exhibit B.

MEDICAL SUMMARY FORM

History and Physical Findings:

During work up for CTS Right hand by D.L. McDermott, Neurologist, blood serum showed + Lyme AbIgM by Western Blot.  No symptom.  No incidence of tic-bite.

Results of Diagnostic Studies/Testing:

+Lyme AbIgM by Western Blot

Diagnosis:

Lyme Disease

Treatment:

Vibromycin 100 g x 2 for 2 weeks

She is fit for duty

I cannot read the physician’s signature.  But it is signed.  By a doctor.  MD.  Whose diagnosis was Lyme disease.  Definitively.

Exhibit B.  Admitted.

“In a whimsical mood and quite extemporaneously, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes once remarked: ‘Facts in isolation amount to mere gossip; facts in relation become philosophy.'”


The same could be said about Lyme disease.  Every doctor is his own philosopher, has his own philosophy. 

Philosophy: n.  1.a.  Speculative inquiry concerning the source and nature…
b.  Any set of ideas based on such thinking  2.  A basic theory concerning a particular subject.
Philosophy.  Everything is speculative.  You base your ideas based on speculative thinking.  You come up with a basic theory concerning the particular subject.

Lyme Disease.

It is hard to determine what is mere gossip.  It is impossible to be a patient caught between two philosophies. 

This is a lesson we have yet to learn. 

Exhibit C.

LabCorp

Attn: Flordeliza M. McDermott MD

Virginia Beach, Virginia 

Date Collected:  1/25/05

You are 23 years and 25 days old.

Date Reported:  1/28/05  2135

Lyme IgG WB Interp.             Negative

Lyme IgM WB Interp.            Positive

Exhibit C.  Admitted.

To distinguish the false positives from the true positives, a more specific laboratory technique, known as immunoblotting, is used. (The Western blot, which identifies specific antibody proteins, is but one kind of immunoblot; there is also a Northern blot, which separates and identifies RNA fragments, and a Southern blot, which does the same for DNA sequences.) In a Western blot, the testing laboratory looks for antibodies directed against a wide range of Bb proteins. This is done by first disrupting Bb cells with an electrical current and then "blotting" the separated proteins onto a paper or nylon sheet. The current causes the proteins to separate according to their particle weights, measured in kilodaltons (kDa). From here on, the procedure is similar to the ELISA -- the various Bb antigens are exposed to the patient's serum, and reactivity is measured the same way (by linking an enzyme to a second antibody that reacts to the human antibodies). If the patient has antibody to a specific Bb protein, a "band" will form at a specific place on the immunoblot. For example, if a patient has antibody directed against outer surface protein A (OspA) of Bb, there will be a WB band at 31 kDa. By looking at the band pattern of patient's WB results, the lab can determine if the patient's immune response is specific for Bb.

Here's where all the problems come in. Until recently, there has never been an agreed-upon standard for what constitutes a positive WB. Different laboratories have used different antigen preparations (say, different strains of Bb) to run the test and have also interpreted results differently. Some required a certain number of bands to constitute a positive result, others might require more or fewer. Some felt that certain bands should be given more priority than others. In late 1994, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) convened a meeting in Dearborn, Michigan [1] in an attempt to get everybody on the same page, so that there would be some consistency from lab to lab in the methodology and reporting of Western blot results.

Many patients have noticed that their Western blot report usually contains two parts: IgM and IgG.These are immunoglobulins (antibody proteins) produced by the immune system to fight infection. IgM is produced fairly early in the course of an infection, while IgG response comes later. Some patients might already have an IgM response at the time of the EM rash; IgG response, according to the traditional model, tends to start several weeks after infection and peak months or even years later. In some patients, the IgM response can remain elevated; in others it might decline, regardless of whether or not treatment is successful. Similarly, IgG response can remain strong or decline with time, again regardless of treatment. Most WB results report separate IgM and IgG band patterns and the criteria for a positive result are different for the two immunoglobulins. 

The website for the Center for Disease Control says the following on its first page:

Typical symptoms include fever, headache, fatigue, and a characteristic skin rash called erythema migrans. If left untreated, infection can spread to joints, the heart, and the nervous system. Lyme disease is diagnosed based on symptoms, physical findings (e.g., rash), and the possibility of exposure to infected ticks; laboratory testing is helpful if used correctly and performed with validated methods. Most cases of Lyme disease can be treated successfully with a few weeks of antibiotics.

