Nope.
!!!!
Don't need another scan for a year. A scan a year for five years, then every two years.
Big relief.
Showing posts with label Part Nine: Banking on Neuroplasticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Part Nine: Banking on Neuroplasticity. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Emerging from the Deep
It’s a little difficult to pin down the train of thought that produced the decisions to agree to help with some special projects in the semester I am teaching both an overload and a new course for the first time. There isn’t much time to think about it, so perhaps that explains why no answers have emerged. Whatever.
The overload course is a partial-semester course, and though it’s a ton of work, I always enjoy it--and I always forget just how much time it takes to do it properly. If I’d known then what I know now, it’s not so clear that I would have agreed to design the new course I’m teaching, what with its interlocking with another course that had to be revised at the same time as the new one was designed. Even knowing how slammed I would be, I absolutely would have agreed to help with the conference this summer, but maybe bitten off a bit less of those tasks? That one’s hard to figure. For certain, I would not have scheduled getting sick in the midst of it all, or overshooting my energy so badly one weekend that I had a recurrence. Those are easy. Definite errors in judgement.
The bright side of everything is, well, the bright side: it’s spring. The magnolia outside the bedroom window is in beautiful bloom, the tree just beyond my desk is budding out so fast you can practically watch the process and the sun, glorious sun, has been shining almost every day. I haven’t worn a coat to campus in days. It’s glorious. Another silver lining is that I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time or energy to worry much about the upcoming MRI, though it is creeping into my dreams the last few nights. It’s not the actual MRI, of course, that’s the issue, but the results. As they say, whatever the outcomes, we’ll know more next week.
Thank you again for the notes and inquiries and good wishes during recent days. I hope I’ve re-calibrated and reorganized so that things will be in better balance and I’ll get back to posting more regularly. If you live somewhere there’s spring, revel in it. If you don’t, let me just remind you gently that you probably don’t appreciate your weather enough because it’s there all the time. Spring, even after the relatively mild winter we had, is soul-feeding.
The overload course is a partial-semester course, and though it’s a ton of work, I always enjoy it--and I always forget just how much time it takes to do it properly. If I’d known then what I know now, it’s not so clear that I would have agreed to design the new course I’m teaching, what with its interlocking with another course that had to be revised at the same time as the new one was designed. Even knowing how slammed I would be, I absolutely would have agreed to help with the conference this summer, but maybe bitten off a bit less of those tasks? That one’s hard to figure. For certain, I would not have scheduled getting sick in the midst of it all, or overshooting my energy so badly one weekend that I had a recurrence. Those are easy. Definite errors in judgement.
The bright side of everything is, well, the bright side: it’s spring. The magnolia outside the bedroom window is in beautiful bloom, the tree just beyond my desk is budding out so fast you can practically watch the process and the sun, glorious sun, has been shining almost every day. I haven’t worn a coat to campus in days. It’s glorious. Another silver lining is that I’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time or energy to worry much about the upcoming MRI, though it is creeping into my dreams the last few nights. It’s not the actual MRI, of course, that’s the issue, but the results. As they say, whatever the outcomes, we’ll know more next week.
Thank you again for the notes and inquiries and good wishes during recent days. I hope I’ve re-calibrated and reorganized so that things will be in better balance and I’ll get back to posting more regularly. If you live somewhere there’s spring, revel in it. If you don’t, let me just remind you gently that you probably don’t appreciate your weather enough because it’s there all the time. Spring, even after the relatively mild winter we had, is soul-feeding.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Short Report
I’m fine, just busy. Thank you for the inquiries and concern. The bug I had finally passed after the antibiotics and tons of rest, and since then, I’ve just been working, trying to keep things going on a number of fronts. Sadly, one of the things that’s fallen off the table has been keeping up here. I hope to resume as soon as I get a couple of major projects out the door. Cheers.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Irrationality Reiging
It’s a rare for a wave of complete irrationality to take over my thinking, but that’s happening now. We figured out that I hadn’t had a physical in some time, due to the more pressing focus of the full-blown medical adventure, so I had one recently and have been working through all the associated testing. One of those suggests a biopsy would be a good thing, and my whole reaction has been: No. The follow-up MRI looking for brain tumor recurrence is in early April and other than that, I feel medical-ed out. It would require finding yet another doctor in yet another speciality and undergoing even more testing for something that’s not particularly likely to be a problem. You can get the flavor of all my rationalizations. Even recognizing the essential dysfunction of my thinking process, for the moment, I’m not getting over the visceral reaction and so am just putting the whole question aside. I will think about it again after the MRI and results are behind us, and maybe after some more time helps the residual stress levels from recent events to recede.
It’s a grey rainy day today, and all I can think is “April showers bring May flowers.” It’s not April yet, I know, but almost, and from my desk I can see daffodils blooming across the street along with the crocuses in our parkway. Even in the greyness of the day, they spread cheer and hope. That leads me, of course, to thinking about causes for hope, and for me right now, it’s that I’m almost ready for the rest of the semester. Only another few tasks to go, and then, I hope, I can get back to writing the next piece of the book chapter that I have have been thinking about. At least in that area, I know I’m being rational right now. The other stuff, I’m going to think about another later.
Enjoy Thursday wherever you are.
It’s a grey rainy day today, and all I can think is “April showers bring May flowers.” It’s not April yet, I know, but almost, and from my desk I can see daffodils blooming across the street along with the crocuses in our parkway. Even in the greyness of the day, they spread cheer and hope. That leads me, of course, to thinking about causes for hope, and for me right now, it’s that I’m almost ready for the rest of the semester. Only another few tasks to go, and then, I hope, I can get back to writing the next piece of the book chapter that I have have been thinking about. At least in that area, I know I’m being rational right now. The other stuff, I’m going to think about another later.
Enjoy Thursday wherever you are.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Taking Stock
Yesterday was wonderful, with no appointments, no obligations to others, and a full day of quiet, just for me. Because it was the beginning of spring break here, there was no pressure to do anything on a particular deadline, so I could just follow whatever train of thought interested me. The night before, I’d had a full night of great sleep and the sun was shining. What could be better?
In the end, I spent all day at my desk, not just cranking away at the next pressing deadline, but actually cleaning up and reorganizing. It felt great, because it was an act of reclaiming my space, my priorities and my sense of autonomy. I even made progress on my goal of recycling, pitching and setting stuff aside to donate. It’s hard, but I see glimmers of progress of getting rid of all the surplus “stuff” that I hang onto. I’m completely terrible at moving “perfectly good” things out of my life, even if I’ll never use them again, but, millimeter by millimeter, I’m improving. The pile I set aside is pleasingly large and there are even places that will be interested in taking those things. It feels good.
I didn’t get through as much as I’d hoped, but what I did get through got thoroughly organized and systems established so routine tasks will not take so long in the future. In a victory on my way to another of my goals, I succeeded in focusing on the big picture and didn’t just mindlessly organize all that was in front of me because I'm good at it and because I could. For example, I’ll probably never again teach one of this semester’s classes. Though I see clearly changes that could be made to improve how it flows, making those improvements, which are not likely generalizable, doesn’t fit my superordinate goal, which is to make consistent time for working on the book manuscript. So, I didn’t go those directions. This was a big win for me, as usually, my compulsion to make things better takes me through all those steps, regardless of the big picture. Compartmentalization works!
My illness seems not to have tipped me into a cortisol trough, which was our biggest concern after the acute symptoms receded (and before). Though I always fret about unwarranted use of antibiotics, it seems to have been a good call in this case, given how fast they made a difference. Then, the question was whether my compromised adrenal system was conked out again, which apparently often happens in tandem with illness and stress. That seems not to be in evidence, which is very, very encouraging. We still need to see how the next week goes, but as there should be ample rest and sleep this week, the circumstances are about as good as they can get for a full and smooth recovery without backsliding.
Taking stock of where I am after an unbelievably stressful period, there’s a lot to feel good about. A year and a half out of surgery, I feel more like myself again than at any previous point. My thinking is almost completely back to me-ness, though the remaining deficits are looking more and more likely to be permanent. It’s possible to compensate for most of them well enough that they’re usually not visible to others, and some of the time, I don’t even notice them any more. The love and support from family and friends that have been sustaining throughout this period were on full strength through this last period, and we were able to accept, appreciate and, I hope, acknowledge its centrality to a quality life. We’re part of a network of good people and we’re stronger for it.
The biggest remaining marker of this experience is in my dramatically reduced energy levels/stamina. I simply cannot do what I used to do in a day without stopping to rest. There are more times than is comfortable when that still smacks me in the face because I didn’t factor that into the day’s plan. I’m learning to plan around the energy lulls, and Michael has gotten more assertive than used to be his habit about questioning a plan that doesn’t seem feasible. We’re learning, even though it’s such a big change.
What does a person feel like who has had brain surgery? I still struggle with that question, because I’m not sure I feel that way, whatever it is, though I’m clearly that person, or one of them. This is a different question than the old one that haunted me for so long (“who gets a brain tumor, anyway?”) and I’m not sure why the preoccupation has shifted, why I’m thinking about it, or what the answer is. This seems to be a journey, not a destination, and since that’s what’s on my mind, that’s what I think about, often while feeling the remarkable dents in my head. At least, I do when there’s time to wool-gather and lately, there hasn’t been much of that. Since I believe woolgathering is healthy, both for rest and for creativity, while Shea is still home on break, I hope we’ll make time to do some puzzles or build something or do something else fun together. That should be a nice complement to my own private pleasure of working to impose order across my personal domain.
