The Po Show

Goodbye March. You sucked.

Thank goodness this fucking month is over. What a nightmare.

Yes, I am glad my brother is alive and doing reasonably well. He had to go back into ICU on Thursday because he was having breathing troubles, but the doctors still think he should be able to transfer to a hospital in Ventura County soon. I still cannot believe that this happened to him. How could my BROTHER have a massive stroke? He's 55 years old, been ridiculously healthy his whole life, laughed at me and my sisters for all of our aches and pains and assorted ailments. And he's the one in the ICU, and who knows what the future holds for him.

Matthew had a fabulous session with his new therapist on Wednesday, which I am thrilled about, but what a horrible month he had. My poor baby. I still cannot believe that he got suspended from school. It's physical, the pain I feel that he suffers so much, that life is so hard for him. Everyday, simple things, are so difficult for him. Navigating the world is so difficult for him, and it always will be.

And I know it seems trivial and borderline offensive to add this in to the above list of grievances with March, but my beloved UCLA Bruins just lost to Florida in their Final Four game. I am sooo much sadder about this than I was when they lost the championship game last year, because they got fucking JOBBED by the refs and it totally changed the content of the game. It's one thing to lose because you got outplayed, and I usually have little patience for fans that cry about bad calls, but this was completely egregious, especially in the first half, and it was absolutely the reason they lost.

Goodbye March. I'm so fricking happy to see the ass-end of you.

Quick Trip Home

I've been back for a week now, and it actually wasn't even a trip home. I went straight from LAX to UC Irvine Medical Center (which is in the City of Orange, strangely enough. Shouldn't it be in Irvine?) and never left the OC (not the fun, beachy, sun- and scandal-drenched OC of the popular series I've never seen). I was two freeway exits away from Disneyland, which was bizarre. We stayed at the Anaheim Embassy Suites, which was overflowing with families on their way to the Happiest Place on Earth.

I was in one of the more somber places on earth, the waiting room for the neurological ICU. My family (there were many of us there most of the time) mainly shared the waiting room with another family, whose family member was in critical condition. His sister slept there the whole time, in a hard chair with a Pooh Bear fleece blanket. We would smile at each other, swap chairs back and forth as one group received more visitors. The morning I was leaving, their person died. The sister who had been sleeping in the waiting room cried, and packed up her stuff, and they all left and didn't come back.

There was a family who came in and out, not spending much time sitting in the waiting room. Their family member was a 20 year old boy who had fallen from a balcony and severed his spinal cord. His brother told my sister that they had all always been jocks, played a ton of sports, and they couldn't bear to tell him he was going to be a paraplegic. He was having ghost sensations in his toes, and thought he was going to be fine.

Many other people came and went, and I never heard their stories.

And then there was us, waiting in the room for my brother. They had all been there for a week and one day. My SIL Yoshiko, who had never gone home and was staying at a hotel across the street. My nephew David, who drove up from UC San Diego and had stayed the whole time, trying to cram for his finals. My mom and my sisters, who had driven back and forth for several days. My BIL and my sister's son, who had driven down for the day. My SIL's brother and his inlaws came by soon after I arrived. They brought food. My SIL's mother had already brought tons of food as well. My brother's other two sons were in Oxnard, sick with stomach flu. My nephew Kenny drove down the morning I'd left. He's the baby of their family (20 years old) and he had taken the whole thing the hardest.

We would take turns going in to see Kaz. We would pick up the phone in the hallway outside the ICU and ask to be let in. We would wash our hands immediately upon entering. Two people could go in at a time.

My brother was in the bed directly across from the door. He had a million tubes stuck into various parts of his body, with a million bags of various liquids hanging from the IV pole next to his bed. The monitor above him showed his heart rate and BP. His head had been shaved in the front, and the hair was growing back. My sister said he'd looked a little like a samurai when it was shaved close. The drainage tube sticking out of his head, with dark blood in the line, and the feeding tube in his nose were the most noticable and disturbing things about him. They had to keep him restrained because he kept trying to pull out the feeding tube, and had once succeeded.

But when I first walked into the room the restraints were off, and he was eating a cherry popsicle. He was holding it himself, trying to navigate it around the feeding tube and trying to coordinate his movements so he actually got it in his mouth. My SIL was delighted to see him eating, as it was the first solid food (if you can call it solid) he'd had in over a week. He'd had tea, and some jello. The jello was green, his favorite flavor of jello. My SIL jokingly asked if he had requested green.

I didn't know what to say to him, and didn't want to cry seeing him in such a state, so I got cheery and overly jovial, the way people do when they're really uncomfortable and don't know how to act. I talked about my flight being cancelled the day before because of all the snow, and that I was glad to see him sitting up and looking so well. And I was, because I'd heard so much about how terrible things had been, and this was such a huge improvement.