Lyme Disease Diagnosis and Treatment

Lyme disease is diagnosed based on:

• Signs and symptoms
• A history of possible infections to infected blacklegged ticks

Laboratory blood tests are helpful if used correctly and performed with validated methods. Laboratory tests are not recommended for patients who do not have symptoms typical of Lyme disease. Just as it is important to correctly diagnose Lyme disease when a patient has it, it is important to avoid misdiagnosis and treatment of Lyme disease when the true cause of the illness is something else.
  
I just want hard facts.  Physical evidence.  Something I can base my thoroughly objective decision on.  It is important to get it right.

You are 23 years and 28 days old.  When you get the results, you will still put all your trust in doctors.  You will believe you have a definitive diagnosis for what is wrong with you.  You will believe you will be cured.

You will not believe me when I tell you the importance of getting the right treatment with the right doctor.  You will not believe me when I tell you that two weeks of antibiotic therapy is not enough. 

You will remind me I have a law degree.  Not a medical degree. 

Because I am only your mother, not your doctor, not a doctor, you will trust them more.

Because I am your mother, I go to the internet.  Google Lyme Disease.  Begin building my case.  My arguments.

Exhibit D.  Your Honor.  I offer Exhibit D.

NORFOLK GENERAL HOSPITAL

MD:  RYAN, GORDON A. MD

ADM: 2/7/05

DX:  GRAM POSITIVE COCCI IN PAIRS IN CSF, LYME DI VERIFIED RADIOLOGY REPORTS

CONSULTING MD;  DEVGON, PITAMBER M

CONSULTING MD: CHERRY, JILL RES

CONSULTING MD: COLE, FREDERICK MD

CONSULTING MD: LAPINEL, STEPHEN MD

CONSULTING MD: .SMGID

CONSULTING MD:  NEUGHEBAUER, BOGDAN

CONSULTING MD: .NEUROLOGY SPEC ME

CONSULTING MD:  WILLIAMS, ARMIST MD

RADIOLOGIST:  KIM, YOONAH MD

Streptococcus pneumonaie in bacterial meningitis:
"Before the 1990s, Haemophilus influenzae type b (Hib) was the leading cause of bacterial meningitis, but new vaccines being given to all children as part of their routine immunizations have reduced the occurrence of invasive disease due to H. influenzae. Today, Streptococcus pneumoniae and Neisseria meningitidis are the leading causes of bacterial meningitis."
"High fever, headache, and stiff neck are common symptoms of meningitis in anyone over the age of 2 years.""The diagnosis is usually made by growing bacteria from a sample of spinal fluid. The spinal fluid is obtained by performing a spinal tap, in which a needle is inserted into an area in the lower back where fluid in the spinal canal is readily accessible. Identification of the type of bacteria responsible is important for selection of correct antibiotics."

Gram positive cocci in pairs in csf  means Streptococcus pneumonaie.  Bacterial meningitis.

Are you offering Exhibit D counsel.

I am, your Honor.

Any objection?
No objection.

Exhibit D is admitted.

Lyme disease is transmitted by Ixodes hard ticks; man is an accidental host.
Doxycycline, amoxicillin, or a cephalosporin

it is important to note that many people are not aware of tick bites, so a negative history for them should not be considered unassailable.

It is important to note:  There is a controversy surrounding what is known as chronic Lyme disease. 

I am a divining rod, seeking an underground source of water. 

I am thirsty.  I will not give up until I find it.

I am a judge.

I must render a judgment.

The tea kettle whistles under the gas flame.  I have a cup of Starbucks Via Italian Roast with a dollop of sugarfree hazelnut Coffeemate.  I need to brush my teeth.  I need to soak in a hot tub of lavender scented bubbles. 

I listen to towels tumbling in the dryer.  The whir of the processor in my computer as I try to piece Exhibits A-D together. 

Sadie feels me feeling you.  She comes and lays her head on my thigh, sighs.  I look down and see her plaintive button eyes.  Sadie still mourns your loss too.

She distracts me.

