Organ Harvest and the Power of Grandmothers

Did you hear the one about the guy who gets injured on an ATV and is declared brain dead?

“OKLAHOMA CITY - Four months after he was declared brain dead and doctors were about to remove his organs for transplant, Zach Dunlap says he feels ‘pretty good.’ …

As family members were paying their last respects, he moved his foot and hand. He reacted to a pocketknife scraped across his foot and to pressure applied under a fingernail. After 48 days in the hospital, he was allowed to return home, where he continues to work on his recovery.”

His father saw the brain scan, saw that there was no sign of life, no sign of blood flow.

“Dunlap said one thing he does remember is hearing the doctors pronounce him dead.”

Here’s a link to the full story.http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080324/ap_on_fe_st/not_dead If the link doesn’t work, look it up - Dunlap, Oklahoma City. They covered it on NBC “Today”.

Do you realize what this means?

My friend Connie can’t imagine the horror of patients who have been alive and unable to speak during harvesting. She says this whole thing gives her second thoughts about being an organ donor.

And I can imagine the newfound horror and guilt of anyone who ever gave doctors permission to harvest and/or pull the plug. Up until today, I would have trusted that the doctors were right. So much for “technology doesn’t lie.”

Which brings me to another thought.

My mother still has issues with my Gram DESPITE the fact that she’s dead. Gram continues to communicate with me from the other side and my mother is JEALOUS.

Again.

Holy crap. She came out and warned me that Gram is a “master manipulator.” Apparently family shit DOES never end.

So I’ve been thinking. Some say real love skips a generation. Many quietly accept that grandmothers are better mothers than mothers. For many of us, grandmothers are the only unconditional love we get in our lives. And when we meet each other, us Grandma-raised kids tend to form an instant bond.

Then it occurred to me that my Finnish Great Grandmother spoke very little English. Was my mother a little less warm because she didn’t have her own grandmother to really TALK to? Discuss things with? Be a favorite of? Unconditionally loved by?

It was an “aha” moment.

I wonder what studies have been done in this regard. And I wonder how much having a doting grandmother changes who we become.

Visits From the Other Side

My Gram died last May. She was 96 or so.

She had dementia, so her brain had slowly been dying for years.

I can remember the onset, noticing the subtle changes. Family members didn't believe me. My Mom said she was just trying to get attention. (They never got along.)

Sadly, I was right. My aunt took her in and created my Gram's own personal paradise - painted in my Gram's blues, planted lush flower beds under her windows, set up her own sitting area for guests and cooked incredible meals. It was a beautiful place in her life, all that love and beauty, but I don't know that she noticed. Her gradual descent into utter looniness took a visible toll on her spirit.

Eventually Gram wound up in a nursing home where she couldn't wander off the dock into the river or set my aunt's house on fire.

Even when she was beyond thought or mental function, it was good to go to the nursing home and get a hug from the real flesh and bones that I have loved so much all of my life.

When I got "the call" I had just driven a 17' Uhaul alone from Michigan to South Fort Myers. I was coming down for a job that "went away" AS I was putting the lock on the back of the Uhaul. I drove the 1300 miles into the unknown, terrified.

Then I got news she was dying. Cousin Robin told me she had a final moment of clarity with those at her bedside - she remembered their names. I cried gasping sobs to have missed that.

I thought if I was lucky, she would come hang out with me in spirit. I joked she would probably be my first guest in Florida.

She was.

I was ready to crumble at that point. Alone at 56, living with Lyme Disease and jobless in a strange new place ... my back - and my heart - were truly breaking. She sent her strength to help me through what would be the hardest times of my life. I could actually feel it coursing through my soul within hours of her passing. There was no way I could have landed on my feet without her.

I've had a number of visits since she passed. I knew she'd do that, our bond is so strong. I also knew once she passed, she would be back in my life with a functioning brain.

At the BF's last night, the kitchen light went off as I stood next to it. I tapped it, it stayed off. When I walked away it went back on.