The changes from this experience are not bad changes. Where we are today is very different than used to be, but there are many silver linings and positive aspects. This is a good life. We’re lucky to have it.
In the end, I spent all day at my desk, not just cranking away at the next pressing deadline, but actually cleaning up and reorganizing. It felt great, because it was an act of reclaiming my space, my priorities and my sense of autonomy. I even made progress on my goal of recycling, pitching and setting stuff aside to donate. It’s hard, but I see glimmers of progress of getting rid of all the surplus “stuff” that I hang onto. I’m completely terrible at moving “perfectly good” things out of my life, even if I’ll never use them again, but, millimeter by millimeter, I’m improving. The pile I set aside is pleasingly large and there are even places that will be interested in taking those things. It feels good.
I didn’t get through as much as I’d hoped, but what I did get through got thoroughly organized and systems established so routine tasks will not take so long in the future. In a victory on my way to another of my goals, I succeeded in focusing on the big picture and didn’t just mindlessly organize all that was in front of me because I'm good at it and because I could. For example, I’ll probably never again teach one of this semester’s classes. Though I see clearly changes that could be made to improve how it flows, making those improvements, which are not likely generalizable, doesn’t fit my superordinate goal, which is to make consistent time for working on the book manuscript. So, I didn’t go those directions. This was a big win for me, as usually, my compulsion to make things better takes me through all those steps, regardless of the big picture. Compartmentalization works!
My illness seems not to have tipped me into a cortisol trough, which was our biggest concern after the acute symptoms receded (and before). Though I always fret about unwarranted use of antibiotics, it seems to have been a good call in this case, given how fast they made a difference. Then, the question was whether my compromised adrenal system was conked out again, which apparently often happens in tandem with illness and stress. That seems not to be in evidence, which is very, very encouraging. We still need to see how the next week goes, but as there should be ample rest and sleep this week, the circumstances are about as good as they can get for a full and smooth recovery without backsliding.
Taking stock of where I am after an unbelievably stressful period, there’s a lot to feel good about. A year and a half out of surgery, I feel more like myself again than at any previous point. My thinking is almost completely back to me-ness, though the remaining deficits are looking more and more likely to be permanent. It’s possible to compensate for most of them well enough that they’re usually not visible to others, and some of the time, I don’t even notice them any more. The love and support from family and friends that have been sustaining throughout this period were on full strength through this last period, and we were able to accept, appreciate and, I hope, acknowledge its centrality to a quality life. We’re part of a network of good people and we’re stronger for it.
The biggest remaining marker of this experience is in my dramatically reduced energy levels/stamina. I simply cannot do what I used to do in a day without stopping to rest. There are more times than is comfortable when that still smacks me in the face because I didn’t factor that into the day’s plan. I’m learning to plan around the energy lulls, and Michael has gotten more assertive than used to be his habit about questioning a plan that doesn’t seem feasible. We’re learning, even though it’s such a big change.
What does a person feel like who has had brain surgery? I still struggle with that question, because I’m not sure I feel that way, whatever it is, though I’m clearly that person, or one of them. This is a different question than the old one that haunted me for so long (“who gets a brain tumor, anyway?”) and I’m not sure why the preoccupation has shifted, why I’m thinking about it, or what the answer is. This seems to be a journey, not a destination, and since that’s what’s on my mind, that’s what I think about, often while feeling the remarkable dents in my head. At least, I do when there’s time to wool-gather and lately, there hasn’t been much of that. Since I believe woolgathering is healthy, both for rest and for creativity, while Shea is still home on break, I hope we’ll make time to do some puzzles or build something or do something else fun together. That should be a nice complement to my own private pleasure of working to impose order across my personal domain.
The changes from this experience are not bad changes. Where we are today is very different than used to be, but there are many silver linings and positive aspects. This is a good life. We’re lucky to have it.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Making Lemonade and Working on Compartmentalization
My lemonade maker is working overtime and cranking out top-quality lemonade at unprecedented volume, given the bumper crop of lemons in my life right now. Still, getting a machine to work at this degree of efficiency with this volume of output is tiring. I’ll be glad when this week is finally over and it’s Spring Break, with a hope of catching my breath and getting a better handle on the things needing to be done, as well as finally knock down whatever this lingering illness is that I have.
The stress and pace of the last chunk of time, which has been so harried I cannot even measure its length, has really taken a toll. On the other hand, the good news is that, amidst the stress of it all, patterns of thinking and creativity reappeared for the first time since surgery. Since I’d feared those capacities were lost, it was a nice moment. If I’d had more time to savor it, or if anything other than extreme stress had brought it back, it would have been pleasant.
My next goal, after redoing my to-do list and catching my breath, is to figure out new patterns of thought that can help me respond better to this kind of pressure. The gold-standard boss I had early in my life used to preach the virtues of compartmentalization in stressful circumstances, and my new goal is to improve my skills in that area. The combination of the stress and meeting 100 students in a new room for class yesterday re-triggered the vertigo/visual overload problem I’ve had on and off since surgery; for a while, I thought about going to the emergency room, and in the end decided to try just resting in familiar circumstances to see if that would right things. On the one hand, I wasn’t sure that there was anything that could be done for me, and on the other, it was aversive to think of exposing myself to even more visual overload in what was bound to be a chaotic with new stimuli. It all turned out ok, and the vertigo waned after being at home in the quiet for a while. There’s some of the same leftover effects I’ve always gotten from this state, but they’re receding, so I’m working on the huge numbers of large vats of lemonade left over from recent events. I’m sure there’s a use for them, and I’m working on a marketing plan. Can you tell I hang out with business-types these days?
Back to the grindstone, with a lighter heart and renewed resolve to compartmentalize the bejeebers out of the problems, the better to enjoy my lemonade. Cheers.
The stress and pace of the last chunk of time, which has been so harried I cannot even measure its length, has really taken a toll. On the other hand, the good news is that, amidst the stress of it all, patterns of thinking and creativity reappeared for the first time since surgery. Since I’d feared those capacities were lost, it was a nice moment. If I’d had more time to savor it, or if anything other than extreme stress had brought it back, it would have been pleasant.
My next goal, after redoing my to-do list and catching my breath, is to figure out new patterns of thought that can help me respond better to this kind of pressure. The gold-standard boss I had early in my life used to preach the virtues of compartmentalization in stressful circumstances, and my new goal is to improve my skills in that area. The combination of the stress and meeting 100 students in a new room for class yesterday re-triggered the vertigo/visual overload problem I’ve had on and off since surgery; for a while, I thought about going to the emergency room, and in the end decided to try just resting in familiar circumstances to see if that would right things. On the one hand, I wasn’t sure that there was anything that could be done for me, and on the other, it was aversive to think of exposing myself to even more visual overload in what was bound to be a chaotic with new stimuli. It all turned out ok, and the vertigo waned after being at home in the quiet for a while. There’s some of the same leftover effects I’ve always gotten from this state, but they’re receding, so I’m working on the huge numbers of large vats of lemonade left over from recent events. I’m sure there’s a use for them, and I’m working on a marketing plan. Can you tell I hang out with business-types these days?
Back to the grindstone, with a lighter heart and renewed resolve to compartmentalize the bejeebers out of the problems, the better to enjoy my lemonade. Cheers.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
18-Month Cranioversary; Status Report
Eighteen months ago today at this time, I was in surgery and all of you were standing by with healing thoughts and prayers. Our family owes so much to all of you for the support, caring and love that got us through a scary time.
In today’s here and now, things are almost normal, though not quite and still a little “off” in some dimensions--and so much better than we ever imagined. I can work with adaptations for still-limited energy. I’ve learned a whole slew of new compensatory mechanisms for the limitations that remain, and some of those are still slowly receding. Last week, for example, when the elevator was out in the building with the huge open stairway that has been a serious challenge for me, I managed both up and down without falling down and without help. I might have looked a little silly holding onto the railing with both hands on the way down, but if so, the people around were too nice to comment in any obvious way while I was around.
My scalp is mostly better (still a small strange spot) and the major head issue (at least on the outside) is where my skull clicks. The check-for-tumor-recurrence MRI has been scheduled for next month and I’ve got an appointment with the neurosurgeon then to talk about the scan and my skull; at my physical last week, the family practice guy shunted us there. He likened it to the situation with kids’ heads where the plates grow together over time. It seems odd to me that the click would develop this late in the game, but maybe it was there and I just didn’t notice before? The other possibility is that one of the spacers holding the replaced skull section in place has worked its way out of place. We’ll know more after the scan next month. (Note: Michael thinks it’s my scalp that clicks, and he’s usually right about stuff like this, but it sure feels like my skull to me.)
Otherwise, I don’t do my exercises often enough for my shoulder, which is the good news because it’s not an obvious enough problem that I remember all the time. Still, to get full mobility, I should, so I’m trying to build in reminder triggers in daily life, by leaving the exercise bands out in full view so I see and remember to do the exercises.
My balance is still wonky but improving, I think and hope. My stamina is always a challenge, but if you compare now to a year ago, or six months ago, it’s clear that there’s forward progress. I still almost never have the urge or ability to read fiction, though I read a short book last night when I needed some serious escapism, so that was progress, too. Several friends have suggested that a waning interest in fiction is partially a matter of aging (maturing??), and urged me not to chalk this all up to tumor/surgery. It’s such a big hole in my life, it’s hard not to focus on it, and yet I’m mostly managing, given the overall positives. Decoding the comics seems gone for good, which also seems pretty minor in the big picture here. The jury is still out on whether I’ll be able to write an entire book manuscript again, and also whether that’s brain injury or just natural lack of capacity. Time will tell...
