The room is sterile, cold, and white, and all the nurses wear white, and speak in hushes, as they tap my forearm until the vein, annoyed, raises its hackles (so to speak) and they drive a 10-foot stake in ... oh alright, it's just an IV. But my arms are strapped down so they don't dangle off the narrow slide I'm balanced on; my head is held rigid in a plastic frame that, to make sure I don't wriggle at all, foam wedges are squeezed into (making it also impossible to hear their instructions); and then finally - the pièce de résistance for a claustrophobic person - they tape my eyes shut. Like a pizza into an oven, I'm shoved into the "Sensation 16" (which comically brings to mind a Woody Allen movie and the 'orgasmatron') which whirrs and rattles loudly for a few minutes - but not nearly as clamorous and intimidating as an MRI. At least your whole body doesn't have to go in, and within a few moments the attendants are back (in their calm white presence) sliding me out, flushing the IV, before poking me back in with the warning 'Here it goes'.

I can't see, but as the iodine contrast is injected I feel at first an irritation in my throat - like I've swallowed a handful of nails - and then fire: as if a paintbrush saturated with the color 'hot' is sweeping down my torso. My entire body flushes and radiates heat - and apparently a whole lot more: as really groovy images are captured that illustrate the questionable inner works of my brain (which looks to me like it's filled with a writhing mass of bait worms. Lovely.)

It turns into a long day, but I'm blessed with patience and calm (imagine that: 'Betsy' 'patience' and 'calm' all referred to in the same sentence) as I endure the four hours it takes to drive the 130 miles to Santa Barbara; as I perch in the waiting room after the tests to ensure I don't have a reaction to the iodine (with the IV feed dangling off my arm like a limp marionette); while I fidget for nearly three hours awaiting the neurosurgeon, who's detained at the hospital; and then make the mad dash to see if the neurologist will see me late (he does).

The bottom line is: the scans show no discernible difference (enlargement) which is fantastic: the best possible news. We discuss my symptoms, tweak some meds, discuss the future. More scans in six months; an MRI in nine months; another angiogram in a year; and somewhere in the not too too distant future, the placement of a stent in the main artery in the middle of my brain. Dr. Z shows me one - it looks like the bouncy spring that pops out of a Bic pen, and is made of gossamer, or angel hair, it's so light ... it floats in a plastic cube, and as I peer at it I wonder how the #&@$ this thing is going to get in my head ...

All the while I have known that regardless of how my day goes (unless they check me into Cottage again) I will be ending it at Sharon's home: embraced in a household full of enough love and joy to soften any blow. But instead our evening is a celebration.

I always have a great time with Sharon and have indulged myself with these plans ... In fact, I have been indulging myself a lot these days, and for someone whose first sentence was "I can do it myself!" I have certainly (finally) learned to ask for help, for companionship, and support ... and am having a grand ole time inviting/imposing/inflicting/injecting myself on a lot of family and friends. It feels pretty good to be surrounded by those you love (and vice versa).

I do believe the dark nights are over. I am feeling physically and emotionally well, and as for the next phase of life, I am not just experiencing it: I am LUNGING at it, with every ounce of energy I've got.

Happy memories ...

(... happy future as well)

Bioluminescent-angels in Brasil: 2010

one year ago ...

... I was in sweltering Paraguay, poised for DOMINO's launch ... the myriad of places and experiences over the past year is mind-boggling, I tell 'ya!! LINK TO BLOG

Pamela S ----- : Perfect

This is a love story, and it’s true.

Pamela and Paul are the wonderful people I sailed with from San Diego to La Paz, on their comfy 43’ yacht. Along the way I fell in love with them both: fun, bright, kind, silly folks who have a sweet affection for each other, and even more: a great friendship, concern, respect, and a darned good time together.

Before they met, Paul explained to me, he’d been divorced a while and knew he wanted a partner in life. Pragmatic ... genius ... charming ... a bit eccentric; he announced it was a numbers game and decided he was going to go on 100 dates in search of the right woman. Paul set off on an aggressive campaign – using a log to keep account of the myriad of female prospects.