Gram has been doing things like that. Making pet toys squeak and lights go on and off and pictures rattle. (Only when I'm alone.)

Then this morning I fell back asleep and she was sitting there across the table from me, sort of slouched and relaxed. John Edwards says they keep their quirks on the other side. I've been reading his book on connecting, it's "One Last Time"; apparently I made a real breakthrough because this was an actual conversation. (He has some fairly extensive meditation techniques for connecting, I've gone through them a few times in the past week; but not last night.)

It was not a dream, it was an actual visit WITHIN a dream.

I said "Omigod, you're really here."
She said "You finally get it." (That was just a touch bitchy.)
I said "I love you and miss you."
Then we were quiet for a minute and I asked "how is it there?"
And she just shrugged, sort of a cranky shrug, and disappeared.*

I woke right up, amazed and sort of chuckling.

He says you can actually ask questions, he said to handle "visits" like interviews. I'll be more prepared next time.

I have to laugh that her brain is back but she's still a little on the snarky side.

Did she learn nothing in all her years here???

*This is odd because she has sent me dreams of joy and beauty. It's SO like her to start taking issue with things:-)

Houseguests; from Grandma Ron to Sumo Thong Cop

(My Granddaughter Emma during a recent visit.)

Nobody warns you when you move down here; expect company. Buy a condo with an extra bedroom – or two.

You sort of expect to be left to yourself. At least I did. Who would like me enough to go to all that effort and expense?

I invited family, not expecting anything. My BF already had a fairly steady stream of guests & hangers-on, but he’s like a 6’ neon sign for “free beer.” It’s a wonder we don’t have a line of out of state plates in the driveway.

Well, let’s take the first week of March. We had the BF’s daughter and her lummox boyfriend “Fat Bastard” for a week at his house in Cape Coral. I told the BF I could go home to South Fort Myers and give them all more space (to drink themselves to oblivion without me giving them the fisheye) but he wanted me around.

There were only a few instances of them getting so hammered they didn’t know where – or who - they were. Nothing major.

Fat Bastard managed to get my laptop gunked with spyware, but I took care of it without bitching.

Around the same time my antique dealer RN friend Patty came down. OK, she is peripheral at present … hanging loosely to the edges of my life here, knowing I have a job and guard my energy levels tenaciously. (That’s life with Lyme Disease … energy is like money – you don’t spend what you don’t have or you will be SORRY.)

Last Saturday and Sunday I was her tour guide. By Monday I was floofed out from exhaustion.

So naturally, that’s when Ron came to visit the BF. I hadn’t seen him in a year. He’s only 55, but he’s acting like an Octogenarian.

He was there in my chair when I got home Monday night still exhausted from a weekend with Patty. Yeah, the BF’s home, but MY place in the BF’s home. The beige La-Z-Boy where I fall asleep in front of the TV every worknight at 8.

He has lost weight. He’s nearly 6’ – a gangly hawk-like creature with sharp elbows and a shocking white brushcut. (Probably uses the same clippers on himself as he uses on his dog – he’s beyond cheap.)

Abe Lincoln must have looked like this except for the hair. Lithuanian and fairly cranky, Ron looks like someone who should be strip-searched in airports.

The BF has warned me he’s "all about" his surgeries now.

Yesterday they called me from the boat … I told the BF to tell “Grandma” hi and Ron told me to eff off.

Last night I told the BF we should invite Patty to dinner with Ron because they have similar ailments. Ron was suspected to have Reynaud's syndrome when specialists determined he has scleroderma … that condition that tightens all organs, including skin. Looks good on the outside (at least it did in my friend’s mom when I was a kid) but it strangles internal organs and can eventually kill you.

Ron told me about his diagnosis a few years back in strictest confidence. Then went around telling everyone else he knew in strictest confidence. That sort of steal's a secret's thunder.

Ron is a drama queen. (No, he’s straight … just a whining attention hound.)