There’s a ton to do today and while there’s more detail that would complete the status report, it is going to have to wait for another day. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the friendship, love, advice, cheering section and general goodness all of you have offered through this adventure. I cannot imagine what it would have been without you. I feel incredibly lucky and blessed to know such great people.
In today’s here and now, things are almost normal, though not quite and still a little “off” in some dimensions--and so much better than we ever imagined. I can work with adaptations for still-limited energy. I’ve learned a whole slew of new compensatory mechanisms for the limitations that remain, and some of those are still slowly receding. Last week, for example, when the elevator was out in the building with the huge open stairway that has been a serious challenge for me, I managed both up and down without falling down and without help. I might have looked a little silly holding onto the railing with both hands on the way down, but if so, the people around were too nice to comment in any obvious way while I was around.
My scalp is mostly better (still a small strange spot) and the major head issue (at least on the outside) is where my skull clicks. The check-for-tumor-recurrence MRI has been scheduled for next month and I’ve got an appointment with the neurosurgeon then to talk about the scan and my skull; at my physical last week, the family practice guy shunted us there. He likened it to the situation with kids’ heads where the plates grow together over time. It seems odd to me that the click would develop this late in the game, but maybe it was there and I just didn’t notice before? The other possibility is that one of the spacers holding the replaced skull section in place has worked its way out of place. We’ll know more after the scan next month. (Note: Michael thinks it’s my scalp that clicks, and he’s usually right about stuff like this, but it sure feels like my skull to me.)
Otherwise, I don’t do my exercises often enough for my shoulder, which is the good news because it’s not an obvious enough problem that I remember all the time. Still, to get full mobility, I should, so I’m trying to build in reminder triggers in daily life, by leaving the exercise bands out in full view so I see and remember to do the exercises.
My balance is still wonky but improving, I think and hope. My stamina is always a challenge, but if you compare now to a year ago, or six months ago, it’s clear that there’s forward progress. I still almost never have the urge or ability to read fiction, though I read a short book last night when I needed some serious escapism, so that was progress, too. Several friends have suggested that a waning interest in fiction is partially a matter of aging (maturing??), and urged me not to chalk this all up to tumor/surgery. It’s such a big hole in my life, it’s hard not to focus on it, and yet I’m mostly managing, given the overall positives. Decoding the comics seems gone for good, which also seems pretty minor in the big picture here. The jury is still out on whether I’ll be able to write an entire book manuscript again, and also whether that’s brain injury or just natural lack of capacity. Time will tell...
There’s a ton to do today and while there’s more detail that would complete the status report, it is going to have to wait for another day. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the friendship, love, advice, cheering section and general goodness all of you have offered through this adventure. I cannot imagine what it would have been without you. I feel incredibly lucky and blessed to know such great people.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Focusing on the Good News
One of the best things about my work life is that I mostly get to pick the things I think about and spend energy on. There are a whole series of corollaries that go with that, most irritatingly right now that I’m interested in more things than I have the time or energy to pursue. So, if I’m feeling overwhelmed, that’s another of the good problems to have. Furthermore, almost all the things that absolutely, positively have to get done are things that engage my imagination and challenge my intellect, so that’s all pretty cool. I’m working on holding that thought, because the list of pressing, important things requiring some action is a little daunting.
Aside from being the good problems to have, there are other bright spots in this. Consistent with the old adage “if you want something done, ask a busy person,” my time management skills are improving and (here’s a really great thing), I’m both getting better at saying “no” and shedding a lot of the stupid stuff as I go. Well, a little bit better at saying no. Ok, would you buy that I’ve said “no” to some things this semester that I might not have before brain surgery? Since I have more limited energy than I’d like, there are some things I just cannot do, and the practice has, as with so many things, helped me improve at it. Still, it’s not what you’d call a well-developed skill and it could stand to improve even more.
Lately, I’ve been using Randy Paush’s time management talk as inspiration and limiting my to-do lists to “important, due soon” and “important, not due soon.” It’s helping me stay on track and moderately productive, but the list doesn’t seem to be shrinking much. What this new list style helps me do, I hope, is stay ahead of catastrophe and avoid dropping major balls. Still, I’m running as fast as I can and it still feels like I'm getting behinder all the time. As the clutter is piling up around the edges of our life, I’m investing in bigger and bigger blinders because looking at it would just be crazy-making. I’m hopeful that this is going to lead to an increased ability to shed more stuff soon--like after the semester ends, maybe--but in the meantime, I’m keeping my head down and not looking around while I move from one due date to the next.
What I’m proudest of is that, mostly, I’m still managing to live by my values and to carve time out to spend with people. Not as many as I’d like, not as often as I’d like, but every week, I’m managing to have lunch with someone, or find a small spot to visit, or at least to reach out in some way. Some weeks right now, it’s a weaker reach than I’d like and I’m trying to keep my eye on the goal of doing better. At least, though, that hasn’t fallen off the cliff, as has trying to stay on top of the clutter.
Monday brings two classes, Tuesday brings a whole slew of medical tests, and the rest of the week is my last chance to catch my breath and catch up a little bit before the deluge of the second-seven-week class that starts March 16. There’s a ton of stuff to do for Monday’s classes, for the starting-up class, for the overdue advice column, never mention the new idea hovering just out of reach, and actually doing the writing that’s on my mind. These are the good problems to have. I’m interested in all this stuff. If you see me and I’m muttering to myself, that’s what I’m saying.
Aside from being the good problems to have, there are other bright spots in this. Consistent with the old adage “if you want something done, ask a busy person,” my time management skills are improving and (here’s a really great thing), I’m both getting better at saying “no” and shedding a lot of the stupid stuff as I go. Well, a little bit better at saying no. Ok, would you buy that I’ve said “no” to some things this semester that I might not have before brain surgery? Since I have more limited energy than I’d like, there are some things I just cannot do, and the practice has, as with so many things, helped me improve at it. Still, it’s not what you’d call a well-developed skill and it could stand to improve even more.
Lately, I’ve been using Randy Paush’s time management talk as inspiration and limiting my to-do lists to “important, due soon” and “important, not due soon.” It’s helping me stay on track and moderately productive, but the list doesn’t seem to be shrinking much. What this new list style helps me do, I hope, is stay ahead of catastrophe and avoid dropping major balls. Still, I’m running as fast as I can and it still feels like I'm getting behinder all the time. As the clutter is piling up around the edges of our life, I’m investing in bigger and bigger blinders because looking at it would just be crazy-making. I’m hopeful that this is going to lead to an increased ability to shed more stuff soon--like after the semester ends, maybe--but in the meantime, I’m keeping my head down and not looking around while I move from one due date to the next.
What I’m proudest of is that, mostly, I’m still managing to live by my values and to carve time out to spend with people. Not as many as I’d like, not as often as I’d like, but every week, I’m managing to have lunch with someone, or find a small spot to visit, or at least to reach out in some way. Some weeks right now, it’s a weaker reach than I’d like and I’m trying to keep my eye on the goal of doing better. At least, though, that hasn’t fallen off the cliff, as has trying to stay on top of the clutter.
Monday brings two classes, Tuesday brings a whole slew of medical tests, and the rest of the week is my last chance to catch my breath and catch up a little bit before the deluge of the second-seven-week class that starts March 16. There’s a ton of stuff to do for Monday’s classes, for the starting-up class, for the overdue advice column, never mention the new idea hovering just out of reach, and actually doing the writing that’s on my mind. These are the good problems to have. I’m interested in all this stuff. If you see me and I’m muttering to myself, that’s what I’m saying.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Still Whirling
It sure makes the week go faster to blast a hole the size of two days in the middle of it. My travel is almost always scheduled for the end of the week, since for years my teaching has been clumped on Mondays and Tuesdays. As a result, returning from this unusual mid-week trip leaves it now feeling like the weekend, except for the tiny little pesky technical point that there are still two more days to go.
As is so often the case, when the time came for this trip, I wished I hadn’t agreed to it and fantasized about a weather cancellation, or even just not going. Once underway, though, the trip was a reminder of the benefits of stretching beyond the familiar. For whatever reason, it most reminds me of the times that Michael and I stop someplace we see from the road that wasn’t scheduled, and find something great that wasn’t predictable. Of course, sometimes, there’s nothing that interesting to see and it’s a waste of time, but more often than not, serendipity presents something quirky, fun, different and memorable. We have great memories and, often, souvenirs, from those diversions. This week's trip contained its own serendipitous pleasures.
The talk was at NIH and the people were smart, interesting, and, it turns out, focus their research on neuroplasticity and brain issues. Until I looked them up on Sunday, that part hadn’t penetrated my consciousness. We had a whole set of great conversations: among other things, they were taken aback that no one had suggested a neuropsych workup following my craniotomy nor continuing work afterwards. That wasn’t the main topic and while it would have been interesting to pursue it more in depth, that wasn’t why I was there; I’ll do some research on my own to develop a better baseline understanding and then can go back and ask more questions of those with whom I especially connected, once I’m a little better educated.