I Google “dogs mourning”.  I find an article by Dr. Nicholas Dodman.  He writes what I think Sadie would tell me if she could talk:

Pets may also show signs of loss and mourning in ways that the family may not recognize. Although somewhat different, they do feel the loss of loved ones. Many have a significant degree of attachment to their owner that leads to anxiety and distress when even short-term separation is thrust upon them, let alone bereavement.

Perhaps, the most famous dog-grieving story of all time is that of Greyfriars Bobby, a Skye terrier owned by a Mr. John Gray of Edinburgh, Scotland. Mr. Gray passed away in 1858 and was buried in Greyfriars Churchyard, Bobby was one of the conspicuous mourners. As time went by he never forgot his deceased master. Every day for the next 14 years until his own death in 1872, Bobby spent each night lying on his master's grave come rain, hail and snow. In honor of Bobby's devotion, a statue and water fountain was erected to his memory in 1873.

Sadie has no grave to go to.  She only has my thigh to lay her head on, my body to curl up to at night.

And I have her.

Moving along.

Exhibit E.  I offer Exhibit E.

DISCHARGE INSTRUCTIONS:

2/11/05           DISCHARGE MED: CEFTRIAXOME, EVERY 12HRS- 2GM,--IV,

                        ANTIBIOTIC, --THRU 2/21/05, --THEN 2G EVERY 12 HR, THRU

                        3/7/05

No objection.

Exhibit E is admitted. 

It is all I can process on this day.  We are adjourned.  For the evening.

I walk outside the sliding glass door onto my patio.

While I have been taking in evidence, deliberating, the clouds have won.  Have obliterated the ribbon of blue.  It is early afternoon, already the sky darkens.  First comes the mist, droplets so small I feel caressed by clouds, but it is cold.  Damp.  My cheeks pinken. 

Condensed water coalesces into droplets too small to fall as precipitation.  They are the clouds.  The moisture around us is continually evaporating, condensing in the sky.  Looking closely, I can see some parts of the cloud around me disappearing, evaporating.  Other parts grow, condense. 

The droplets concentrate on tinier dust, salt, smoke particles that form the core.

But before they can fall, the fall velocity has to exceed the cloud updraft speed.

This is not a trivial task.  Millions of cloud droplets are required to produce a single raindrop.

I am condensed water coalescing into droplets too small to fall as precipitation.  I am a cloud.  A collection of droplets condensing.  Forming a core around your dusty ashes.

This is not a trivial task.

                                           Love,  Mom

Red Sky

November 13, 2011

Sirens wake me this morning. 

I roll over, press my stomach into  the concave of Steve’s back, put my arm around his chest.  Sadie jumps up on the bed, looking for a spot between the two of us.  Not finding one, she settles herself in the cradle made by my bent knees.

A chorus of sirens. 

The neighbor’s dog barks. 

I try to settle in.  Go back to the amniotic dream world I was warm in --no sirens--no barking dogs.

          “Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.”

I feel it first, before the thought fully forms.

Where did that come from? 

Yesterday morning, the sky was brilliant shades of red to sherbert. 

There were no sirens.  The neighbor’s dog was quiet.

Between then and this morning lies the passage of 24 hours.

I cannot fall back to sleep.   I wonder what color the sky is this morning.

Quietly I disengage myself from Steve, from Sadie.  I do not want to wake him. 

I close the bedroom door, descend into the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen.  It is raining.  The sky is gray.  There is a flock of dark eyed juncos in my garden eating Echinachea seeds, scratching the ground beneath lettuce dying, gone to seed.  I stand and watch them eating breakfast.  Ponder the precise placement of colorings--black hood, pinkish sides, white /buff belly, white outer tail feathers.  Each one looks like a painted ornament—except they move.   Stella is crouched next to me, huntress, still except the tail hypnotically swishing back and forth.

I empty yesterday’s grounds from the gold toned coffee filter, fill it with  fresh coffee.  I put cold, fresh water in the carafe to the eight cup mark and poured it into the reservoir.  A flip of the switch.  I let the smell of fresh brewing fill my nostrils.

The dishwasher is full of dinner plates, serving dishes, silverware.  Remnants of dinner last night.  I flip the latch, push the button for pots and pans, hear the sound of water running.