Patte has something called Schogren's (in my head I call it Shogun and picture her with an ancient warrior helmet and swords) that affects her joints like lupus. I love her, but she has started talking about it all the time.

These people AREN'T EVEN 55 YET!!!

So last night I’m taking my bitches outside for their next to the last pee of the night and I “catch” Ron leaning over the BF's hot tub swinging his arm round like a blind ape feeling the ground for rotting fruit.

He was posing - his look of “surprise” wasn’t … well, convincing. It was obvious he wanted someone to "catch" him doing his exercises so he could blather on ad nauseam about the failed surgery to his rotator cuff.

He talked about range of motion … demonstrated how he could not pat himself on the back. I can see how that might be a problem except now that he’s retired he has no life to brag about.

He blathered as I was out on the lanai slowly backing towards the door … he followed me out to the garage as I did laundry. It was hell.

Maybe these friends have too much time on their hands. Patty has an antique shop that's pretty much a life-eating hobby that keeps her busy while her doctor husband works his ass off.

And Ron retired last year from Chrysler. He's threatening to dump his girlfriend because she looks at him sitting in his chair and suggests he get out and (gasp) take a WALK. I didn't realize an effed up rotator cuff could affect your ability to take a stroll.

Guess who else is arriving at the BF’s this week? OK, Friday probably. Our thong wearing sumo cop buddy. Picture beautiful blonde curly hair and sumo physique with cop attitude IN A THONG. When he's in Florida he struts around shameless as a German tourist.

He ALSO had failed rotator cuff surgery. I asked Ron if it has affected Sumo's range of motion when it comes to getting donuts to his mouth.

My mom wrote yesterday.

They are driving all the way down from Michigan’s UP next week. This makes me wonder if my step-dad is dying. It is absolutely the last behavior I would have EVER expected from them.

She hates Florida.

Apparently my son bragged up my digs and the area when he, my precious DIL and granddaughters came last month. (Photo in this blog was taken the night we went to Pinchers in Estero and walked the beach after sunset.)

They had a fine time. I was so tired it took two weeks to get back to abnormal.

So now come the folks. Suddenly I am 12 again. Is the room clean, the porn neatly squirreled away? She’s too short to reach the top of my fridge to check for dust without a stepladder.

My friend … oh, I’ll call him Allan because he’s afraid someone he knows will read this … Allan has his folks in town.

We commiserated. He frightened me.

This is what he wrote …“Usually they just hover close by and smile in silence. And I can't get them to say what they would like to do or where to eat. It's not like they haven't been here before. And I sent a ton of info to them 2 weeks before they got here. All they had to do was pick something and go to it. God forbid they should take a cab or go online and see if the Lee Tran or someone else has a service for seniors. I've even mentioned the neighbors across the street are nice several times and indicated they should go over and say hi and maybe ask them to lunch. Here. Out. It doesn't matter. I mentioned walking to Syl's. Too expensive. I mentioned the MacGregor Cafe. Too far to walk at .6 miles. Pa mentioned not being able to sleep the last couple nights. I asked what time he got up. 11:30 am. Gee, could that be why you're not tired at 9pm? As long as he eats breakfast when he gets up, has lunch at noon and dinner between 5 and 6 he's calm. They're just too polite. Wish they'd relax so I could. have a good day. stop inviting people down.”

I forgot to ask if they were Canadians. (That would explain the “polite” thing.) We wrote back a few more times and he really let loose.

“Everyone tells me you'll miss them when they're gone. Maybe, but for now, like today, he got up at 11:00am, had cereal, ran in the bathroom and left toothpaste all over the sink and wall, a pool of water on the floor, and my walls and ceiling dripping like Carlsbad Caverns. Ma is worried as he'll wonder how we'll get lunch in with a 1PM doc visit for her, and then off to a movie. Um, we're not? He just ate breakfast for christ's sake! He can get a $4 hot dog at the show and bitch about that. And I'm not sitting next to him this year either. Last year he was up six times like a 3 year old. ARghhhh.”