Beyond the personally-relevant information (including a little more explanation on the 18-24 month window after brain surgery and what it means in physiological terms), the conversations were great and the combination of preparing for and then giving the talk have left me with a great idea to pursue, if only I can wrangle the time and energy in the midst of an already-full plate. The thing that was nice about that was actually HAVING a new idea. That’s two in recent days, which is an encouraging development in and of itself. Now I’m back grappling with that time-management dilemma where there’s something engaging catching my attention and if I work on it, I’d make real progress; it’s enticing, it’s fresh, and the connections seem obvious at the moment. However, other items are demanding attention that are pressing, due and also important, though less immediately engaging. Doing those sometimes boring things can push back the interesting projects enough that the ideas fade and the progress never happens. And sometimes, the boring stuff doesn’t actually get done either. I haven’t stated this very well, but I find myself on the horns of this dilemma regularly. My new approach is to permit a time-limited amount of work on the fresh project, which is good for productivity anyway, I’m finding, and then, having rewarded myself, and having created a running start, turning to the boring obligatory stuff. At least that’s my story right now, and I’m sticking to it.
I finished a terrific book on the way home: Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard, by Chip and Dan Heath. Bob Sutton recommended it on his blog some time back and it’s well worth the time. It is still reverberating in my head and I want to go read some of the work it references. Fun!
So, one talk down this week and one to go still tonight. Aside from trying to catch up on all that got pushed aside by travel, tonight’s talk still needs to be crafted. Back to work. Happy Thursday.
As is so often the case, when the time came for this trip, I wished I hadn’t agreed to it and fantasized about a weather cancellation, or even just not going. Once underway, though, the trip was a reminder of the benefits of stretching beyond the familiar. For whatever reason, it most reminds me of the times that Michael and I stop someplace we see from the road that wasn’t scheduled, and find something great that wasn’t predictable. Of course, sometimes, there’s nothing that interesting to see and it’s a waste of time, but more often than not, serendipity presents something quirky, fun, different and memorable. We have great memories and, often, souvenirs, from those diversions. This week's trip contained its own serendipitous pleasures.
The talk was at NIH and the people were smart, interesting, and, it turns out, focus their research on neuroplasticity and brain issues. Until I looked them up on Sunday, that part hadn’t penetrated my consciousness. We had a whole set of great conversations: among other things, they were taken aback that no one had suggested a neuropsych workup following my craniotomy nor continuing work afterwards. That wasn’t the main topic and while it would have been interesting to pursue it more in depth, that wasn’t why I was there; I’ll do some research on my own to develop a better baseline understanding and then can go back and ask more questions of those with whom I especially connected, once I’m a little better educated.
Beyond the personally-relevant information (including a little more explanation on the 18-24 month window after brain surgery and what it means in physiological terms), the conversations were great and the combination of preparing for and then giving the talk have left me with a great idea to pursue, if only I can wrangle the time and energy in the midst of an already-full plate. The thing that was nice about that was actually HAVING a new idea. That’s two in recent days, which is an encouraging development in and of itself. Now I’m back grappling with that time-management dilemma where there’s something engaging catching my attention and if I work on it, I’d make real progress; it’s enticing, it’s fresh, and the connections seem obvious at the moment. However, other items are demanding attention that are pressing, due and also important, though less immediately engaging. Doing those sometimes boring things can push back the interesting projects enough that the ideas fade and the progress never happens. And sometimes, the boring stuff doesn’t actually get done either. I haven’t stated this very well, but I find myself on the horns of this dilemma regularly. My new approach is to permit a time-limited amount of work on the fresh project, which is good for productivity anyway, I’m finding, and then, having rewarded myself, and having created a running start, turning to the boring obligatory stuff. At least that’s my story right now, and I’m sticking to it.
I finished a terrific book on the way home: Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard, by Chip and Dan Heath. Bob Sutton recommended it on his blog some time back and it’s well worth the time. It is still reverberating in my head and I want to go read some of the work it references. Fun!
So, one talk down this week and one to go still tonight. Aside from trying to catch up on all that got pushed aside by travel, tonight’s talk still needs to be crafted. Back to work. Happy Thursday.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Whirling
Back in the olden days, there was playground equipment that included a self-pushed merry-go-round. This week feels like being on the outside edge of one of those, holding on for dear life. The device I remember wasn’t one of those staid merry-go-rounds where you sit on a horse or worse, in a boat, to ride around in a circle to music. Instead, it was a single flat surface with bars rising out of it and it would go as fast as our legs would push it. These days, of course, such equipment isn’t safe and doesn’t meet standards, and so they’ve all been removed from parks and schools, at least in this neck of the woods. Still, I remember the feeling of riding one and it has many similarities to what this week feels like. There was the work of pushing and the thrill of throwing yourself onto the platform and holding on for dear life, knowing you couldn’t safely get off until it slowed down and simultaneously thinking “this is too fast” and “faster!," all the while knowing that you’d made the thrill yourself. Yup, sounds like my week. To make things worse, an idea came to me yesterday that is a really good, really attractive one, that would take time and energy that simply isn’t available right now--but it’s really enticing. At odd moments throughout the day and night, I find myself trying to figure out ways to shoehorn it into my life. Prudence says “no.” We’ll see what Tina says, when the time comes.
One of the pleasures of growing older is getting to know oneself and growing comfortable in one’s own skin. That knowledge tells me that the new idea is one I’m likely to explore even as I feel a little frantic about how I’m going to come through on all the obligations I already have. And, did I mention? I just noticed yet another small thing that needs to be fixed: the end cap trim on the bathroom cabinet has come off, so now I need to remember to ask Michael if we even still have it, in which case it’s a little job just to glue it on (one of scores of such “little jobs” on our lists) or whether it’s a bigger job--like the new hinge needed for the kitchen cabinet that needs to be identified, tracked down, ordered and, oh yes, replaced. I try not to think about the whole list because it gets overwhelming. Finding and gluing one end cap, if it’s floating around, seems doable. The larger list, not so much. None of it, though, fits into today’s plan, or even this week’s. Unless the cap is around, in which case, just getting the glue and getting it done seems pretty attractive: a small job, unlikely to mushroom, and then it would be done and satisfying.... If only I can remember to ask Michael whether we have the trim piece.
While cuddling asleep last night, I wondered about all the hundreds, if not thousands, of nights when we fell asleep in exactly the same way, except that then there was a tumor growing inside my head and we didn’t know it. Shouldn’t it have felt different than regular life? Eventually, of course, it did feel different, but not in any distinctive way that was definable as a brain tumor. Shouldn’t it have felt some specific way? I suppose that’s an existential question and not one there’s time to pursue just now. My guess is that this train of thought was stimulated by the scheduling of the next MRI in April, and that in the back of my mind (if not physically in my head), I am thinking about whether it will show tumor regrowth. The last scan was clear, but I’m apparently in the highest risk group for regrowth. Once the correlation between the train of thought and the scheduling emerged, as with so many such things, I was able to go to sleep and move on. Meanwhile, onwards and upwards. Literally. Flying out later this morning for the first of the talks this week. Home tomorrow. Take care, all.
One of the pleasures of growing older is getting to know oneself and growing comfortable in one’s own skin. That knowledge tells me that the new idea is one I’m likely to explore even as I feel a little frantic about how I’m going to come through on all the obligations I already have. And, did I mention? I just noticed yet another small thing that needs to be fixed: the end cap trim on the bathroom cabinet has come off, so now I need to remember to ask Michael if we even still have it, in which case it’s a little job just to glue it on (one of scores of such “little jobs” on our lists) or whether it’s a bigger job--like the new hinge needed for the kitchen cabinet that needs to be identified, tracked down, ordered and, oh yes, replaced. I try not to think about the whole list because it gets overwhelming. Finding and gluing one end cap, if it’s floating around, seems doable. The larger list, not so much. None of it, though, fits into today’s plan, or even this week’s. Unless the cap is around, in which case, just getting the glue and getting it done seems pretty attractive: a small job, unlikely to mushroom, and then it would be done and satisfying.... If only I can remember to ask Michael whether we have the trim piece.
While cuddling asleep last night, I wondered about all the hundreds, if not thousands, of nights when we fell asleep in exactly the same way, except that then there was a tumor growing inside my head and we didn’t know it. Shouldn’t it have felt different than regular life? Eventually, of course, it did feel different, but not in any distinctive way that was definable as a brain tumor. Shouldn’t it have felt some specific way? I suppose that’s an existential question and not one there’s time to pursue just now. My guess is that this train of thought was stimulated by the scheduling of the next MRI in April, and that in the back of my mind (if not physically in my head), I am thinking about whether it will show tumor regrowth. The last scan was clear, but I’m apparently in the highest risk group for regrowth. Once the correlation between the train of thought and the scheduling emerged, as with so many such things, I was able to go to sleep and move on. Meanwhile, onwards and upwards. Literally. Flying out later this morning for the first of the talks this week. Home tomorrow. Take care, all.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Almost Normal
The cortisol level this week is at a new high: 17.7. This is a big advance, and the highest measurement since this whole adrenal shutdown problem was first diagnosed, when it tested at 3. Since the “normal” range for morning cortisol is 18-24, it looks like the most recent weaning off the steroids worked and I’m going to be able to do without supplementation in the long run. It’s great news.
Today looks altogether brighter than yesterday and with new ideas and resolve, I’m trying again to tackle the challenges this semester presents.