Pamela – who is witty, capable, thoughtful and absolutely beautiful inside and out – continued the story, saying that only after several months of dating, did Paul tell her about the log. His entries were brief, sort of ...

#7 Sue Smith: really long nails

#23 Mary Jones: chews gum all the time

And so on ... (names have been changed to protect the innocent!)

She came to the last line in the book, and it read ...

#67 Pamela S ------ : Perfect

How sweet, touching ... a little bit corny ... but heart-warming and encouraging nonetheless! Of course they shared this story with me to prod me into doing the same – sort of a New Year’s Resolution ;-/ Old insecurities have me hunched over like Quasimodo (I’m still having trouble shedding the feeling that I simply mustn’t deserve someone that awesome, having been flicked by Mr. Wonderful ... DOH! ) But I’m working hard to shake those boulders off my back and am off to a good start (and it’s only Jan 3!)! What a fascinating year this is promising to be; making new friends and experiencing new adventures ... while cultivating my charm and gracious manners, of course.

A different Florida

Today I saw a side of Florida I hadn't experienced before, when Oma, Opa and I went for a little trek through the cypress forests at Hammock State Park.

Trails and boardwalks snake through this quiet, unspoiled nature reserve; winding over still swamps and waterways, past palms - with festive fan leaves; beneath ancient oaks hung with moss like old men sporting wisps of beard. It was cool, and the vegetation smelled like Christmas. Squirrels scrambled around fat trees, dislodging nuts that tumbled noisily to the ground. We heard woodpeckers drumming and owls hooting; saw bear scat and armadillo dens - but no gators. Not a bad thing: had I actually spied a hideous five-foot reptile waddling beneath my feet in this peaceful environment, I probably would have leapt out of my skin. Still we looked, rambling along paths in the hushed green forest until the sun shot horizontal through the leggy trees and we figured we'd better hurry out before it got dark.

The weather was brisk all day - earlier Opa and I went for a bike ride, and I think it is the first time we have ever gone bike riding together. We've had a fun easy-going visit, which is coming too quickly to an end: tomorrow I fly out of Orlando, for home - and I will see you soon!

XOXO Mom / Betsy

** AUNT DORIS CALLS THIS PHOTO MY 'UPSIDE DOWN JUNGLE'. LOVE IT!

Changes

The last week has been a smudge of people, places, colors, cultures,
language, temperatures, topography, geography, menus ... all
flip-flopping wildly, but delightfully so. Admittedly I am a touch
ADHD so the battery of shifting stimuli suits me fine: at least I am
not bored. Boredom is the arch-enemy (usually keeping company with
other villains like procrastination and defiance) tamed only by a
flurry of needless cooking, dishwashing, housekeeping or other, even
worse, misadventures like unintentional-snake-hunting-in-the-tropics
(or writing bad blogs and sordid country love songs).

We left the lush jungle islands of Las Perlas and their man-eating
serpents and crocodiles (I'm making this up) and mess of noisy birds
and leaping fish (I'm not) for an overnight passage to Panama City.
The bright moon faded with the lunar eclipse and we found ourselves
(surprise!) once again blasting along on a blackened night amidst a
multitude of twinkling planets and stars. And airplanes. And fishing
boats. AND CONTAINER SHIPS. Hundreds were anchored, awaiting transit
through the canal: peppering the approach to Panama City - where
skyscrapers emerged like ethereal towers of tinsel rising towards the
heavens through the tropical mist of the early morn.

Ugh. The city sprawled as far as the eye could see. The ships spewed
corkscrews of black smoke. The mud flats stretched dull and reeking
along the shore. Unfriendly shoreboat drivers slammed over in grimy,
leaky pangas to deliver us to a rickety wharf we scaled with our
belongings, trekking across the long footbridge and up, up the
crumbling staircase to Balboat Yacht Club - where both food and
service were utterly abysmal. We did a few forays for produce and
pricey rum, and were unequivocally on the verge of panning Panama City
...

