Medicare

I got my Medicare card recently and promptly took it to the bank and had it laminated. I want it to last a long time because I plan to as well. I started this blog when I was nearing 60, trying to wrap my head around what that meant. I didn't feel old then and I don't feel old now. Not really sure if I even understand what feeling old means. When I was much younger, I thought anyone over thirty was old. Poof! I was thirty and found out that it wasn't true at all. I hear people talk about being old. Some have called me old on Twitter and at home. I even called myself old on one of these blog posts because I needed another word to describe myself. I am not going to do that anymore. I work hard every day to stay young. I workout and line dance and take swim aerobics classes. I am not going to turn into an old fuddy, duddy. I want to learn new things and stay involved with people. I love technology and embrace change. So, I proudly march forward towards 70 and wonder what the next age will bring my way.

An Old White Lady's Thoughts on Race

My first memory of any recognition of race was the day I brought my new friend home for lunch. My grandma must have been watching us come up the steps because she met us at the door and said it wasn't convenient to have guests for lunch. She sent my new friend packing and then set me down and told me to never do that again. She said we don't mix with Blacks. That's all she would say. Later, I asked my mom what she meant. Mom said that grandma had moved to the city from the farm and she had no experience with people of other races. She said Grandma was prejudiced. I asked what that meant. Mom said prejudice was fear of others because they are different from us. She said there were lots of ways to be prejudiced but race was the most common. I went to public school and in the 50's there wasn't much integration so I didn't have many interactions with other races. In high school, after I started dating, my dad told me to never bring a Black man home to meet him or he'd knock him down the front steps. That's all I can ever remember him saying about race. Later, at his wake, several Black men came up to me and told me how kind and helpful he'd been to them. When I was 8 years old, my grandma moved across town and her neighbor was a Black woman. Irma soon became my friend. I would go to her house and sit with her in the swing on her front porch. I got my grandma to come along. As we all got to know each other, a transformation happened in my grandma and she began to lose her fear of Blacks. We met Irma's niece and her husband and their two sons. Grandma even let me go to church with them. Everyone there said I was the cutest little thing. It was my first experience being a minority. In college I lived in a single room on the first floor of the dorm. A young Black woman named Betty was in the room next to mine. Getting to know her was helpful. I learned the pressure she felt from Whites to fit in and from her Black friends to remain aloof. Poor Betty faced a daily struggle with deciding how to fit in. When her Black friends were gone, Betty would hang out with the rest of us. But whenever they were around, she didn't try to introduce us or interact. Maybe that's what they wanted. This was in the late 60's and schools were integrated then. But in the lunch room we didn't integrate. We sat at separate tables, by choice. I just heard Chris Mathews talking on Hardball with Eugene Robinson and Chris pointed out how we still segregate ourselves in church, at parties, in common lunch rooms, etc. When will it ever end? When will we stop fearing people who are "others" and start seeing the humanity in each other? Let's talk about it and confront our attitudes in the light of day. That way we can get rid of outdated prejudices and start working together. This country needs us to work together. The problems we face require 100% participation. That's what I think.

