Friday, March 15, 2019

Visiting the ER at Disneyworld


It was our first day visiting parks and after plenty of fun in the sun at Animal Kingdom, we returned to the resort to eat a snack and make cocktails. I flopped onto the hotel bed and opened my laptop to watch “The Bachelor” (don’t judge). Meanwhile, Dan went with Raine to the hotel pool.
After I finished the episode I had missed, I wandered out to the pool to hang out with them. I was cursing myself because somehow my swimsuit didn’t make it into my suitcase! It turned out I would be glad I wasn’t wearing it because I had an ambulance ride and ER stay in my future.
After I opened the gate to the hotel pool, I found a crowd of people huddled around Dan and Raine while they were sitting on one of those plastic white lounge chairs. Hotel staff, lifeguards, and hotel medics were in front of Dan asking him questions. I didn’t know if something had happened to Raine or Dan. Raine sat quietly with a towel but he was shaking. They all looked at me when I walked up and Dan pointed at me and explained I was his wife. Everyone turned to talk to me and someone informed me that they had just been trying to call me.
A young lifeguard started to share with me her account of Dan on the waterslide, arriving in the pool with a splash and then not coming up for air. She said he was struggling so she jumped in to help him. By the time she reached him (2 seconds according to Raine—”she was like a superhero!” ) he wasn’t breathing so she had to get him out of the pool and clear his airway. He coughed and regained consciousness.
Daddy went down the slide. He was swimming toward me and then he stopped swimming.”
The lifeguard was still shaking as she spoke with me and I couldn’t help but wonder how someone roughly the same size as me managed to get an unconscious Dan out of the pool. I wanted to hug her and thank her but suddenly all of these people were asking me questions.
“What medications is your husband on?” “Does he have a history of seizures?” The lifeguard had mentioned he appeared as if he was having one. I was surprised because Dan was, in fact, on an anti-seizure medication ever since his first (and only) seizure three years ago. They informed me that an ambulance was on its way and returned to Dan with their questions and concerns.
My beating heart felt like it was leaping from my chest as I sat down with Raine and hugged him. I pulled him into my lap and wrapped his towel around him tightly, rubbing his arms quickly to warm him up. I asked him what he had seen and felt. He explained, “Daddy went down the slide. He was swimming toward me and then he stopped swimming.”


Before I knew it, the ambulance medics were there and testing Dan’s oxygen. It was lower than usual and because he had been unconscious, they recommended he go to the hospital. I called Char and quickly told her to come to the pool. A hotel staff member brought Raine an ice cream bar and I told him I’d be going with daddy to the hospital and he could stay up playing Fortnite with his cousin. When Char arrived, I had her take him and I boarded the ambulance.
On the way to the ER, I made as many jokes as possible and followed Dan’s oxygen level. His arms and hands were blue and he was shaking in his wet clothes. I hadn’t packed a hospital bag for this trip … because, you know, he had already been to the hospital in January and I wasn’t expecting another one so soon. But that is our situation for you. We should be getting hospital frequent flyer points.
Doug would later bring us clothes and dinner while we waited it out. By midnight he hadn’t been admitted but he was having no seizure activity and basically just tired. I had to go back to the hotel to Raine and to get some sleep. The following morning, we expected him to be discharged due to no seizure activity over night and a normal oxygen level. A night’s sleep did wonders for him.

We are grateful to Doug and Rita for taking us with them to Disneyworld. We made the absolute best of it despite our troubles. Maybe someday we can go back and do it a second time without a hospital stay!

The hospital situation became a nightmare and Dan wasn’t released until our last day at Disneyworld. They had no reason to keep him but they did. They were slow to get a CT and even slower to get an MRI, both of which ended up showing no change than the MRI Dan had just had in December. Being stuck in a hospital is pretty common for us but this situation was the worst we had experienced. We feared he wouldn’t get released until the next day and we would miss our flight home. So I cried in frustration, which made Char cry, so she pleaded with staff in tears until the doctor finally showed up and let him go.
This is our last day of vacation and my grandson is playing basketball in my son’s hospital room with a balled up sock and garbage can. They are supposed to be having fun at Disneyworld!
It was time to go. Dan and I firmly agreed the accident was due to his vertigo and NOT a seizure. His follow-up at home supported our thought and he has been doing absolutely fine ever since. There has been time for us to adjust to what a scary experience it actually was and Dan is doing well coping by using his sense of humor and talking when he needs to about it. We check in with Raine and answer questions he has. Mainly he wants to know what it was like when daddy stopped swimming.