The next day we happened on a taxi driver - Adriano - with a spacious
air conditioned van and equally huge pride in Panama and its history.
After running errands (stop at the ATM, drop off wash at the
lavanderia) he toured us through Panama la Vieja - the stately ruins
of the ancient city that was plundered by the pirate Henry Morgan; and
Casco Viejo - the old city subsequently built after the sacking, in
the late 1600s. Casco Viejo has a French Quarter-like charm: narrow
streets hemmed by colorful buildings with wrought iron balconies and
graceful wooden doors. The gentrification is evident, but the charm
remains, and I felt a tug of yearning to live here (maybe a season or
so, and work on some writing ... we'll see .. ). Later he brought us
to a fabulous parilla "Jymmy's" and joined us, saying grace before we
dug into our steaks, then cruised us by General Noriega's vacant,
overgrown compound. It was an amazing day in the company of a sage and
captivating gentleman, and I genuinely warmed to Panama City.

PHOTOS HERE

That night I humped my bags ashore (with Chewey's help) and found
Rogelio (the taxi driver I'd hired in February) waiting for me at the
gate of BYC to bring me to Tocumen for my 3AM (!) flight to Ft.
Lauderdale. It was a l-o-n-g night; I was asleep before the plane took
off but even so, the 2 ½ hour flight wasn't long enough (yawn)! After
customs and immigration I rented a car and drove to Jupiter where I
rendez-voused with my parents and sister Karla and her family.
Suddenly I was magnificently immersed in another world: traffic,
telephones, relatives, pets, Christmas! - and all the trappings: the
last-minute shopping for groceries and gift wrap, preparing the
holiday feast, and lots and lots of catching up.

Now I'm at Mom and Dad's up north in Lake Place - Florida, that is,
but it could be Lake Placid, NY based on the 40 degree temps! We're
perusing photo albums, watching tv, drinking wine, and a game of gin
rummy is no doubt imminent before the visit is over. Meanwhile I'm
bundled up in all the clothes I have ... What a 180-degree turnaround
this has been - from day after day wearing the same tank top and
swimsuit, isolated from the rest of the world, plugging along on our
delivery - to this!

Traveling, the most seemingly subtle deviations I find are the most
telling. Sleeping quarters are not always a given: in the last year
and a half I've slept on floors, couches, trampolines, pipe berths,
settees, a horsehair mat, cushions on deck, beneath mosquito nets and
thatched roofs, in frigid cold and sweltering heat, on a lumpy pullout
sofa bed, and - ahhhh - in real luxury: a wide bed with downy blankets
and fluffy pillows. If you are tired enough you will find rest in any
of these settings, but each time I put my head down it registers (and
I am always thankful to have someplace safe and comfortable to lay!).

Another variation is in the brand of beer you order. Just when you
think you've gotten used to the unique refreshment of (Singha,
Imperial, Balboa, _______ ) you land in a new spot and the local beer
is (fill in the blank _________). How you say hello, please, and thank
you varies - because even in Spanish-speaking countries it differs
significantly: bueno versus buen dia versus buenos dias; de nada as
opposed to mucho gusto, and so on. What footwear you don (flip flops
on the dock? KEENS in the garbage strewn surf? closed-toe shoes to
protect from snakes and giant ants on the trail? or none at all?) ...
and whether, as in Mexico, you don't really sightsee as much as STARE
at the ground where you're putting our feet; because man-eating
potholes, sidewalks that disappear into crevices, missing manhole
covers, ditches, and other hazards - are rife!

But for now, I am safe and sound at Mom and Dad's (what could be MORE
safe and sound) coddled, warm (despite temps in the 40s) well fed
and content ... and contemplating EXCITEDLY what is in store for my
homecoming, and 2011!

... and an extremely large snake ...

