Tanja power

We have been busy from 8 am until just now. Many of the things we have done have been taxing. Others, less obviously so.

I found myself in the back corner of the veggie garden dealing with a situation. Every year, as fall turns to winter, I venture back to this corner to deal with the ongoing battle between our western neighbor’s blackberry and our Northern neighbor’s eucalyptus.

The blackberry is a rare, carnivorous variety that is impressively quick to grow and slow to relent. The Eucalyptus meanwhile is profligate, with branches hard as stone.

My feeling is that I owe nothing to either one of these plants and to their owners I owe courtesy and neighborly regard, but not much else. So I imagine running a giant scythe down the length of my fence, west and north, and I leave the severed eucalyptus and raspberry branches where they fall, between the potatoe towers and the asparagus bed.

And every spring, when I meander out to inspect the grounds and plant some seeds to show my confidence in the order of things, I discover that those branches and vines I cut in the fall are gone, evaporated, claimed back by nature, from whence they came, etc.

But not this year. This year they lay exactly where I’d let them fall. Unmoved.

So I got my clippers and a lawn debris bag and I cut the vines and branches into manageable lengths and bagged them up and dragged them away and left the area clean and ready for a new seasons, understanding, of course, that this is what Tanja had been doing for the last twenty years.

You could look at that and say, “I get it. Your wife’s been cleaning up after you for twenty years and now you miss it.”

That is true. But that isn’t all of it.

As I clipped this debris into the bag, I thought, “Yes, to be honest, I do battle with the Raspberry and the Eucalyptus, the Celandine, the dandy lion. And when my ardor has cooled and my rage has subsided to weakness, Tanja comes along and sweeps the corpses away. . . As I do for her, in those moments when she lacks whatever it is I happen to have.”

It’s lovely to get a glimpse of your connection to someone.

And just then, across the yard, I saw a figure by the stunted apple where all the hellebore grow. Twas Tanja dropped to her knees, weeding out the myriad maple sprouts and the insurgent celandine. It was like a hallucination, but there she was, at work.

It’s not surprising that she got tired quickly. Not surprising, but disappointing to Tanja, who is tired of recovering. She does not want to be weak in the arms and short of energy because she is afraid that this is it for her–that she will never be strong again.

Strange, after all those days when she was so upbeat and I was just trying to keep up, now it’s I who is certain that her recovery is on a strong trajectory, that her strength is coming back, that she is still very early in her healing journey.

But I’ve learned that there is only so much I can tell her. Sometimes, it really helps to get some outside perspective. So it seemed like serendipity when she brought the mail in tonight and said, “Oh look, I’ve got a letter from someone.”

That’s mysterious, I thought. Someone?

She sat at the dining room table and read it. I could see her smile.

“What’s it say?” I asked.

“Do you want to read it?”

“Very much.”

Twenty three days remain in the C Collar Countdown. The week begins again tomorrow. And all you need is love :)\

“Starting from the bottom,” she said. “Ok, ready? My fourth toe on my left foot is either very, very cold or else it’s numb–strangely hard to tell the difference. Other toes feel strange but that one is the outlier. Then, no issues in my leg, apart from the inability to correctly sense temperature, until you reach the hip where there is a kind of electric pain on the left side. It is constant. Torso, good. The pain in my shoulders is also constant. It is nerve pain, not muscle pain. The collar is incredibly uncomfortable and changes the way I feel about myself. Above the collar, I’m good.”

Collar Countdown at 24. Mood: Good to great. Engery: depleted. Attention to detail: low. Energy: quite low.

Today was a very sunny, very hot day at the end of what has been a very rainy, very cold April. Tanja rose early and made her way to the NorthWestern precinct where she engaged with her Physical Therapist who put her through all sorts of paces. There were obstacles to step over and semi-deflated beach balls to step upon and any number of contrivances meant to test her ability to balance and adapt.

She did exceptionally well today, which does not surprise me as I know her ability to balance and adapt to be pretty much unequalled. I believe that is the secret to our success as a couple:)

It is a documented fact that Tanja spent a summer working on Cape Cod. We have, on occasion, joked about, or wondered about, or even maybe yearned for, an alternate universe where we met back then, because of course, until I moved to Portland, I spend all my summers on Cape Cod.

Well, all but one. In ’87 I spent six months hiking from Georgia to Maine. Tanja picked that time to go down from Providence to Provincetown. It was a wonderful time for her and she quite loved the Cape and never once noticed that something was missing from the mix.

Meanwhile, I was missing her terribly. I could not have named her but I knew there was something, somewhere.

But if I am perfectly honest and less romantic, I think it’s safe to say that, if I had somehow met Tanja in ’87, I would not have handled it well. It took me a long time to grow up, where “growing up” equals understanding that what you feel is actually a perfectly valid lens for viewing the world and making decisions–maybe the only valid lens. I can’t get into it right now, this is a blog about Tanja’s recovery, let’s not lose focus–I’ll just say that the difference between what you say and how you feel is a thing called dishonesty, no matter what complexities and contingencies and constructs may pertain, and my dishonesty led to lots of trouble for people who undoubtedly deserved better. And when all is said and done, I feel lucky to be here now with Tanja.