Sunday, December 9, 2018

Death Is Nothing At All







Two year anniversary of my mother’s death


Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened. 
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!



Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Simple Pleasures || October 2018

Grandview Drive this autumn


At the funeral of Dan's grandmother, Delores Karpiak, pictured here on her wedding day with Alexander.

My gift shipped to Boulder for sweet Eva

My little Halloween Raccoon

Yes please



Monday, October 22, 2018

Harper

for robyn
I am grabbing at life today
silhouettes of dogwood,
white ash, and tulip poplar
a delirious pleasure
the light through the trees
illuminates particles
i know we are the dust of it all.
harper can smell the fragments
in green blades, smoke, and vermin miles away.
her dark wet nose and keen mind
will know up to forty feet
what is buried below the ground
only she knows what is stale
in the rafts and scurf
the biological richness
of my human debris.
isn’t the devastation and the
trauma of grief tangled into
the molecules
the bits and seeds
of me?
we share the bed now and i know
sometimes i would be there
with my love in the ground and beyond
if it weren’t for her—the urgent muzzle
in the morning at my chin
the soft whine.
harper squints
at the sun greedy with
the blue-rich sky
her coat against my cheek
feels warm and soft
like fresh laundry pulled out
and hung to dry
her tag reads her name
still with both of our phone numbers
and both of our names
printed on the back.


-Leah Herzing

Monday, September 17, 2018

The Niche


On September 18th, four years ago, incurable cancer became a part of our story. I had to write about it in order to cope. Writing felt like the air I needed to breathe.

On September 8th, only one year ago, the remains of my beloved mother were sealed inside a niche in a columbarium at Glendale Cemetary in Washington. It had been eight months since her death.

At the time, I couldn't write about this.



I have been bereft and I have been silent.
I would like to try to find my way into a new space of writing. I'm not sure what that will mean, but I do hope those of you out there in the world that follow this blog and keep me and my family in your thoughts will stay with me.

Monday, September 3, 2018

Eureka Lake Road


September’s fields of tall, crisp stalks
are like dry soldiers martyred by harvest—
Their innards, tender and warm produce
reveal robust kernels or rot—
the industry of cutworms, beetles, borers.
Tassels are fingered by hurried youth
unloaded from yellow, sticky buses
their bundled glands pumping sweat
into drenched long sleeves and socks.

At the lake, the basin is scorched,
undressed by drought.
Groups of family geese with black necks
and white cheeks stagger across the
cracks in the mud bed and huddle as they honk.
Their chests and bellies protrude,
hovering over the dried membranes of their feet.
They will decide to go—take flight
in their groups. Yet it is one single thought.

Creeks have withdrawn unto themselves.
The industry of mice and rabbits becomes
precarious as the hawks glide above,
dropping wide black shadows
across tan trimmed lawns
and hot pavement—a road with death,
where the skunk and squirrel corpses
have already been pillaged.
The throats of the hawks are ready,
their feathers tickled by the air.

Monarchs have lived among the milkweed
in the warmth of the summer.
Now those of the last brood dash over the road;
they dart, flutter, whisper, shout.
Their sunset wings become daring
with thick lines of black warning.
An ancient pulse within them bellows—
It is time for migration.

I am reminded of a Black Swallowtail
I found clinging to pebbles at the cemetery—
her white-dotted body
leaning under the weight of her
large and delicate arms of darkness.
I touched her blue band on her hind wings
and she stayed with me until her final fright
and she leapt away.

It is said that butterflies are a resurrection,
hope, the soul.


I yield unto what I do not know.



-Leah Herzing

Sunday, June 24, 2018

Father's Day 2018




I am a dork and signed Raine and Dan up for a Father-Son Basketball Camp at Eureka College without even thinking about the fact that Dan has only one reliable lung, vertigo, and a recent complete shoulder replacement.
It didn’t stop him from attending today, doing the best he could, and not even caring that he might have looked a little awkward and funny to all the other dads.
Since his S4 diagnosis in 2014, we have been blessed with FOUR Father’s Days together. Raine will someday know how utterly amazing this is!
For now, he was just happy to have some fun with his dad. No big deal.