Stay tuned.

I’m looking at the calendar … Sumo Thong Cop arrives Friday, Shogun Patty leaves early Saturday morning, and Grandma Ron … there’s no telling how long he’ll stay.

Pray for me, I'm on the cusp o' cranky.

Day in Matlacha

One of Leoma Lovegrove's paintings
(I talk about her gallery in this blog, see the link below!)

My best friend Patty from Michigan is here for her last week. Then it's back to snow, cold and gray.

At one time we had neighboring antique shops on the St. Clair River in Marine City, Michigan. (Mine is closed, hers is still open - Nepenthe on Water Street.) We became close friends when we realized each of us are eerily other-side in our perspectives. Sort of like John Edwards meets Eastlake Victorian.

Yesterday I took her to Matlacha. She said she'd seen it - she and her husband Frank had driven through. I said that is NOT seeing it.

Frank is back up north and we had a whole day stretched out afore us.

First I taught her how to pronounce it - like a name, Matt LeShay.

First stop - my personal favorite - Leoma Lovegrove's gallery for whimsical birds and fish that will give you goosebumps.

Her gallery has prices for everyone. I don't know who does her handmade signs, but I bought another "Hurricane Preparations" fish ... it reads "Buy large cooler, fill with ice, add beer, invite friends, stand on porch."

Probably nothing expresses the Florida native's view of hurricanes better than this. As Leoma's assistant was wrapping it she asked if I was local.

Their whole expression changes when they find out you are ... she gave me a knowing look and asked if I had seen a hurricane yet. I said no. She said "They are AMAZING. If you are in a safe place, you have to open the blinds and watch."

Leoma's back yard is a soulful fantasyland for artists and crafters with no square foot undecorated - from the hand-placed tiles with surprising figures to the hand-painted garbage cans on the deck overlooking the water.

Patty was as impressed as I expected her to be. She kept trying to set her camera to take pictures of us out in the backyard fantasyland (we got Leoma's permission first) but the winds were so strong the camera kept blowing over. Finally we went inside and Leoma took a few for us.

I have a feeling she spends most of her day with paint on her fingers.

I told her about a hand-painted crate I bought there years ago when I discovered the place. It has a bird similar to the one I head this blog with. She told me she got the crates in Michigan's UP (her Finnish husband's original digs) and ... well, the woman will paint anything that doesn't move.

She said the first ones sold for $50, then some woman came in and bought all of them. I think by that time they were going for $300 apiece. They were bought up by a very wealthy woman who wanted them for her children.

So I'm pretty happy with my modest investment:-) Leoma's stuff is going for big prices now, she has even been commission by Sir Richard Bramson, the Virgin Air guy.

I would be lucky to afford one of her vibrant Giclees one day ... and I do hope to. It would be wonderful to have something like that in the family.

Here's her site.

http://www.leomalovegrove.com/

Anyhoo, I walked out BLISSFULLY pleased to have finally met Leoma in person and found the "Hurricane Preparations" fish. I had bought another one in green and gave it as a gift. I was still kicking mysef around the block for my generosity.

This one is purple ... better still.

Then Patty and I went to the galleries at left and right of Leoma's. Holy crap, I hope people are reading this blog. You cannot come to Cape Coral or Fort Myers without heading over to Matlacha, which is JUST BEFORE Pine Island. Easy to get to, hard to leave.

We spent the whole afternoon and were getting tired, got into the car ... and stopped again within a block to look at more galleries.

Best stuff in these shops - original paintings, artwork, jewelry ... if you can imagine a piece of art or cool way to recreate something mundane ... that's the place. You will leave with your brain BURSTING with ideas.

I was wearing one of my handmade necklaces and got some compliments. Mostly I got ideas for other designs.

Where was I. Oh, yeah. We were heading back down the road and only made it about 20' before we pulled over for more shops. The only parking was at a strange looking building with a sign for Mulletville Bar ... or something like that.