Anyhoo, I know I was working up to something, but what else is there to say? Her strength is improving. Her range of motion is improving. It seems like her electrical system is still all over the map. But her mood is improving. She made me laugh today, on purpose. And I feel lucky to be here now with her.

Collar Countdown is at 26. And this seems like a good night to share with you one of my absolute favorite artists ever but, after a long exploration of the dark web, I find I can only manage to give you the first three minutes of a three minute and forty eight second song. So be it:

If you have apple music, I think you can hear the whole thing here: https://music.apple.com/us/album/where-have-you-been/63607408?i=63607374

It is a little bit of a tight-rope, honestly, but I think we can say that today was a good day. Perhaps a very good day.

Tanja did a lot today. I know what you might be thinking, possibly. You could possibly be thinking, “You know what? I did a lot today. And nobody’s writing a blog about it.”

That’s fair. I have to take your word for it that no one is writing a blog about it, but–put that to one side–the complaint resonates. We are all on our journeys and we are all taking it as it comes, the good with the bad. Fair enough.

It just so happens that, right now, Tanja is dealing with the aftermath of a serious spinal injury that has caused her and everyone around her to re-evaluate their fundamental priorities to the extent that, when she has a day with a long walk, a couple visits from friends, a nap, a bath, and some letter writing, we feel real gratitude.

“You have to understand,” Tanja said to me today. “When I lift my arms, it’s like they weigh thirty pounds.”

She is saying this to me because she is worried that I, of all people, do not understand the effort she is making and the obstacles she’s facing.

And I don’t.

I mean, I know she’s working hard. I know she’s facing obstacles. But I have very little idea what it’s like to wake up on the floor without the ability to move arms or legs and to just go from there.

I remember back in February when we’d do those Autumn Calabrese workouts down in the basement every day, thirty minutes, total exhaustion, to the tune of this little dynamo’s relentlessly upbeat narrative. If, in this context, one reached for the thirty pound dumbbells, that was a boss move. What Tanja is telling me is, “Please believe me. This is very difficult for me.”

I totally believe it.

When friends come by, it lifts Tanja. I can see her getting energy and love from these visits. And I listen to her describe her situation to them and I know she is telling the truth. She is happy. She is stronger. She is more herself every day.

Then they leave and she is exhausted. She is in pain. She is afraid of never getting better.

Those two things are not at all mutually incompatible. Who isn’t happy and afraid? Who isn’t strong and in pain? You? Perhaps you’re the lucky one. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention 🙂

We’re trying something different today. Rather than waiting until evening to write, we’re diving right in, before anything has a chance to happen, so that we will be unconstrained by mere facts.

I feel bad about all the terrible things I said about the collar yesterday. The collar, of all the options out there, us nothing anyone wanted. It isn’t sexy. It isn’t cool. It’s not particularly modern. But it came into a really bad situation and has done nothing but work tirelessly, thanklessly to make things better and to heal fundamental damage that threatened the freedoms we all take for granted in our daily lives. The collar’s work is boring infrastructure stuff–behind the scenes, slowly accruing, building for the future. Never mind our many complaints, the collar just keeps doing its thing. And our complaints, to be clear, are legit–the collar really is uncomfortable, sometimes painfully so, and it really is just unrelenting in its unattractive stay-the-course soberness. But when you consider that the alternative is a potential disaster that could rob us of all the progress we’ve made and leave us in a terrible, sad, diminished place from which we might well never recover, well– I’m trying to think of a relatable, real-world metaphor that could explain this situation and underline what a hero the collar truly is but nothing really captures it, so let me just say; “Four More Weeks! Four More Weeks! Four More Weeks!”

https://youtu.be/u1O-nezet0c

First of all, the Collar Countdown Clock is getting to be something of an embarrassment. It must be reset once again as Tanja reached out to schedule the crucial appointment today and, after all the various moving parts (in the schedule, not in Tanja) were accounted for, the new “go/no go” date is May 23. That makes the magic number 28. So we have dutifully donned our lead-lined jumpsuit, we’ve gone in and recalibrated the atomic clock that will track the countdown from here. For those of you satisfied with more approximate measurement, you will note that 28 days is roughly equivalent to four earth weeks. So, not next Tuesday, nor the one after that, nor even the following one, but then, yes, that next one will be the day.