Today looks altogether brighter than yesterday and with new ideas and resolve, I’m trying again to tackle the challenges this semester presents.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Grey Day and Thoughts
It’s snowing this morning here in central illinois, and while it’s not the prettiest snow shower, it’s still nice to watch from inside. My favorite snowfall is when the flakes are big and fat and there’s no wind, so they just come straight down, quietly, and transform the world. These flakes are small and there’s some wind driving them, so they seem, well, not angry like in a blizzard, but sort of hyped up, like there’s a deadline and they’re running late and so they have to rush and aren’t doing it very efficiently. They’re not frantic, but they’re also not very organized or determined about getting where they’re going. Is there some psychological condition where you anthropomorphize weather? If so, there are some indications today that I might have it.
This patch of time isn’t going very well. I’m really struggling with the new class I’m teaching, and I don’t know why, so it’s consuming time and attention wholesale. Whatever the reason--which remains mysterious to me--I’m not connecting with the class where they are. My theory of teaching is that you meet the students wherever they are and hope to move them along to a new place. Since I haven’t found these kids where they are, my grand scheme to get them someplace else, as you might imagine, isn’t going very well. The frustrating part is that I’m not really sure--still-what’s wrong.
Every group has its own culture and chemistry, and one of my strong points has always been to sense that and find a way to connect within the overall structure of my plan for the course. The plan in this case still feels like a good one, but it and I am not reaching this group, or at least the vocal ones among them. This an in-between size group for me (40), but as I’ve taught successfully in both smaller and larger (and much larger) groups, I don’t think it’s the size. I’ve taught students earlier in their careers and later, all the way through professional development. I’m pretty sure that is not the cause, so another option that remains is that my changed brain configuration cannot do a good course design anymore, which while it occurs to me a lot to wonder about, doesn’t feel like the answer. Whatever the answer, there’s something about where this group is that I haven’t yet mastered and it feels terrible. Though I’m scheduled to teach this course again, I’m working on facing up to the fact that it’s entirely possible that I’m not the right teacher for this group and some other longer term plan will be necessary, which not only means I will have failed, but also jeopardizes a pretty big part of our medium-term planning. I haven’t given up yet, and have yet another idea for trying to improve things, but it’s discouraging. Meanwhile, other stuff inches along and come mid-March, gets even busier. That’s a daunting prospect just now, from the bottom of the hole I’m in. I’m consoling myself that my outlook is probably more grey this morning than the reality because it feels like I’m coming down with something (for which I do not have time) and that generally glooms up (down?) my outlook. So, back to revising my list to concentrate on the most important tasks first and keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s the only way I know how to get through a time like this, and it’s time-tested, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Today brings a visit with Dr. Thoughtful to see how the cortisol levels are and to check on this clicking thing in my skull. Assuming I’m not as sick as I’m worried I’m going to be (how’s that for self-absorption!?), lunch plans include seeing a friend who always lift my spirits, so that should be a nice way to ease into the afternoon’s labors. One foot in front of the other. And maybe the sun will come out!
This patch of time isn’t going very well. I’m really struggling with the new class I’m teaching, and I don’t know why, so it’s consuming time and attention wholesale. Whatever the reason--which remains mysterious to me--I’m not connecting with the class where they are. My theory of teaching is that you meet the students wherever they are and hope to move them along to a new place. Since I haven’t found these kids where they are, my grand scheme to get them someplace else, as you might imagine, isn’t going very well. The frustrating part is that I’m not really sure--still-what’s wrong.
Every group has its own culture and chemistry, and one of my strong points has always been to sense that and find a way to connect within the overall structure of my plan for the course. The plan in this case still feels like a good one, but it and I am not reaching this group, or at least the vocal ones among them. This an in-between size group for me (40), but as I’ve taught successfully in both smaller and larger (and much larger) groups, I don’t think it’s the size. I’ve taught students earlier in their careers and later, all the way through professional development. I’m pretty sure that is not the cause, so another option that remains is that my changed brain configuration cannot do a good course design anymore, which while it occurs to me a lot to wonder about, doesn’t feel like the answer. Whatever the answer, there’s something about where this group is that I haven’t yet mastered and it feels terrible. Though I’m scheduled to teach this course again, I’m working on facing up to the fact that it’s entirely possible that I’m not the right teacher for this group and some other longer term plan will be necessary, which not only means I will have failed, but also jeopardizes a pretty big part of our medium-term planning. I haven’t given up yet, and have yet another idea for trying to improve things, but it’s discouraging. Meanwhile, other stuff inches along and come mid-March, gets even busier. That’s a daunting prospect just now, from the bottom of the hole I’m in. I’m consoling myself that my outlook is probably more grey this morning than the reality because it feels like I’m coming down with something (for which I do not have time) and that generally glooms up (down?) my outlook. So, back to revising my list to concentrate on the most important tasks first and keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s the only way I know how to get through a time like this, and it’s time-tested, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Today brings a visit with Dr. Thoughtful to see how the cortisol levels are and to check on this clicking thing in my skull. Assuming I’m not as sick as I’m worried I’m going to be (how’s that for self-absorption!?), lunch plans include seeing a friend who always lift my spirits, so that should be a nice way to ease into the afternoon’s labors. One foot in front of the other. And maybe the sun will come out!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Integrating Experience over Time
To preserve the best-quality sleep, even when a great thought or the perfect way to express it occurs to me in the night, mostly I don’t wake up enough to record it. It’s always a close call, and often regretted when the lovely wording or observation has completely vanished come morning. Those that are recorded in the night--always at the cost of restful sleep--are almost always useful and valuable, so it’s a constant battle of values to decide whether to wake up enough to save them or to take the risk of the inspiration evaporating. Over the last years, I’ve tried repeating the ideas out loud, telling them to Michael and asking for his help in remembering them (useless; I might as well have asked the bedside table to hold a thought), repeating a key word over and over... anything short of waking up enough to record the thought. This is a long way of saying that last night brought a great insight about my progress to date, and the process of integrating this experience into my life, that today is gone.
For whatever reason, I’m back grappling with this whole strangeness of what it means to have had a large brain tumor at midlife and the good fortune of mostly being able to resume my regular life with some adjustments. It’s all strange. At the same time, it’s odd to have had this experience, and odd to have escaped from it so relatively unscathed given the alternatives.
In thinking about the arc of this experience, and trying to attain some perspective, I’ve also come to realize that one of the things about my recent working years is how un-moored they’ve been. Once I left the provost’s office and took up my life with multiple masters in my new appointments divided across units and colleges, there’s no one person or place where anyone really sees the whole of my activities. Instead, everything I do is divided into discrete pockets, where each person who receives information is happy enough with what I do, but never sees how it fits into the big picture. While I suppose this is good practice for retirement (coming ever closer), it’s been an odd finish to a long working relationship with one organization. In a strange way, it brings its own sadness, which for whatever reasons of self-delusion and denial, I’m really only now coming to recognize.
After several weeks of flat-out activity, I’m tired. Things are not going to improve much until I submit grades in mid-May, I’m afraid. Each of the next two weeks brings travel, then a week of “respite” right before the sprint of an 8-week intensive course for professional students starts, and then the simultaneous end-of-semester tasks for three courses at once. This weekend, I’m going to rest. I’ve got stuff to do, of course, and this June conference I got roped into helping with may yet turn out to be the straw that makes it all collapse, but I’m moderately optimistic that with enough planning ahead and pacing, I can yet pull this off. As Dr. Donnie would say, we’ll know more next week.
In the meantime, as the eighteen-month mark approaches, it does feel like the prediction that there would be a major turning point someplace between there and two years may yet come true. Things are both improving and I’m getting better at reconciling to some of the deficits that look to be permanent. My attitude about it all is better, and certainly, my jokes about some of the problems are becoming polished enough that they get a laugh just about every time. That’s all progress. And, never forgetting the Urbana weather report, we’re expecting more snow this weekend, which will make it a grand time to be snuggling up indoors, resting and working in turn. Happy weekend to all.
For whatever reason, I’m back grappling with this whole strangeness of what it means to have had a large brain tumor at midlife and the good fortune of mostly being able to resume my regular life with some adjustments. It’s all strange. At the same time, it’s odd to have had this experience, and odd to have escaped from it so relatively unscathed given the alternatives.
In thinking about the arc of this experience, and trying to attain some perspective, I’ve also come to realize that one of the things about my recent working years is how un-moored they’ve been. Once I left the provost’s office and took up my life with multiple masters in my new appointments divided across units and colleges, there’s no one person or place where anyone really sees the whole of my activities. Instead, everything I do is divided into discrete pockets, where each person who receives information is happy enough with what I do, but never sees how it fits into the big picture. While I suppose this is good practice for retirement (coming ever closer), it’s been an odd finish to a long working relationship with one organization. In a strange way, it brings its own sadness, which for whatever reasons of self-delusion and denial, I’m really only now coming to recognize.
After several weeks of flat-out activity, I’m tired. Things are not going to improve much until I submit grades in mid-May, I’m afraid. Each of the next two weeks brings travel, then a week of “respite” right before the sprint of an 8-week intensive course for professional students starts, and then the simultaneous end-of-semester tasks for three courses at once. This weekend, I’m going to rest. I’ve got stuff to do, of course, and this June conference I got roped into helping with may yet turn out to be the straw that makes it all collapse, but I’m moderately optimistic that with enough planning ahead and pacing, I can yet pull this off. As Dr. Donnie would say, we’ll know more next week.