We were tired and goofy but I'm a fanatic for buying something when I use someone's parking or potty.

Patty said she'd buy a pop.

I saw linen napkins through the front door and almost turned to leave when the owner came out with a sign and asked if we wanted lunch or dinner in a fairly strong accent. Ever the smart-ass, I said "yeah" and he glared at me.

We went in anyway. We were both hungry.

Holy crap, what great food. I had a Greek salad and a beer ... Patty had a Salad Nicoise (SP?) ... the blackened tuna was amazing. The name of the restaurant is Adria's ... by the time we left it was packed.

I guess I could get used to the occasional restaurant with linen napkins:-) And it wasn't expensive, these giant delicious salads were about $9.00.

When potty time came, you go through a door that reads "restrooms & bar" ... which naturally creeped me out. Sure enough, a bunch of guys with beer and the john was way over on the other side.

It was a very seedy bar. But I like my bars seedy.

And bad attention is still attention. At my age I should be grateful for ANY.

When Patty's time came, she said the bar was just "very Key West."

I told the owner it was wonderful - I'll be ba-ack.

I will probably NEVER go to Matlacha again without stopping there for a salad. And the service was outstanding.

Then we crossed the street, shopped a little more and drove to Michael's. (Inspired by everything we had seen at Matlacha.) Spent about two hours there.

Any man would have run screaming from that day. But for us it was great.

I told her maybe Sanibel for shelling today, but it's cold.

She leaves next Saturday morning and I am worthless during the week because of work. Hopefully we'll think of something fun. That's not too exhausting!

Intuition, Recurring Dreams & Warnings from Mom

Yesterday was spiritually weird.

I have a recurring dream about falling into a canal. Not a river, not a canal like between houses ... more like the channel I physically found myself boating ON yesterday. Residences in the distance, utter wilds with mangroves on the other side.

Deepish water with tides and currents.

The BF wanted to go out fishing and there was quite a chop on the river. Get out to the bigger water and you're talking true danger, especially if he starts drinking.

The life jackets and cushions are in the v-berth, just a few feet away; but in boater-world, life jackets are for pussies.

I said I didn't want to go beyond the river and he got pissed off, said he'd take me home. I said "ok." (Yeah, take me back!)

I had a really bad vibe. And I told him so, let him think I'm a freak. He complains, but I think he respects my intuition.

So we take off up this channel. It was pretty gorgeous, but these dreams. This "new" channel is like the one I keep seeing in my dreams.

In the first one I am "dropped" into the water and I keep falling into the deep green seaweed and I am afraid for my life because of sharks.

In the second one, I don't remember the details - I'm not as afraid.

And in the third one (last week) I find myself in it with a lot of vegetation floating on the surface. I dive below and it's clear and light and beautiful. The water is pale blue and warm and the vegetation floats above like clouds. It's heavenly.

I think it feels like death.

And I rise to the surface and see a woman, also in the water. Her mouth is wide open with terror. I tell her "dive - don't be afraid. It's beautiful."

Anyway, the dream has me a little freaked. I wonder if my Gram is warning me from the other side. Or inviting me.

I told the BF I'm not afraid of death but I don't want to go right now.

The day turned out terrific, didn't really catch any fish but a school of Redfish (?) flashed under the boat like flying saucers; they were sideways as they passed in the current, their bellies flashing silver - and next came a huge blue-gray dolphin after them. He slowly rose to the surface and blew. I was just in awe. It was one of those priceless moments. And there were more dolphins as the day passed.

When we got back to the house I called my mom who lives in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. They've got deep snow, eagles, wolves and the occasional black bear. (Their biggest REAL dangers are in their pantry - her homemade pies and cakes are to die for.)

She worries about me.

I got a lecture on snakes. Am I careful where I walk? I stay on the sidewalk mom. I'm talking to the woman who has snakes in the cash register in her antique shop. They hang out with the electrical wires because they're warm. (I'm not making this up.)