Her Last Day

Mom had fallen about three weeks earlier and cracked some ribs on a cement step. She'd been to the Prompt Care and was seeming to do better. So, I left town to attend a conference. I stopped at my son's on the way home for a short visit. On Sunday, I stopped to see Mom. She'd been admitted to the hospital the day before. She had some internal bleeding from the rib fractures and the fact that she was on coumadin for Atrial Fibrillation. She was in a lot of discomfort. I spent the afternoon with her, then, went home to my husband. The next morning, I was on my way to work when I got the intuition that I should go to the hospital instead. I've learned over the years to trust that feeling. So, I called my principal to tell him I would not be coming in that day. When I got to the hospital, her physician was just leaving. I had time to ask him about her kidney function and he just dismissed my concerns and told me it would return to normal as soon as she got better. The first words out of her mouth were, "I don't want to live another day if I have to endure this much pain." The plan as I understood it was for a consult with a thoracic surgeon, vitamin K shots to coagualte her blood, and then typing her blood for possible surgery. The very first problem we encountered was the inability of the phlebotomist to hit a vein. This process was very painful. They finally found someone who got the job done. Then, the surgeon came in. He told mom that if they could get her blood count up through transfusions, he would do surgery on her the next morning. He said he'd have to leave a drain in the incision for several weeks but that she could go home with home nursing care. As he laid out the whole process, I could see her withdraw. After he left, she put her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. I believe in my heart she asked God to take her home that day. Shortly afterward, everything started happening so fast that it is a blur. I just know that soon the nurse came to say they were transferring her to Intensive Care. The last thing I heard her say was, "Help me." When I got to the Intensive Care Unit, they were getting her settled in her bed. They finally let me in. She was lying on her back, breathing, eyes closed. I don't think she was there anymore. Her body was alive but I felt no connection. The nurse asked me if I had anyone to call to be with me and if I wanted her put on a respirator. I asked for a minute to think. As I stood there beside the bed, I "knew" she'd be very upset with me if I allowed that. She had a "Do Not Resuscitate" order on file. Just then a thoracic specialist came in and suggested we try to get her some air by draining the fluid from her lungs. I reminded him of her DNR order and gave permission for him to try. Her heart stopped while he was in the process. Although I still miss her terribly, I am at peace because I think we tried what we could but it was her time to depart.

Sheri

My friend Sheri called me one evening and told me she'd found a lump in her breast, had it biopsied, and was having a mastectomy in the morning. I was shocked. She told me not to worry and that it would be okay. We talked about why not a lumpectomy and about her husband and daughter. Later, I remembered another lady from my church who'd had the same surgery and I called her to ask if she could go see Sheri that night before the surgery. Sheri wasn't mad at me and was actually grateful to have someone to talk with who'd been through the procedure. I first met Sheri about 8 years earlier when my oldest son was ready for preschool. Sheri had a degree in early childhood education and had pioneered our local YWCA's Little School for 3-4 year old's. We lived at the duck hunting club and Sheri always made home visits before a child started in her classes. Now, it was 3 miles from the gate to our house and I was running late the day she was to arrive. Our road was a muddy mess so I was supposed to meet her at the gate. As I drove to the gate, here came Sheri, pant legs rolled up and shoes dangling from her purse slugging her way through the mud so she wouldn't be late to her next appointment. That is the kind of person she was. Over the years that my boys attended her preschool, we became good friends and prayer partners. We eventually started a prayer group with another friend, Carol. What a blessed oasis that weekly meeting was for the three of us! We were all busy, working mom's and this was an hour respite from our hectic lives. Sheri took radiation and chemo for her cancer. She worked the whole time and would cry with me about feeling like she was failing us by being so weak and tired. She survived the treatments and saw her daughter off to college before the cancer returned. This time it was in her neck. She had more radiation that shrunk the tumor. It was parent's weekend at the college and Sheri and Dick returned home just as Sheri got very ill. Her ureters were blocked and she was in such pain. The doctor did surgery to open them up. Carol and I waited till Sheri's husband told us she was in recovery and he was going to stay the night before we went home to our families. About 4 AM he called. He'd only left for a bit to go home and shower and clean up. The nurse found her and Sheri's heart had stopped. They did a code blue and got it started, but, she'd been out too long. The next day they did an EEG and there was no brain activity. Her family took her off life support and that was how she died. When I learned the news I was so mad at her husband for leaving her. Either Carol or I would have been happy to have stayed with her if only he'd called us. As I was driving back to town from the school I was at when I got the call, I felt her presence in the car and I sensed that Sheri was there to let me know that it was all right. I've never lost that feeling and I know that right now I can ask "What would Sheri say or do?" and the answer will be there for me. Sheri taught me that when you love someone, they become a part of you and always abide with you even if not physically present. You see, she was a great teacher.