But it was still very disconcerting, and soon I said that I'd see him later and let someone else come in and see him. This was always a pat excuse for not staying in the room too long at a time, that I was allowing someone else to come in. That and the fact that many times we'd go into the room and he was sleeping, so we wouldn't stay. In a way it would be a relief.

He was talking quite a bit, especially on Monday morning when I saw him. He was disoriented, but trying so hard to strike up conversation. He joked frequently, and it was bizarre to watch. He'd say something funny, with a completely deadpan face and monotone voice, then a pause, then he'd smile briefly, like puppet strings were pulling up the corners of his mouth. He wanted to go home, he said repeatedly. He wanted them to let him get up and go to the bathroom. Alternatively, he wanted to take a real piss in a urinal. He wanted to know where he was, what this building was. He was very surprised when I told him he was at UCI, though he had been told several times before. He introduced us to his nurse, whom he said was Chris from Oregon (we asked, and the guy's name was Steve and he was not from Oregon). Mostly though, he wanted to go home. He said it had been too long.

So the majority of the time I was in CA, I sat in the waiting room with my family. It was nice and comforting, and just plain nice to see them. I know they'd all been sitting and waiting for many many long days, but it was a pleasant visit for me. I got to hang out with my sisters without having to worry about my kids, and that was really nice. We all went down to the hotel bar and had a drink the first night I was there, and we talked and talked. We felt slightly guilty to be having such a good time, considering the reason we all were together, but we all truly enjoyed ourselves. We even went shopping at the mall across from the hospital the next day, so I could get some presents for my kids (paid for by my mom, who tried to give me $80 to buy them something!! I slipped $40 back in her wallet when she wasn't looking). We have never ever all gone shopping, just the three of us. It was a quick trip, but my sister Micki found a silk dress she needed to wear to a wedding for $9.99. Everyone said it was my being there (shopping goddess that I am).

The morning I was leaving, we arrived at the hospital and were told that Kaz had been having trouble breathing, so he was back on the ventilator. My nephew Kenny had driven down, and was seeing his dad for the first time in a week, and it was terrible because the last time he'd seen him, he'd been on the vent, and now he was again. In between, he'd been doing so well.

Kaz was asleep when we went in, and I watched as a tech did an ultrasound on his head. Then the neurologist asked if my SIL was in the waiting room, so I went out too because I wanted to hear what she had to say. She told us he seemed to have aspirated some food, and was exhibiting bronchitis, so they weren't going to let him eat again for awhile. She thought a feeding tube in his stomach would be kinder than the one he'd had in his nose, so they'd put that in. I asked some questions about his blood pressure and the ultrasounds they'd taken on his brain, and she said everything looked promising in the scans, with little sign of vasospasm. As she was talking, my sister made a comment about "all the big words," and I realized that I had sort of been a wasted resource, since I hadn't been around when the doctor was explaining anything, and I could actually understand medical terminology. But she was very good about rephrasing things so that they all understood, so it was okay.

I went back in and Kaz was still asleep. A phlebotomist came in to take a draw for blood gasses. They hadn't been able to get a catheter into his wrist, so they kept having to stick him, and they were arterial punctures so that sucked. His whole arm was purple. The tech couldn't get the stick and my nephew Kenny was watching the whole thing, so that wasn't good. Kaz sort of woke up as he tried again on the other arm, and he noticed we were in the room.

When he realized that Kenny was there, he really became alert, and he was desperately trying to talk. No sound came out, of course, because he had the ventilator in, so he became increasingly agitated. It was horrible to see him try to talk, and Kenny was trying to understand what he was saying. I let the doctor know he was agitated and she said they'd sedate him further.

Then it was time for me to leave for the airport, so I told him I needed to go back to NY, but that when I saw him again, he'd be so much better. That the next time I saw him, he'd be home. Then I said "I love you, Kaz" and he looked right in my eyes and mouthed "I love you too" with great emotion. We had never before said "I love you" to each other. Then I left.

Kaz got out of ICU two days ago, and he's doing well. He's sleeping better, without all the hustle and bustle of people coming and going from the ICU room. They hope that he can be transferred next week to a hospital in Thousand Oaks, so that will only be 15 minutes away from my family. That will be huge improvement.

As for what the future holds, how disabled he will be, how well he will recover physically and cognitively, it's too early to tell. Everyone has been focussed on his being alive, and improving day by day. But I got to see for myself that even under the most dire conditions, he was still himself. And that's what really matters.