In the meantime, as the eighteen-month mark approaches, it does feel like the prediction that there would be a major turning point someplace between there and two years may yet come true. Things are both improving and I’m getting better at reconciling to some of the deficits that look to be permanent. My attitude about it all is better, and certainly, my jokes about some of the problems are becoming polished enough that they get a laugh just about every time. That’s all progress. And, never forgetting the Urbana weather report, we’re expecting more snow this weekend, which will make it a grand time to be snuggling up indoors, resting and working in turn. Happy weekend to all.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Old Patterns Creeping Back
It took leaving town for us to start moving back into old, familiar and half-forgotten patterns. After I’d accepted an invitation to give a talk in Albuquerque on February 14 some time ago, I belatedly realized that was a Sunday (so getting there, talking and getting back would chew up a whole weekend) and Valentine’s Day, to boot. We decided to make a weekend out of it together and arranged to stay at a friend’s place in Santa Fe. Michael unfortunately got his annual bout of bronchitis that weekend, so it wasn’t clear for a while if he could or should travel, but in the end it worked out. Neither of us really felt well enough to go out into the world to eat, so we ate in both nights, and those two evenings were almost like having our old, pre-tumor, life back.
For one thing, I was able to read fiction that weekend (gone again now, but returning more frequently, I think), and also, for the first time in a very, very long time, not only was able to, but actually felt like listening to the radio at the end of the day. One of the symptoms of this adventure has been a narrowing of my world, because I get into an overload state so easily. Michael almost automatically turns on the radio in whatever room he enters, and gets much of his news and information that way. My overload problems have disrupted a whole series of our regular patterns, because I lost my ability to concentrate on something else while there’s lots of other stuff going on, including talking on the radio. (Or, for that matter, music.) Thus, right now, either he goes without his sound fix, or I go to another room. This has changed our life patterns dramatically, and neither of us much likes it, though it’s a small-enough price to in other respects. But that weekend, it just felt right to find an NPR livestream and listen to a summary of the day.
So there we were in this cozy place, with a fire going, the radio on, Michael making dinner and me reading a book. It felt like old times. Then we had conversation over dinner and a quiet evening together, no video, just doing the things we had to do. It was great. It’s been so long since we lived in that life, and there we had two nights of it. Returning, I had a colleague here for two days, and it was an intense time, as we’re making teaching videos for the new class I’m teaching, and it consumed every minute in the two days. It took yesterday to catch up on email and figure out what else had fallen through the cracks, so now today, it’s back to a more regular routine, I hope. We captured a lot of great video and have very high hopes for the product we’ll be able to create. Meanwhile, I owe everyone else in my life on pretty much every front, so today is going to be about more digging out. Still, I have a greater sense of optimism than ever that, one of these days, my limitations won’t govern our lives and may even recede into history. Isn’t that a happy thought?
Happy Thursday.
For one thing, I was able to read fiction that weekend (gone again now, but returning more frequently, I think), and also, for the first time in a very, very long time, not only was able to, but actually felt like listening to the radio at the end of the day. One of the symptoms of this adventure has been a narrowing of my world, because I get into an overload state so easily. Michael almost automatically turns on the radio in whatever room he enters, and gets much of his news and information that way. My overload problems have disrupted a whole series of our regular patterns, because I lost my ability to concentrate on something else while there’s lots of other stuff going on, including talking on the radio. (Or, for that matter, music.) Thus, right now, either he goes without his sound fix, or I go to another room. This has changed our life patterns dramatically, and neither of us much likes it, though it’s a small-enough price to in other respects. But that weekend, it just felt right to find an NPR livestream and listen to a summary of the day.
So there we were in this cozy place, with a fire going, the radio on, Michael making dinner and me reading a book. It felt like old times. Then we had conversation over dinner and a quiet evening together, no video, just doing the things we had to do. It was great. It’s been so long since we lived in that life, and there we had two nights of it. Returning, I had a colleague here for two days, and it was an intense time, as we’re making teaching videos for the new class I’m teaching, and it consumed every minute in the two days. It took yesterday to catch up on email and figure out what else had fallen through the cracks, so now today, it’s back to a more regular routine, I hope. We captured a lot of great video and have very high hopes for the product we’ll be able to create. Meanwhile, I owe everyone else in my life on pretty much every front, so today is going to be about more digging out. Still, I have a greater sense of optimism than ever that, one of these days, my limitations won’t govern our lives and may even recede into history. Isn’t that a happy thought?
Happy Thursday.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
17-Month Status Report
Three things stand out, this far out from the surgical portion of this brain tumor adventure.
1. I’m surrounded by some of the most magnificent family members and friends anyone could ever ask for.
2. Things are improving, though infinitesimally slowly.
3. I’m a different person than I was before.
Physically, from the top down, the most acute portion is that I have some kind of floating chip loose in my scalp and an area that’s extremely sore when lying down. Interestingly, it’s not so apparent nor does it hurt so much (it's just tender) when vertical. In the areas where the scalp was peeled and then reattached, there is still that same old area, about the size of my palm, that’s strangely sensitive and numb at the same time. It’s hard to explain, and we were warned that the scalp would be the last to heal. I’m still waiting for that, as a sign of somethingorother. My skull is very bumpy, more so than was detectable when there was still minor swelling here and there. Still, it doesn't show and you have to be feeling for it to notice.
Connected to my head/brain, my balance is still bad, worse when tired, visually distracted or in loud places. The wonderful people around me do a constant dance, adapting to places that I’ll need stabilization or spotting. I’m not sure how much they notice it any more, but I notice it all the time. My family and the people who spend the most time with me automatically shift into place on stairs, on uneven terrain, and whenever I start to tilt. I’ve learned a lot about asking for help gracefully when out in the world and confronted with something I cannot navigate on my own. I’ve leaned on, held hands with and generally relied on people across campus and out in the world in ways I never would have imagined. Without exception, people are charming, kind and gracious. I hate needing the help, even as I’m grateful for it.
My energy has to be managed really carefully, something that is a daily struggle for me, as I haven’t yet succeeded in re-setting my internal reach/grasp reality meter. Still, over time, gradually, my energy levels are creeping up. One happy metric is that ten hours of sleep a night is not absolutely mandatory any more, and the point at which I completely hit the wall and run out of steam is drifting later and later in the evening. One of these days, maybe I'll be more like real grownup people again.
My shoulder and arm are better than they’ve been at any previous point. I can do most of what my left arm does with my right, though its range of motion is more limited (by a fair amount) and it still clicks, especially when coming down from above the shoulder. The shoulder itself remains tender and I cannot sleep on my right side. I do exercises sent home by the physical therapist in hopes of strengthening and improving the shoulder/arm. Every now and then, my hand goes completely numb. It's not always clear why.
I think that’s the physical inventory. Psychically, I’m simply a different person. That’s not bad or good, it’s just true. Cognitively, there are things I used to do and saw as integral to my Tina-ness that are gone. It’s an adjustment, and it’s hard, even as I count my blessings. This could have been so very much worse, so where I am is something to be grateful for. I am. I just also feel a low-level sense of loss most of the time. I am still not reliably reading for pleasure. Things I used to do without thought require huge quantities of time and planning, and they don’t turn out as well. I spend much (much, much) more of my time at home than ever before in order to be able to do any creative/high level thought at all, as I get completely fatigued in new or bustling places. I keep trying, and stretching, and I see some progress there. Very slow progress. Some forms of synthesis and creativity are notable in their absence. See remarks above about energy and relying on other people for some basic stuff. I’m calmer and more patient, which feels good and like an advance up the evolutionary scale. Juxtaposed with the losses, fundamentally I’m the same person: same sense of humor, same take on the world, same personality. Just less.
More and more, having had a major brain tumor is receding from centrality in my daily life. That’s a wonderful thing. I feel greedy to want it to recede some more, but there you have it: I do want that. Now, back to the backlog of stuff I cannot seem to slog through. One foot in front of the other…
The snow is still all white and pretty. There’s not much wind in town, so while the roads are evidently pretty bad, around our neighborhood, people are driving and walking and biking and it’s a picture-perfect snowy day. Lucky me, I’m going to Albuquerque on Friday. I’m looking forward to it, if only I can get some of the work done before then. Cheers to all.
1. I’m surrounded by some of the most magnificent family members and friends anyone could ever ask for.
2. Things are improving, though infinitesimally slowly.
3. I’m a different person than I was before.
Physically, from the top down, the most acute portion is that I have some kind of floating chip loose in my scalp and an area that’s extremely sore when lying down. Interestingly, it’s not so apparent nor does it hurt so much (it's just tender) when vertical. In the areas where the scalp was peeled and then reattached, there is still that same old area, about the size of my palm, that’s strangely sensitive and numb at the same time. It’s hard to explain, and we were warned that the scalp would be the last to heal. I’m still waiting for that, as a sign of somethingorother. My skull is very bumpy, more so than was detectable when there was still minor swelling here and there. Still, it doesn't show and you have to be feeling for it to notice.
Connected to my head/brain, my balance is still bad, worse when tired, visually distracted or in loud places. The wonderful people around me do a constant dance, adapting to places that I’ll need stabilization or spotting. I’m not sure how much they notice it any more, but I notice it all the time. My family and the people who spend the most time with me automatically shift into place on stairs, on uneven terrain, and whenever I start to tilt. I’ve learned a lot about asking for help gracefully when out in the world and confronted with something I cannot navigate on my own. I’ve leaned on, held hands with and generally relied on people across campus and out in the world in ways I never would have imagined. Without exception, people are charming, kind and gracious. I hate needing the help, even as I’m grateful for it.