While I wait for coffee, I sit at my computer, type in the words, “red sky in morning” wanting to know the origin of the phrase. 

A reddish sunrise, caused by particles suspended in the air, often foreshadows an approaching storm, which will be arriving from the west, within the day. Conversely, a reddish sunset often indicates that a storm system is on the east side (opposite the sunset), travelling away from the viewer. A similar movement is noted all around the world, in both the northern and southern hemisphere.

There are occasions where a storm system might rain itself out before reaching the observer (who had seen the morning red sky). However, for ships at sea, the wind and rough seas, from an approaching storm system, could still be a problem, even without rainfall.

For ships at sea, an approaching system could still be a problem, even without rainfall.
Sirens in the distance.  Dogs barking. 
A small file folder with your name on it in a box beside my desk marked “Andrea Record”.  I pull it out.  Open it.

FORM 2808,

REPORT OF MEDICAL EXAMINATION

ORTIZ PETERSON, ANDREA

AGE 21

SUMMARY OF DEFECTS AND DIAGNOSES:

NONE

PURPOSE OF EXAMINATION:

Civilian Job Misc.  Deck Hand

DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY

MILITARY SEALIFT COMMAND, ATLANTIC

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

OCTOBER 29, 2003

10 Nov 2003  MSC sent medical reviewed.  Cleared.  Fit for military.

Fit for Military.  Fit to be an able bodied sea woman on a ship.  Fit .  Healthy. 

There is a file with your handwriting.  Medical Baseline.  When you were fit.  Healthy. 

Before the sirens.  Before the dog barking.

Before the red sun rising on the eastern horizon.

Red sky in morning.  There are few things more beautiful.

Date of Registration:              01/08/2005

Requested Examination:      MRI-HEAD, 1.5

Patient Name:           ORTIZ-PETERSON ANDREA

Age/Sex:        23 / Female

MRI OF THE BRAIN

Findings:

On the T-2 weighted images, there are foci of hyperintensity seen in the periventricular region and the deep white matter bilaterally.  The distribution is asymmetrical.  In the right cerebral hemisphere, the largest is located just adjacent to the posterior aspect of the body of the right lateral ventricle.  Within the left cerebral hemisphere, the largest is located in the region of the left sensori-motor cortex…

Comments:

Foci of hyperintensity are demonstrated in the deep white matter bilaterally.  These are rather nonspecific, but would be keeping with the appearances of Lyme disease.

Note the presence of focus enhancement in the region of the left sensori-motor cortex and this enhancement is circled on the image of page 6.

12:32:13 PM.

I do not know what any of this means.  Periventricular region.  Left sensori-motor cortex.  Keeping with the appearances of Lyme disease.
Lyme disease. 
I Google it again.  As I have many times since January 2005.
http://www.thehumansideoflyme.net 
I click on that. 
The Human Side of Lyme – An Inhumane Disease of the Brain       Page 1 of 10.

“…physicians are often surprised to learn that persistent Lyme disease is outstandingly a disease of the brain as well as involving one or all components and subsystems of the entire nervous system.”

It is Sunday morning.  Steve and I stayed up til 4 a.m.  playing Scrabble.  Trying to make words from bits of tile.  Trying to read the subtitles on an Italian movie.

The sirens pass.  The dogs quiet.

I continue to read your Military Sealift Command medical file.

SENTARA Progress Notes 

2/7/2005

Chief Complaint – Facial Numbness

History of Present Illness – 23 y/o WF with recent diagnosis of Lyme disease but no other significant prior medial history presents with new facial numbness. On January 27^th patient cut her right thumb and went to the ER due to numbness in right thumb.  They sent her with referral to a hand surgeon.  When she went to the hand surgeon she was experiencing right hand numbness in the distribution of median nerve and was diagnosed with carpal tunnel and sent to neurology.  An EMG was performed for her carpal tunnel and came back normal.

Red storm in morning.

The carpal tunnel came back normal.  Healthy. 

An approaching system still could be a problem. 

Read on.  It is quiet here.  Steve stirs upstairs. There is no sign of Sadie.  She is curled up next to him.

Stella is stealing shells from the basket on the table behind me.  I do not stop here.  It is a game she and I play.  She hides them from me.  I put them back in the basket.  She takes them out and hides them again. 

