A Year of Living Dangerously

 It's been a year of living dangerously. 

While walking with a friend on a mild, sunny day last February, I experienced a brief episode of blurred vision. Never good but it lasted no more than fifteen seconds and could be ignored. A second, longer episode later that evening could not be ignored. My doctors took it very seriously indeed and after six hours of tests in the emergency department and a biopsy later, the verdict was Giant Cell Arteritis (GCA). 

GCA is an autoimmune vasculitis — the immune system attacks blood vessels, leading to inflammation that can cause serious complications like sudden, permanent blindness if not treated quickly. Massive doses of Prednisone, a corticosteroid that suppresses the immune system and decreases inflammation, are then prescribed to save the eyesight and possibly save your life. 

If you've never been there, entering the Prednisone world is daunting. Prednisone is a miracle drug but is otherwise disruptive and destructive to every system in your body. While the prescription doesn't usually come with a lot of advice or instruction from your doctor, internet research is more interesting. There are foods you should not eat while on Prednisone, and supplements and other medicines you should not be taking. There are other supplements that you really should be taking because Prednisone is wiping them out. So there's that. You must then get off of Prednisone as quickly as possible but it must be tapered just so or you'll be back where you started. You immediately become an expert in corticosteroid management. 

Having managed to be extremely healthy for most of my life, GCA was a shock, of course, but it began to seem like a cosmic joke when followed in March by another new medical experience with a pulmonary embolism. Now in addition to Prednisone, add a blood thinner and an oxygen tank. 

While I'm soldering on, trying to take it in stride, my doctors report to me that one of the scans had turned up an image of a lesion on one of my ovaries. To the Prednisone, blood thinner, and oxygen tank,  add surgery to remove the lesion. It's a cosmic joke gone wildly bad. 

My answer to all adversity, and to keeping my sanity in general, is to get outside and walk. Most days, I walk a mile or two in all weather and conditions for healing and sanity, and for the simple joy of being outside. In addition to my large indoor oxygen tank, I had a small nine pound tank that fit in my backpack and allowed me to continue my daily walk-abouts; the universal antidote to all of life's setbacks. 

So by June, I had tapered off Prednisone completely, and by August I no longer needed an oxygen tank. The dreaded surgical procedure turned up no lesion, malignant or otherwise, and a benign resolution closed that whole episode. I calculated that the half life of a cosmic joke is about six months. I still have the autoimmune disorder and take drugs I'd rather not take but am so grateful to be feeling strong and normal again.

Steve's year of living dangerously took a more subtle form. He was banging up the car with miscalculations while driving. Steve decided to voluntarily give up driving before those miscalculations ended in a serious accident. It has been my assumption that most elderly drivers had to have their hands pried from the steering wheel. I was both surprised and very proud of Steve for making the transition without drama. 

It helps tremendously that we live in Woodin Creek Village which is not just an appealing name thought up by real estate developers, but a place that really does aspire to feel like a village. We can walk to restaurants, cafes, and an astonishing number of wine tasting shops. 

Woodin Creek Village main plaza

Wine Alley ambience

Winterfest horse and carriage rides

Steve continues to teach painting and regularly paints in studio with painter friends. He no longer has a studio of his own but has accommodated. 

Steve's painting Bridge Over the Seine

I continue doing political work which is frustrating as always. Politics is not terribly compatible with the Christmas spirit so I attempt to detach from such thinking and speak of other things this time of year.

We have a lot to celebrate. In addition to holiday cheer, Steve and I are celebrating our 51st wedding anniversary and my birthday pops up a week later. I wrote a poem. 

Happy Birthday to me, 

And now I'm eighty-three. 

It's going so fast, 

It cannot last, 

I have to let it be. 

Be of good cheer. We send good wishes to you all. 

Steve & Vandana

Ronnie

 

My brother, Ron Wills, died from Pulmonary Fibroses Chronic Lung Disease shortly after his 84th birthday. This is not a disease that sneaks up on anyone as the dying can be a slow process of decline over years. Rather than falling into morbid self pity, Ron prepared for death as purely and consciously as possible. He went about connecting with everyone who meant something to him and making sure they knew how much he appreciated and cared about the friendship. He didn't ignore the "difficult" people either, but connected with them too in order to take responsibility for at least part of whatever was difficult between them in a sincere effort to mend the fences. 

Ours is a family of six siblings. We evolved to be a very tight knit unit of care and support for each other both through sibling reunions and later with regular Zoom visits. Ron died on a Tuesday; the siblings met on the preceding Saturday and Sunday to say a long good-bye. Ron died without fear and with as much grace as is humanly possible. 

Born just seventeen months apart, my brother Ron and I were a childhood playgroup of two. But he was called Ronnie then and one of my very deepest bonds is with that boy.  Ronnie was an impressively large presence, seemingly fearless, outgoing and always in motion, and was most comfortable being "in charge". As the other member of the playgroup, I was younger, much smaller and shy. He led; I followed.

Ronnie was not meant to be raised in a house and always wanted to be outdoors. When we played inside, we often fought; we were far more in harmony out of doors. We climbed trees, walked the creek, played in the barn and rode horses together. The horses were entirely his idea. At age twelve, with money he earned from a paper route, he bought his first horse. Flame was a Tennessee Walker, a huge horse, and Ronnie had little prior experience. Completely undaunted, Ronnie was not just learning to ride but was in command from the beginning.

We rode double for awhile, but at some point, Ronnie bought a horse for me so that I could follow along with the troop of kids he rode with. My horse, Princess, was smaller but meaner. I didn't learn to ride so much as I trailed after the other horses while Princess tried to scrape me off by dodging under low hanging branches. I depended on agility more than horsemanship.

It's probably a distorted memory, but Ronnie looked perpetually banged-up as a boy, usually causing his own injuries by doing insanely dangerous things. He seemed to either jump or fall off of something with frightening regularity. Sometimes I was only a half beat behind him, but moving far more carefully.

Before chic Gymboree play clothes were invented.

When forced to be inside a house, Ronnie liked to play cards and board games, and insisted that I play if he couldn't find another mark. He always won. Maybe he cheated, maybe I'm just that bad at games, or maybe he's just that good. He did take up serious poker playing for awhile as an adult, apparently with some real talent for it. I don't doubt he was good at bluffing. Ronnie and I also shared a paper route when we were kids. I made precise and careful lists of our costs, outstanding payments, and net profit. He had a much more cavalier approach which seemed to work just as well. He bought the candy and pop right up front, and assumed the profit would show up at some point.

Growing up, my brother was a master of half truths; like a really expensive trial lawyer. It came so naturally to him, I'm not even sure it was entirely calculated. Maybe he honestly couldn't remember anything that might reflect badly on his recent behavior. As he could be reckless, impulsive, and not quite trustworthy, I was the reliable child who could get him home in one piece or at least go for help.

My adult brother, Ron, evolved to be a completely honest, reliable, and trustworthy person. I still marvel. 

Siblings in birth order: Dina, Barry, Rita, Ron, Vandana, Farrell