My energy has to be managed really carefully, something that is a daily struggle for me, as I haven’t yet succeeded in re-setting my internal reach/grasp reality meter. Still, over time, gradually, my energy levels are creeping up. One happy metric is that ten hours of sleep a night is not absolutely mandatory any more, and the point at which I completely hit the wall and run out of steam is drifting later and later in the evening. One of these days, maybe I'll be more like real grownup people again.
My shoulder and arm are better than they’ve been at any previous point. I can do most of what my left arm does with my right, though its range of motion is more limited (by a fair amount) and it still clicks, especially when coming down from above the shoulder. The shoulder itself remains tender and I cannot sleep on my right side. I do exercises sent home by the physical therapist in hopes of strengthening and improving the shoulder/arm. Every now and then, my hand goes completely numb. It's not always clear why.
I think that’s the physical inventory. Psychically, I’m simply a different person. That’s not bad or good, it’s just true. Cognitively, there are things I used to do and saw as integral to my Tina-ness that are gone. It’s an adjustment, and it’s hard, even as I count my blessings. This could have been so very much worse, so where I am is something to be grateful for. I am. I just also feel a low-level sense of loss most of the time. I am still not reliably reading for pleasure. Things I used to do without thought require huge quantities of time and planning, and they don’t turn out as well. I spend much (much, much) more of my time at home than ever before in order to be able to do any creative/high level thought at all, as I get completely fatigued in new or bustling places. I keep trying, and stretching, and I see some progress there. Very slow progress. Some forms of synthesis and creativity are notable in their absence. See remarks above about energy and relying on other people for some basic stuff. I’m calmer and more patient, which feels good and like an advance up the evolutionary scale. Juxtaposed with the losses, fundamentally I’m the same person: same sense of humor, same take on the world, same personality. Just less.
More and more, having had a major brain tumor is receding from centrality in my daily life. That’s a wonderful thing. I feel greedy to want it to recede some more, but there you have it: I do want that. Now, back to the backlog of stuff I cannot seem to slog through. One foot in front of the other…
The snow is still all white and pretty. There’s not much wind in town, so while the roads are evidently pretty bad, around our neighborhood, people are driving and walking and biking and it’s a picture-perfect snowy day. Lucky me, I’m going to Albuquerque on Friday. I’m looking forward to it, if only I can get some of the work done before then. Cheers to all.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Perspective From Missteps
Yesterday, I reverted two or three evolutionary steps. It’s a long story, and a boring one, but what it boils down to is that I thrashed the system for a bit when confronted with a problem that was out of my control. The problem made me anxious, and even though the answer wasn’t likely to change through my conduct, the act of acting seemed important--at the time. Upon waking up this morning, I realized that all that action had simply been to make me feel better in the moment, though none of it was likely to have the slightest effect on the outcome. In thinking about it, I realized that is one happy change that has accompanied this medical adventure: I don’t do that as often as I used to do.
In part, this is because it has become essential to manage my energy all the time now that it is not an option to engage in self-gratifying bursts of activity without paying a price for it: doing so likely means foregoing something constructive. Recognizing that yesterday was an example of backsliding was actually a pleasant moment, because, among other things, it reminds me that I have more energy to allocate than a few months ago. Since this recovery is creeping along so slowly, and its progress is almost impossible to detect on a daily or even weekly basis, that was a nice realization.
The difference isn’t only driven by my new energy-management mandates; in part, it comes from just being older, wiser, and more mature. Most of the time. Time has brought a better ability to pick my battles (as it were) and to get more philosophical about them along the way. I’m better able to pick the things about which I can make a difference and to accept those where I cannot. I’m better at knowing what I control, and most importantly, what I do not. It was nice to stop and savor the progress, while acknowledging that yesterday’s whirl was mostly a waste of perfectly good time and energy.
As we approach another month’s cranioversary on Wednesday, things are coming together and are better than they have been in some time, with exceptions that most notably at this moment include the click in my scalp. I’ll do a status update on the 10th and in the meantime, am savoring yesterday’s example of wasted effort as a small victory. And resetting my resolve not to do stuff like that as much as possible. I like being in a place where mostly I don’t waste my energy or breath on choices other people control.
Today is all teaching, all the time. There have been some “issues” with the copying for my classes, and double-checking this morning for next week (I try to stay one week ahead), sure enough, more shortcomings. At least there’s time to fix it, and there will be no emergency… which brings me full circle to another pleasing example that maybe I’m actually maturing a little bit, over time. Growing up, the urgency of emergencies was often cultivated by the grownups around me, and it was a pattern of behavior I emulated for years, until realizing that I don’t actually like the way it feels nor does it make me feel important, necessary or useful. It just consumes energy I’d rather spend in other ways. Sometimes, just toting up the progress over time can be satisfying. Today is one of those days. I’m off to spend time with great students. Happy Monday.
In part, this is because it has become essential to manage my energy all the time now that it is not an option to engage in self-gratifying bursts of activity without paying a price for it: doing so likely means foregoing something constructive. Recognizing that yesterday was an example of backsliding was actually a pleasant moment, because, among other things, it reminds me that I have more energy to allocate than a few months ago. Since this recovery is creeping along so slowly, and its progress is almost impossible to detect on a daily or even weekly basis, that was a nice realization.
The difference isn’t only driven by my new energy-management mandates; in part, it comes from just being older, wiser, and more mature. Most of the time. Time has brought a better ability to pick my battles (as it were) and to get more philosophical about them along the way. I’m better able to pick the things about which I can make a difference and to accept those where I cannot. I’m better at knowing what I control, and most importantly, what I do not. It was nice to stop and savor the progress, while acknowledging that yesterday’s whirl was mostly a waste of perfectly good time and energy.
As we approach another month’s cranioversary on Wednesday, things are coming together and are better than they have been in some time, with exceptions that most notably at this moment include the click in my scalp. I’ll do a status update on the 10th and in the meantime, am savoring yesterday’s example of wasted effort as a small victory. And resetting my resolve not to do stuff like that as much as possible. I like being in a place where mostly I don’t waste my energy or breath on choices other people control.
Today is all teaching, all the time. There have been some “issues” with the copying for my classes, and double-checking this morning for next week (I try to stay one week ahead), sure enough, more shortcomings. At least there’s time to fix it, and there will be no emergency… which brings me full circle to another pleasing example that maybe I’m actually maturing a little bit, over time. Growing up, the urgency of emergencies was often cultivated by the grownups around me, and it was a pattern of behavior I emulated for years, until realizing that I don’t actually like the way it feels nor does it make me feel important, necessary or useful. It just consumes energy I’d rather spend in other ways. Sometimes, just toting up the progress over time can be satisfying. Today is one of those days. I’m off to spend time with great students. Happy Monday.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
More Than Thoughts Rattling Around In My Head
There was almost no wind after the snowfall this weekend, so all the trees are still outlined in snow. The sun is shining and the world looks peaceful and pretty from the bedroom window. It's the perfect visual for a quiet Sunday.
For some weeks now, I’ve been having a strange sensation on my head in certain positions lying down. Yesterday, when waking up, I rolled over onto the spot and was able to pinpoint it enough for Michael to locate it by feel and later to look at it. Never being able to see the surgery site has been an ongoing frustration throughout this process for me, though there’s no one I’d rather rely on than Michael. There’s definitely something strange going on up there: lying down, there’s a spot where my skull clicks and there seems to be something loose under the skin. The clicking is what hurts. Sitting or standing, the skin tightens enough that whatever it is, it is held in place, which might explain why I don't find it by feel, either, when vertical. We’re wondering if the loose item can be a bone spur or chip or maybe one of the spacers used when putting my head back together. It was nice to figure out why the part that hurts so much at times when prone isn't so apparent when I’m sitting or standing, though the overall result is a bit disquieting. We’ll get an appointment and see if we can figure out what this is and take it from there.
After the exertions of the week, we’re looking at a quiet day. I hope to wade through my reading stack and reduce the pile a bit, read a bit and take a nap. It’s an ambitious agenda. May your day be peaceful and calm, even productive, if that’s your goal. It’s not mine.
For some weeks now, I’ve been having a strange sensation on my head in certain positions lying down. Yesterday, when waking up, I rolled over onto the spot and was able to pinpoint it enough for Michael to locate it by feel and later to look at it. Never being able to see the surgery site has been an ongoing frustration throughout this process for me, though there’s no one I’d rather rely on than Michael. There’s definitely something strange going on up there: lying down, there’s a spot where my skull clicks and there seems to be something loose under the skin. The clicking is what hurts. Sitting or standing, the skin tightens enough that whatever it is, it is held in place, which might explain why I don't find it by feel, either, when vertical. We’re wondering if the loose item can be a bone spur or chip or maybe one of the spacers used when putting my head back together. It was nice to figure out why the part that hurts so much at times when prone isn't so apparent when I’m sitting or standing, though the overall result is a bit disquieting. We’ll get an appointment and see if we can figure out what this is and take it from there.