BFF Linda

I came to know my best friend Linda through our involvement in Job's Daughters. That group is a social service group of girls who have at least one male relative who belongs to a Masonic Organization. Linda's older sister had been the Honored Queen of our local chapter. We joined about the same time. I was one year ahead of her in school. Over time, we became fast friends. We came from very different backgrounds. Linda's family was solidly middle class. Her mom was a stay at home mom and her dad was a supervisor at our town's factory. Linda was the youngest child with older brother and sister. They were a good Christian family. My family was chaos. My parents had divorced when I was two. It was my dad's second marriage. My dad then married a divorcee with two daughters. My mom married my first step-dad who was a supervisor at Caterpillar. My mom worked as a waitress in a supper club. She made more money in tips than he did at Caterpillar. They fought constantly. They divorced and then remarried. I thought I'd go crazy. What do you think of a seven year old who plots ways to kill her step-dad? I went to live with my maternal grandparents till he and my mom finally divorced the second time. Then, I just stayed with my grandparents while my mom lived like a single woman. Finally, when I was eleven, she married my second step-father and moved me away from the grandparents to Canton where I met Linda. My second step-dad ran a tavern. I think he fooled my mom into believing that he owned it and had some money. Anyhow, they ended up borrowing money from my grandparents to keep the tavern open and finally were able to buy it. The first five years they were married were very rocky. My mom would leave him and take me back to the grandparents. Then, they would make up and back we'd go. So, you can see that Linda and I had very different childhoods. Linda always had hand-me-down clothes and I always had the latest fashions. In high school, Linda worked at a local clothing store and used her own money to buy herself nice things. I shopped there. Linda was talented in music and was a drum major for our high school band. She also played the piano beautifully. She won the talent competition in our local Fall Festival her Senior year. I went to the local community college while Linda was a Senior and then we both went to nearby state college. At first, I had a single room and Linda lived in same complex, but, she had a roommate. We still hung out. The next year, we decided to room together. Just before that term started, I'd met a boy through another friend. Our romance only lasted part of the summer. When school started, we went our separate ways. That Christmas break, he called me. I told him I was seeing someone else. He asked if I knew of anyone he might call and ask out. I thought of Linda. She agreed for me to give him her phone number. Well, they went out and then they got married the next summer. I was her bridesmaid. Later, that fall, I met the man I married and Linda returned the favor by being my bridesmaid. We've known each other now since 1961. That's 52 years. We been there for each other all those years. Sadly, I was the one who had to break the news to her that her husband had another woman. It broke my heart to do it. But, she was so distraught trying to figure out why he wanted a divorce, wracking her brain to see if she could determine what she had done or failed to do that would make him want to leave her after 40 years of marriage. When I learned from many sources that he was seeing someone I worked with, I knew I had to tell her. I just put myself in her shoes and asked myself what I'd want her to do if it were me. Now, it's been three years and she is healing. She has a boyfriend. And her ex is getting married. Our children are growing up and we are growing older together. I am so glad that Linda's been in my life all these years.