And if you think too much is being made of the countdown, let it just be said that as Tanja improves–her legs strengthen, her arms regain range of motion, the sensation in her skin oscillates less drastically between extreme sensitivity and worrisome nothingness–as all these ameliorations gradually invest themselves in her, the one unchanging element is that goddamn neck brace. To be clear, she has never liked it, but these days it is as if her body were an orchestra, used to working together in diligently rehearsed movements, now thrown into disarray, each instrument desperately rehearsing its part before the piece begins, and as they one by one start to compose themselves and quiet, you can help but notice the one guy on the slide trombone who is still going at it as hard as ever. That’s what the collar is like. Unchanging. Unyeilding. Uncomfortable.

We are not fans.

Elsewhere, Tanja loaded the dishwasher today. Very difficult for her because of, you guessed it, the collar. Hard to look down. Hard to look up. But she did it. One wonders when the last time she went 7 weeks without loading a dishwasher was. And one shudders to imagine when the next time might be. But for now, never was a person happier to have accomplished such a mundane task.

There’s more to share about today–there’s always more–but I have to save something for tomorrow:)

It is day 31 in the Collar Countdown.

Today was all about recharging.

In the a.m., Tanja announced that she was going to cancel her 8 am PT session. This was surprising as she has been fairly clock-worky about these things. And she is more apt to over-do than to kick back. So this seemed like a sign that some rest was badly needed.

In terms of concrete, reportable breakthroughs, today was the first time she was able to shampoo and comb out her own hair. That makes it sound like she has been busy shampooing and combing out other people’s hair, which is not the case. It has simply been too much for her to hold her arms up like that for as long as these operations take, especially with the tangles that develop in her curly locks. But today, she did it!

It is, on the balance, a good thing. I have very much savored the time I have gotten to spend washing and combing her hair. And I feel I have gotten better and better at it. The snarls and tangles are not things my own hair is capable of developing, so there has been much learning as to the proper application of conditioner and techniques for pulling at knots without hurting the combee. That’s all details though. The great part about washing and combing someone’s hair is that it’s just another way to feel connected and to give care.

But Tanja doesn’t want me to comb her hair for the rest of her life. And I suppose I don’t want to do it either, not really. But did I feel a little surge of self-esteem when I was called upon to deal with the two very most recalcitrant knots that she simply could not conquer solo? I will let you imagine my joy.

Every day, every person you know and all of the people you don’t know yet, as well as those you will never know and those you have somehow forgotten, are all making their way forward. Some seem destined to carry terrible burdens; some seem to shoot forward as easily as watermelon seeds squirt between your finger tips.

Ultimately the only journey you know well is your own. Assuming you are paying attention.

I just say this because we all have loved ones who are just holding on to life, or have in fact had to let go.

And this blog is about a lovely person who is recovering quite quickly. She is very lucky. But she has her work to do.

Today she noticed that her shoulders, which have been very painful for the past ten days after being essentially dead for the weeks before that, suddenly felt less strange.

“Last night I heard Hobbes approaching me in bed,” Tanja said. “And his whiskers brushed my shoulder and it was excruciating. It was so weird.. But today that sensitivity is gone. They feel kinda good.”

It’s a little difference that is a big step forward. And this is how progress looks these days. All the noticeable and barely noticeable changes that accrue day to day. I notice her energy lasts later into the day. She notices that she can feel the warmth of a bath on her calves. It adds up to a very good weekend, all ‘n all.

https://youtu.be/6bMC5lGLlAA

Tanja Alger! From the familial manse of old Saratoga Street, we tender this brief entry for your enjoyment as a tribute to Tanja’s continued progress. Her health springs from your kindness and love.

https://youtu.be/LFxOaDeJmXk

It did not pour rain today, neither did the sun come out. It is still quite unseasonably cold which was a boon when our food was in a cooler on the porch but seems cruel now.

Tanja walked three miles today, napped with powerful focus, worked in the kitchen, enjoyed a conversation with an old friend and went to bed depleted.

I dropped the car off at Precision this a.m. I told the tech there, Treasure, that I thought we had a fuel leak.

“What makes you think that?” he said in his powerfully neutral tone.

“That could be a fuel leak,” he said. “We’ll look.”

“The car smells like fuel and it didn’t used to smell that way.”

“That could be a fuel leak,” Treasure said.

“Also, I left the lights on and the battery went dead. I jumped it and then two days later I was listening to the radio for fifteen minutes and it went dead again.”

“Your alternator is not designed to charge a battery. It is designed to run the engine, power your computers, run the radio and other accessories and then send a small portion of its energy to the battery. If you ran the battery dead by leaving the lights on, as you tell me you did, it would take six to eight hours of highway speed operation to fully recharge that battery, assuming it is in peak condition. How old is your battery?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll look at it. Sometimes we can pull a date. Sometimes we can’t. If it’s not old or damaged we’ll put it on our charger. But our charger won’t tell us your battery’s reserve capacity. No charger can do that.”

“Ok.”

“You’ll have to monitor that situation. But just be aware it will lose its charge quicker than the alternator can replenish it.”

That feels like a metaphor for something.

Meanwhile, I believe it’s finally time for this:

https://youtu.be/f18KxL9SzzM