Well, what about the spiders. She must have some unique satellite station up there on the dangers of SW Florida. Told me to check my shoes before putting them on and I said "they're thongs - if there's anything in 'em, I'll see it."

Thongs are an alien concept up in Yooperland. I remember her once mumbling something about "we never see peoples' feet here."

Whereas I am living my dream life ... except for the occasional Reebocks, I don't go a day without sandals.

Animal Welfare and Sheriff Joe of Maricopa County

These are my babies, Bodhi and Princess.

Bodhi - the black one - was dying in a pet shop when I got her "on sale". She only weighed 3 lbs. I remember two weeks of waking up every morning hoping she was still alive.

I kept her little crate on a stand right next to my side of the bed so I could see her every time I opened my eyes. And vice versa. She was so tiny we were afraid of accidentally crushing her in our sleep.

She spent every other waking moment in our arms. The BF and I loved her back to health.

Princess was abandoned years ago in an apartment in New York. She wasn't house-broken, didn't know how to use stairs and had awful separation anxiety.

Today she's an angel. She had some health issues when I got her from the rescue people, but with patience and diligence, they were overcome.

I was sick in bed with them most of the day yesterday. I had a migraine, so I was watching the comedy channel in the dark with one eye open when on comes this ASPCA commercial sung by Sarah McLachlin. Between the song and the imagery, I cried out of both eyes.

And while I can't commit an amount every month right now, it's now near the top of my list of priorities. (Haven't been to a dentist in four years, but my girls are up to date on their shots and Princess gets her prescription dog food without fail.)

Here's a link to the site, scroll to view the commercial. It is the most powerful ad I have ever seen. I write propoganda for a living, so that's saying a lot.

http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer

Then this morning I checked my emails and got this from a wildass ex-cop friend in Michigan:

*SHERIFF JOE IS AT IT AGAIN!*

"Maricopa County was spending approx. $18 million dollars a year on stray animals, like cats and dogs. Sheriff Joe offered to take the department over , and the County Supervisors said okay The animal shelters are now all staffed and operated by prisoners. They feed and care for the strays. Every animal in his care is taken out and walked twice daily. He now has prisoners who are experts in animal nutrition and behavior. They give great classes for anyone who'd like to adopt an animal. He has literally taken stray dogs off the street, given them to the care of prisoners, and had them place in dog shows.

The best part? His budget for the entire department is now under $3 million. Teresa and I adopted a Weimaraner from a Maricopa County shelter two years ago. He was neutered, and current on all shots, in great health, and even had a microchip inserted the day we got him. Cost us $78. The prisoners get the benefit of about $0.28 an hour for working, but most would work for free, just to be out of their cells for the day. Most of his budget is for utilities, building maintenance, etc. He pays the prisoners out of the fees collected for adopted animals.

I have long wondered when the rest of the country would take a look at the way he runs the jail system, and copy some of his ideas. He has a huge farm, donated to the county years ago, where inmates can work, and they grow most of their own fresh vegetables and food, doing all the work and harvesting by hand.

He has a pretty good sized hog farm, which provides meat, and fertilizer. It fertilizes the Christmas tree nursery, where prisoners work, and you can buy a living Christmas tree for $6 - $8 for the Holidays, and plant it later We have six trees in our yard from the Prison.

Yup, he was reelected last year with 83% of the vote.

He's kind of a 'Git-R Dun' kind of Sheriff."

I checked it out online. This guy is for real. Wish there were more like him.

Here's a link. http://www.mcso.org/index.php?a=GetModule&mn=Sheriff_Bio

In the meantime, those of us who don't have the money to help the big organizations or the power to establish rules like Sheriff Joe, can do what we are able for the souls we see every day - help the lost dog in the road or buy an extra bag of kibble for the local shelters.

And if we see abuse, we should do something about it.

I think I'm at the point where I would stop at nothing. It is unbearable to see what animals humans can be.