Isla Caňas didn't make the cut. The anchorage at the foot of the island was wide-open to the churlish south swell, while the coves on the opposing side were exposed to the north wind - expected to puff up to 20k: either way, making for an uncomfortable afternoon and evening. So we continued on, past the half-sunk Japanese sub perched on Isla San Telmo, around Bajo Bartolomé, Isla Elefante, and nine-billion other rocks and isles, to Isla Espiritu Santo (which I took the liberty of translating to "Island of the Spirit of Saint Nick"). We tucked in to the west between the slender rock and forested isle and the mainland, joining two other boats (FORTY-TWO: a German couple we stopped and chatted with; and LANIKAI, from Oregon - who I'm pretty sure I recognized from this year's Baja Haha).
The extreme tides in this region (up to 20') make for an ever-changing landscape: beautiful, dynamic scenery that transforms with the rising and falling sea; as rocks and idylic sandy beaches appear or disappear, trees submerge and reefs emerge - all with the tide.
It also makes for so-so snorkeling as the water is turbulent and the currents swift. Regardless, we took the dingy north to explore, with the idea of snorkeling back to the boat 'going with the flow'; stopping first at a sliver of beach strewn with shells and garbage. It is very sad to report but the lovely "Pearls" of Panama (Las Perlas) are plastered with trash. Amidst this, we also spotted an iguana bobbing his head in agitation, until he finally sprinted away.
At the shallow edge of the beach the water was clear, but the minute we struck out down the main canal toward FRC, it became murky ... green .. specked with millions of teeny life forms ... bits of flotsam ... and the rare, occasional fish (that we could see). Visibility was dismal - perhaps a good thing, I'd find out later - although I kept my eyes peeled for crocs and water snakes; and never strayed more than an arm's length from my snorkel buddy (the guys must have to draw straws to see who has to babysit me ...). The underwater scenery was unremarkable, but the chance to go for a long swim in refreshingly cool water, in such an exotic setting, was delightful.
Later in the day I realized this was it: my last day of 'cruising' as FRC heads at midnight to Panama City (and I, home) - and I wanted one more bite of adventure. I conned Chewey into taking a dinghy ride with me into the mangrove inlet on the mainland side. Our jungle cruise yesterday hadn't been too productive, and I was longing to savor one more taste of the wild before heading back to the real world.
We zipped into the bay, stopping here and there to look and listen. Eventually we heard a clutter of bird calls on the north side and putted over. We cut the engine; observed a great deal of splashing beneath some trees; puttered a little closer; cut the engine again; and drifted with the current - enjoying an untamed orchestra of chirps, songs and cries - beneath the canopy of low-lying trees at the edge of the jungle.
Prickly branches hung down and with the outboard off, Chewey gingerly tugged on them to direct our course; being careful to avoid the large thorns, as we noted the plethora of succulents (bromeliads?) tucked in the crooks of the branches ... along with ... an extremely large snake!!!
As my mind began to register the unmistakable pattern of snake skin, the fat coil of sinew drooping heavily off the brittle branch, i backed up... back... and back .. 'til I was sitting on the fuel can: the only words able to form being "F*ck, f**-***ck, F*CK!!!" Later, Chewey told me, he was thinking at that exact moment, "Gee that looks a lot like a snake ..." then frantically began trying to start the outboard - in reverse - with me practically sitting on his lap by this point.
Finally the dinghy was retreating, with me crouched low on the floor in the back of the dink; both of us convulsing hysterically with nervous laughter. "Let's go back and look at it from the other side!" I suggested - and from a safe distance we gaped at this at spiral of snake perched so dubiously on the low bough that had just minutes before been suspended over our ducked heads.
"As big around as a Coors Light can," Chewey described the snake, when we returned to FRC (after another 20 minutes of cruising in the dimming light, dodging white pelicans hunting the small shiny tunas that jack-in-the-boxed out of the rushing currents of the narrow bay) while our mates listened rapt and amused. So this was it: my final memory of the journey - adventure, laughter and friendship aboard FRC.
We leave in two hours for my final (overnight) passage, to the canal zone .. I will see you soon! XOXO Mom / Betsy 12-20-10
PS - we left just before midnight - I was on til 2AM ... halfway into my watch i noticed more stars in the sky : didn't we have a full moon just last night? I looked up & saw the lunar eclipse, SO obvious here at sea. Magnificent! Just as it was at its darkest a falling star streaked past. Amazing! Life is good ;-)
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