At that time blood was obtained and patient was diagnosed with Lyme disease.

The patient was diagnosed with Lyme disease.

The patient, Ortiz-Peterson, Andrea, 12/31/81, age 23, female.

My daughter.

Was diagnosed.

With Lyme disease.

The Scrabble game is still out on the coffee table.  All the tiles forming words that are connected, but have no connections.

Seven.

Hair.

Rose.

House.

Quiet.

Seven.

I taught Steve how to play Yahtzee  last night.  How you think the point of the game is to score a Yahtzee—5 dice, each with the same number of little black dots.  But you have to strategize.  There are other boxes that need to be filled in, Full House, Small Straight, Large Straight. 

Calculations of probabilities on a cellular level. 

“Sixes.  Sixes. Feel those sixes.”  I shook the blue cup.  The dice rattled noisily inside.

Steve laughed.  “I see.”  He said.  “You think you can control the dice with mental telepathy.”

I smiled.  “Exactly.”  I said as I rolled out the 5^th six and yelled out Yahtzee.

“You are a funny girl.”  He says, as he takes the cup.  Rolls two fours.

“Put everything back in the cup except the fours.”  I told him.

“But why the fours?”  he asked.

“Because I feel the fours.” I answered as I picked up the  one, three and six dice and dropped them in the blue cup he held.

“But wait…”  Steve protested.

“Trust me on this,” I told him.  “Feel the fours.”

The dice rattled in the cup.  He threw them out on the table.  Even before they were full rested on the table , I could see.

“Two more fours.”  I was triumphant.  “Feel those fours.  Take the three, put it in the cup.  Roll again.  You never know.”

It was a two this time.

“Now what?”  you asked. 

“You have options.  You can take 16 points on your fours.  Or you can take 18 points on your four of a kind.”

And the patient was started on Doxycycline on January 26^th.

The patient.  Andrea Ortiz Peterson.  Age 23.  My daughter.

On February 5^th patient experienced right face numbness.  No history of camping, no tick bites, no rash.  Extensive travel in Middle East with Navy.

Returned on November 15, 2004. 

November 15, 2004.  Three days from now, seven years ago, I was supposed to meet your ship.  You got in early.  Surprised me at the airport. 

“There’s my mom.”  You told your boyfriend, your first boyfriend, the boyfriend I was to meet for the first time--after you spotted me at the end of the concourse. 

“Where?”  Scott asked, searching the crowd of all the recently disembarked passengers.  “I cannot make out the face of anyone in this crowd.”

“Look.”  You told him.  “Look for the brightest thing in the crowd.  That is my mother.”

Yahtzee.  I felt the fours. 

My daughter could pick me out of a crowd anywhere.

You flew home to Washington with me for the holidays.  You and I went to Waikiki for a week.  Went diving, snorkeling, shopping.  Walked the beaches.

Searching for shells.

December 2004. 

A red sky is beautiful if you have no idea its meaning.  When the forecast of the storm has not been made by weathermen yet.

February 7, 2004.  Doctor’s Impression.  Recent Lyme Diagnosis.

I hear the tags on Sadie’s collar jingle as she jumps off my bed.

I hear the toilet flush upstairs. A cough.

I am feeling the storm approaching from the west.  The  red sky.  The emergency behind the sirens.  The barking dogs.  ad

There is nothing I can do to stop it.

There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Even feeling the fours, I had no idea, really what the final outcome would be.

It is time for another game of Scrabble.  I am going to go jumble up the tiles. 

I am going to form new words today.

Connected.

The subconscious.  Enhanced areas of hyperintensity. 

Seven.

November 2007.  You were healthy.  I met you at the Norfolk airport.  I met your boyfriend.  You could pick me out of a crowd anywhere.

Seven years later it is Veteran’s Day weekend. 

Seven years later all that remains of you is the name I gave you Andrea , referred to as patient in  these medical records I try to piece together like a puzzle.

House.

Quiet.

Rose.

Supine.

Supine.  Adjective.  Lying on the back with the face upward. Synonym.  Inactive.  Passive.  Idle.

It is Sunday.  Steve is up now. 

Another game of Scrabble.

I feel the words forming.

I feel you.

                                   Love,

                                   Mom