Get On, Toughie

I don't know where I picked up that phrase, but I use it mostly while watching college football. I use it when the quarterback, failing to find a receiver, tucks the ball under his arm, puts his head down, and starts ploughing through the defense, making it to that first down through sheer force of will and utter disregard for his personal well-being. "Get on, Toughie," I approvingly say, in praise of that show of true grit.

I say it now to my brother, who is a total fricking trooper. He just had a branching of blood vessels in his BRAIN burst a couple of days ago, and he survived a very invasive surgery through those blood vessels in his BRAIN two days ago, and today he spoke.

He had been opening one eye, and was showing some response to things people said to him. My sister told him I was coming this weekend to see him, and his eye opened wide, in surprise. My mother jokingly said something like, "You know Paula, she has to be a part of everything," and he sort of chuckled, my sister said. Amazing.

Then later my niece called, and said that they were taking him off his ventilator. And when my BIL leaned forward to say something to him, my brother sort of grabbed at his shirt.

"What're you doing? What's wrong?," my BIL asked.

My brother pulled at his shirt again and whispered, "I'm cold."

Holy fuck. That is one tough dude.

I've been reflecting the last couple of days, on toughness. Guys are supposed to be tough, and they spend a lot of time during their lives trying to exhibit their toughness, and I think it takes a toll on them. Because really, how else do you explain the discrepancy in mortality between men and women? What is the DEAL with men? Why don't they last?

My paternal grandmother was a widow for almost 30 years. I find that incredible. Sure, she was much younger than my grandfather, who died before I was born. But come on, *30* years! She lived to be 95.

My maternal grandfather also lived to be 95, but I think he was a real exception. My kids currently have two grandmothers, two GREAT-grandmothers, and one lone living grandfather (who had a heart attack before he was 63). My dad died when he was 66. My mom is almost 80, and a 12 year cancer survivor. My maternal grandmother lived to be 88, and was bedridden for 2 years, and weighed 60 pounds when she finally died. She wasted away, but it took TWO YEARS, for her heart to stop beating and her lungs to stop filling and refilling. Even though she'd lost the will to live, her body was just too tough to give it up. My paternal grandmother survived THREE different kinds of cancer. You want to talk about tough!

But despite the apparent handicap of being male, my brother Kazuyoshi has shown his toughness, in spades. That's right, Kaz, you get on, Toughie.

Kaz

I really can't go to bed tonight without writing something about my brother Kaz. The stuff that has run through my head since I heard he was in a coma, though, I can't write that. It's all stuff about things he's done in his life, and what a wonderful person he is, and that all sounds like an obituary. And he's alive, damn it. It's way too early to start eulogizing him.

I'll just say I feel like shit for all the times I bitched about him, and all the times I've resented him for not being closer to me. He tried so hard, especially in the last few years, and he changed a lot, became warmer and more demonstrative and really worked to change things in his personality that he felt he should change.

I've been preparing myself for years, since we moved away from southern CA, for the day that I got the call about my mother. She's almost 80, and a cancer survivor, and I've always known that the day would come when someone in my family would call to tell me that she was ill or gone. I guess I thought it would be my brother who would call (he was the one who called me after her operation to remove her colon).

It was what I was expecting to hear when my niece called me at 2:50 this afternoon. Instead, it was my brother who was in the hospital, in a coma. He's not exactly my contemporary, being 15 years older, but he's my sibling. My only brother. The only boy in the family, who had to grow up with three sisters. There I go, eulogizing. Stop it.

I fucking hate being 3000 miles away.

Hang in there, Kaz. I love you.

Pictures of My Babies

We were doing a pre-Spring cleaning today, cleaning up a lot of crap out of the livingroom. Very good, very liberating to get rid of a bunch of junk and to clean the edges of the floor, etc.

Ross was in charge of going through boxes, and he got rid of dozens of boxes of academic books that are more or less out of date. Yay, Ro!

One of the boxes he found contained photo albums, from the dark ages before we went digital at the end of 2001. Oh my, so many pics of Matthew as a baby, toddler, and little boy. How wonderful to see hundreds of pictures of him, smiling so sweetly and naturally (as opposed to the forced, painful faux smiles he is unable to avoid these days). Pictures of him at each of his birthdays, at holidays, in his Halloween costumes, growing up with the other L.A. Auggies. They were all so little, and so beautiful!!

Tessa wanted to see pics of herself too, so I found her baby album. Oh my, she was so precious! I still can't believe she had blue/green/grey eyes. And those delicious jowls.

I tell myself I'm insane for wanting another baby, but THIS, this is why. Sure, it was so hard, harder than I could probably bear now, but oh, it was so wonderful too.