Where the hell are we?

James and I grew up together in a Northern California suburb near the birth of silicon valley.  We reflect on our childhood through the lens of nostalgia--the time before computers when children played outside with neighbors on the block until it was too dark to see the ball or frisbee. The other side to this notion of the carefree freedom of our childhood is complete boredom.  We rode our bikes around the same neighborhoods, ate the same bubble gum ice-cream, watched the network sitcoms on the telly at 8:00, became enamored of the current fads and fashions--it was a homogeneous society--we were culturally starved kids.

James and I were looking for something more. It was a fabulous, luscious, basically pain free upbringing.  We had the wonders of the Pacific Ocean and the mysteries of experiencing adolescence in the splendor of that slightly wild yet completely domesticated natural environment.  It was the California dream but we sensed there was something else there--a washed up carcass of a seal discovered on the beach was an indication of et in Arcadia ergo.

As we opened our scope of experience through university studies and traveling, it only deepened our appreciation of the vastness of our ignorance about basically everything--our lack of knowledge was a fractal flower blossoming into infinity!  We enjoyed this absurdity.

James had a Swiss dealer for awhile and we had the opportunity to travel to Europe for openings of James's work.  It was mind-boggling to us. We thought of ourselves as two nerds from San Jose.  Totally uncool.  Yet, somehow, James's paintings were installed in the walls of the Haus der Kunst in Munich or a contemporary gallery in Tokyo.  We would giggle at the absolute, vain-glorious silliness of it.  No one knew, especially, if there were no other Americans present.  It was even funnier. We would drink toasts to a table of German theater actors and they thought we were hip cosmopolitan New Yorkers. 

James would often lean over to me wherever we found ourselves--contemplating a bamboo forest in Kyoto, sitting on the top of a snow covered mountain outside Munich, enjoying a rooftop dinner in Rome, waking to a morning of soft boiled eggs and strong coffee in the exquisitely decorated apartment of his dealer's boyfriend in Zurich, clicking whiskey glasses at an art festival reception with dignitaries in Yokohama--and say, "Where the hell are we?"  It was a running joke.

Today, after various sessions of physical and occupational therapy, James and I found ourselves sitting in his room. We are always waiting around to be alone together while the nurses fuss after him.  There is a bit of humor in our waiting.  The nurse was looking for the cap to his trach. He now has a cap that totally closes off the hole in his throat--no air at all through it.  James is that much closer to having the tube taken out completely.  I thought she had meant his speaking cap but just overnight, he has graduated to the next level.  She was placing the new cap on his trach and I was sitting on the bed right next to his chair so our faces were almost touching. He looked over at me, while the nurse had her hand on his trach, and he said, "Where the hell are we?"

James wants to finish this particular trippy episode. He's done with what he perceives as the slow slog of his recovery. James does not have the capacity to understand how far he has travelled in such a short period of time.  Every day he is stronger but there are a new set of cognitive difficulties to overcome as he becomes more aware of what is missing or slightly askew. Even though this is exhausting to both of us, I am fascinated as a witness to this awakening. I am rushing uptown from my midtown office to the quiet sanctuary of the gym in which time slows down to a very still and succinct space. The shock of it almost puts me to sleep, as if a drug is being piped into the late afternoon sunlit room. I have to yawn and drink water to stay awake and alert.

Since James was taken off the sleep medication, he is losing sleep again. We discussed his insomnia today.  I asked him what he experiences when he awakes at night and he told me that his mind is racing.  I tried to teach him the meditation I do when I wake up at night--to acknowledge the thought, no self-admonishing, and then, let it go.  I told him he should concentrate on his breathing, his belly, and that if another thought enters his mind, to do the same again, acknowledge, let it go.  I said if he kept doing that, eventually, he would drift back to sleep.

The meds are keeping him awake--it's a side effect.  I want to find our white noise sheep that we had when Imogen was a baby. It has three different settings--rain storm, ocean, and ocean with whales.  I never understood the ocean with whales setting--I found it pretty disturbing--I am going to rummage around looking for that now.

James did a cognitive test today that involved looking at photographs and naming every object he was able to describe.  I wanted to joke that the scenes in the photos looked straight out of East Berlin.  One had sad sausages on a plate with a stalk of limp celery, parsley, white potatoes, hard tomato slices and shredded cabbage. I thought it was a trick question because I could see that James was puzzled by such a depressing meal! Another had what appeared to be a communist block bathroom with party type bath products around a sink. It was cracking me up.  The occupational therapist commended James on naming things that she said no one ever noticed such as the trees and bushes outside a window in an interior shot of a room and the light switch on a wall.  I worry she may be losing her objectivity because she's such a fan.

James was asked to do a drawing of two people and he did a caricature of his doctor and occupational therapist (the therapist drawing was flattering, the doctor, less so). She was pretty excited to show me.

Looking forward to next week's developments already and it's only Tuesday!

Turn to your loved one right now and ask the question, "Where the hell are we?" It's free and works everywhere!