Last House on the Left

In July of 1975, my husband and I, our baby son, Andrew, and my step-son, Kendall, who'd soon turn 15, moved from our newly re-furbished home in Peoria, IL to the Duck Island Hunting and Fishing Club near Banner, IL. The club was privately owned, reportedly the oldest in the entire state. My husband had grown up in Banner watching both his grandfather and father work at the club taking wealthy duck hunters out to the blinds using push poles and in flat bottomed boats. They were called pushers, but, it had nothing to do with drugs. Eventually, my husband grew up and also worked as a pusher at the club. Once he took a bank president from Nashville out to the blind, called in the ducks for the man to shoot, picked, and cleaned the ducks for the man to take home with him. That guy gave my husband a $20.00 tip. It was the best tip he'd ever gotten. When we moved into the club and my husband took over managing it, he told me he'd found his "Place in the Sun". I, however, thought it was a hell hole. I'd grown up in the city and now I was out in the middle of the boondocks, 5 miles from my nearest neighbor. The house was indeed the last house on the left. It sat proudly on an earthen berm. It was a two-story salt box house that was built before electricity or running water were added. The outside was a dusty green and the inside walls were wainscoted boards. Electric wires and switches were stapled on the outside of the walls and the plumbing pipes ran through the ceiling of the kitchen. The main level consisted of a nice-sized living room with a free-standing Franklin stove and wall-mounted electric heaters, a large kitchen, an adjacent dining room, a laundry room and half-bath. The second level had a full bath, one master bedroom and two smaller one. There was also a large screened porch upstairs that we later closed in to use as a playroom for our family. After moving to the club, we had two more sons and they need some space for their toys. To get to our home, a person had to drive down a road on top of a dike that lead out of Banner. It was 3 miles to the gate that lead to the club. The gate was locked. So, people had to call ahead and then someone had to go open the gate for them. Beyond the gate it was another 3 miles of gravel road to get to our house. Just before our house was the large two-story clubhouse where the duck hunters from out of town would stay. After that was the boathouse and the pick shed. And finally, the manager's house. The road from the gate to where we lived was pretty rough. It ran along the Illinois River and could get pretty messy when it rained or when the river would come up. Many times during the nine years we were there the river did go over our road. There are many stories of those times that I will save for another day. But to give the reader and idea of the quality of the road, I will tell one story. We'd belonged to a pinochle card club when we lived in Peoria. After moved to the club, we hosted a card party. As luck would have it, it rained for several days prior to the event. By the day of the party, the road was impassable except for 4-wheel drive vehicles. All our friends had to park near the gate and we had to pick them up in our vehicle and bring them in to the club. One of our lady friends told Kenny, "Patty must really love you because I wouldn't live here for Robert Redford!" (to be continued)

Finding Twitter

Since I retired, I've gotten pretty active on Twitter. I have met some really awesome people (called Tweeps) on there and some really awful, mean-spirited Right Wing folks who love to insult and call names. One of the nicest people I've met so far is Andrew S. Ginsburg @GinsburgJobs on Twitter. Through Andrew, I've met the A Team. ‏@IslandAnnaLand @JoanLivingbig @reporterphoenix @jodette7 @wcgirl1 @scott_in_worc @bill_mcl @Kurtseldon Most every morning, we greet each other and briefly talk. I feel like I've known them for years. Maybe some even better than face-to-face friends. The only problem that I've run into is that by the time I've listed them all, there aren't many characters of the 140 Twitter allows left to express myself. This leads me to another place I found on Twitter. It is called #LibCrib @RussHayden1 started it as a place to go to relax, chat, share music, important links, etc. I love it in the #LibCrib. Using a hashtag # as a place to gather and talk is fun. You drop the @'s and just tweet with the #. Some find it strange to do it this way. I find it helps to keep a window open on my computer for the hashtag group I am following. But, if I'm on my tablet, I have to use the search to locate the hashtag group. Then I can tweet my input directly if I chose using the hashtag or just scroll through the hashtag tweets to see what's going on in the group. Now often a nasty, mean person (we call them Trolls) will come into the hashtag group and post hateful material. The LibCrib rule that Russ asks us to follow is to ignore the troll. If we chose to respond to the troll, he asks us to drop the hashtag so that the discussion does not show up on the hashtag group's timeline. Recently, my friend Andrew and I started the hashtag #FactsScience and suggested it for the Ateam to use. That way we can tweet more than two or three words to each other. I am thankful for the ones who are giving it a try. Change is hard, but, the #FactsScience group gives us 120 characters to use rather than just the few that are available after all the @'s are listed. I encourage everyone to try one of the hashtag groups, #FactsScience or #LibCrib and see what it is like. If you have questions and you are on Twitter, please feel free to ask me @bannerite or email me at pat.fuller123@gmail.com and I will try to be helpful.