After the exertions of the week, we’re looking at a quiet day. I hope to wade through my reading stack and reduce the pile a bit, read a bit and take a nap. It’s an ambitious agenda. May your day be peaceful and calm, even productive, if that’s your goal. It’s not mine.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Over and Over
Is Groundhog Day the Bill Murray movie where he has to live the same day over and over until he gets it right? (I know, I could look it up but certitude isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.) Whatever movie that is, that’s my current experience. I’m completely hung up on the next step in a multi-step project and have been banging my head against the wall on it for days. OK, weeks, if you want to get all precise and picky about it. Whatever.
This morning, I realized, again, that what I need to do is to break it into much smaller chunks and start that way. Even though the smaller chunks are also difficult and the way forward isn’t entirely clear, the first one is at least a more plausible task that has a beginning that can be approached.
Why is this a lesson about doing hard, big projects that needs to be re-found so many times? Why doesn’t this wisdom stick and why isn’t it accessible every time there’s something complicated and hard to be done?
Yours in frustration. At least it is finally Friday this week. Only the afternoon and then tomorrow’s keynote speech before it’s the weekend. Sort of.
This morning, I realized, again, that what I need to do is to break it into much smaller chunks and start that way. Even though the smaller chunks are also difficult and the way forward isn’t entirely clear, the first one is at least a more plausible task that has a beginning that can be approached.
Why is this a lesson about doing hard, big projects that needs to be re-found so many times? Why doesn’t this wisdom stick and why isn’t it accessible every time there’s something complicated and hard to be done?
Yours in frustration. At least it is finally Friday this week. Only the afternoon and then tomorrow’s keynote speech before it’s the weekend. Sort of.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Catching My Breath
With this new schedule, it’s time to rethink how the rhythm of the week goes. Again. With teaching all day on Mondays (well, only five hours in the classroom, but with pulling stuff together before, tallying and reflecting on needed improvements for next time afterwards, office hours, and student questions, it takes all day), Tuesdays are going to have to be quiet days. Like an idiot, somehow I didn’t anticipate that in advance (query why not), so Tuesdays have been too full for comfort so far. That means it’s Wednesday before I catch my breath and manage to catch up on my email, clean off my desk, etc., and by then, I’m really dragging. The constant loose ends are making me kind of itchy and irritable. This morning, I finally picked up some clutter that’s been bugging me for days, but I’d felt so rushed I hadn’t stopped for the necessary minute or two to tidy up. What a difference that made in how things felt for then doing the next pieces. I’m working now on clearing at least the mornings on Tuesdays for the rest of the semester to build a better structure looking forward. Live and learn.
Yesterday’s med school teaching reminded me--again--that there’s something important I’m not getting about how the pieces fit together. I’m still seeking that sweet spot where there’s a convergence between what they need to know (based on observation, required graduation competencies and reports of their supervisors and professors), what they want to know, and what engages them in class sessions. It’s puzzling to me why they’re so different from most other groups I work with. Their education makes them more data driven than most groups, so always bringing the research base is mandatory. They aren’t very interested in hearing from anyone except physicians, but there are ways to get around that, which I adopt. Beyond that, though, there’s still an unresolved set of issues. See earlier refrain: live and learn.
Today brings yet more teaching (covering two hours of class for a friend) and then even more piled up meetings before I can get back to pulling together the pieces for the class-under-development and the class-needing-revision. Today also brings, I hope, the first sit down in the new writing plan. The optimistic editor suggests a May deadline for the revised manuscript. Gulp. And, still to work out are all the details about what on earth is going on at the big U for early separation incentives. So far, every single plan put out has been retracted within a day or so; it would be nice if that settles down. At least things aren’t boring. That would be worse.
Happy February.
Yesterday’s med school teaching reminded me--again--that there’s something important I’m not getting about how the pieces fit together. I’m still seeking that sweet spot where there’s a convergence between what they need to know (based on observation, required graduation competencies and reports of their supervisors and professors), what they want to know, and what engages them in class sessions. It’s puzzling to me why they’re so different from most other groups I work with. Their education makes them more data driven than most groups, so always bringing the research base is mandatory. They aren’t very interested in hearing from anyone except physicians, but there are ways to get around that, which I adopt. Beyond that, though, there’s still an unresolved set of issues. See earlier refrain: live and learn.
Today brings yet more teaching (covering two hours of class for a friend) and then even more piled up meetings before I can get back to pulling together the pieces for the class-under-development and the class-needing-revision. Today also brings, I hope, the first sit down in the new writing plan. The optimistic editor suggests a May deadline for the revised manuscript. Gulp. And, still to work out are all the details about what on earth is going on at the big U for early separation incentives. So far, every single plan put out has been retracted within a day or so; it would be nice if that settles down. At least things aren’t boring. That would be worse.
Happy February.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Life and Time Management
Michael and I have been having one of our relatively rare serious disputes. The nice thing about it is how much we’ve learned about problem-solving with each other over the years. Neither one of us always knows at first exactly why we react as strongly as we do to certain elements of situations, and we’ve adapted to letting things unfold and sort themselves out as we go. So while I had a strong (it goes without say it was negative, right?) reaction to something he said on Thursday, I wasn’t completely sure of what accounted for the strength of the reaction for a while and it took me until Saturday to put it into words so that we could take the next step in sorting out which of us owns what in the situation.
While we’re not all the way there yet, there hasn’t been any question between us that, however uncomfortable it is for the moment, we’ll get there, and arrive at an outcome that works for both of us. These aren’t very fun interludes in an otherwise quiet and happy private space together, but each one calls on, strengthens and evokes the bond between us. While the girls say we squabble on a daily basis (though neither of us experience it that way), that’s different from these bigger disagreements. If anything, what the girls experience as squabbling is our way of avoiding too much saccharine in our daily lives; if we spent all our time expressing how we feel most of the time together, it would be too revolting either to live or to be around. And imagine how uncomfortable that would make them, though I doubt either one of them knows how much. So, in our own shorthand, knowing what we know, we go through our rituals together, and others can think what they will. It works for us, and really, since that’s the central relationship in our lives, that’s what matters.
All of that brings me to the fact, that before our big current issue surfaced, it had occurred to me last week sometime that what I really need Michael to tell me, with exactitude, is when he’s going to die. I have a lot of planning to do around that, unless of course, I manage to die first. In his typical way, he’s refusing to tell me that. The uncertainty of knowing how long I get to be this happy is not comfortable. Yeah, yeah, I know all that stuff that goes around this topic. I get reality, in a very fundamental way. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Last week, I had two goals for the week, one of which I accomplished and the other which never really even got started. I managed, finally, yesterday, to do the first large chunk of last week’s task, but today, before the papers come in at 4 (and people come to dinner at 6), it would be really good to see if I cannot knock off the next large chunk of it so that last week wasn’t a total waste. It wasn’t, of course, and tons of stuff got done, just none of the priority things on my list. Randy Pausch (he of The Last Lecture fame) has a great talk on time management in which he nicely demonstrates the importance of doing important things, first those due soon and then those not due soon, before any of the unimportant stuff. (Watch from about 28:30 forward for a bit. What a great teacher he was.) So, in the sense of getting the important stuff done, I didn’t do very well last week. This week, better, I hope. So, this week, in addition to making the classes go, I hope to get two important things advanced, including setting up a writing schedule and getting back to the book manuscript. I’ve gotten some great feedback on the mess I have on hand, and I have a way forward for the next bits of it. Now, all I have to do is write more.
Cheers.
While we’re not all the way there yet, there hasn’t been any question between us that, however uncomfortable it is for the moment, we’ll get there, and arrive at an outcome that works for both of us. These aren’t very fun interludes in an otherwise quiet and happy private space together, but each one calls on, strengthens and evokes the bond between us. While the girls say we squabble on a daily basis (though neither of us experience it that way), that’s different from these bigger disagreements. If anything, what the girls experience as squabbling is our way of avoiding too much saccharine in our daily lives; if we spent all our time expressing how we feel most of the time together, it would be too revolting either to live or to be around. And imagine how uncomfortable that would make them, though I doubt either one of them knows how much. So, in our own shorthand, knowing what we know, we go through our rituals together, and others can think what they will. It works for us, and really, since that’s the central relationship in our lives, that’s what matters.
All of that brings me to the fact, that before our big current issue surfaced, it had occurred to me last week sometime that what I really need Michael to tell me, with exactitude, is when he’s going to die. I have a lot of planning to do around that, unless of course, I manage to die first. In his typical way, he’s refusing to tell me that. The uncertainty of knowing how long I get to be this happy is not comfortable. Yeah, yeah, I know all that stuff that goes around this topic. I get reality, in a very fundamental way. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Last week, I had two goals for the week, one of which I accomplished and the other which never really even got started. I managed, finally, yesterday, to do the first large chunk of last week’s task, but today, before the papers come in at 4 (and people come to dinner at 6), it would be really good to see if I cannot knock off the next large chunk of it so that last week wasn’t a total waste. It wasn’t, of course, and tons of stuff got done, just none of the priority things on my list. Randy Pausch (he of The Last Lecture fame) has a great talk on time management in which he nicely demonstrates the importance of doing important things, first those due soon and then those not due soon, before any of the unimportant stuff. (Watch from about 28:30 forward for a bit. What a great teacher he was.) So, in the sense of getting the important stuff done, I didn’t do very well last week. This week, better, I hope. So, this week, in addition to making the classes go, I hope to get two important things advanced, including setting up a writing schedule and getting back to the book manuscript. I’ve gotten some great feedback on the mess I have on hand, and I have a way forward for the next bits of it. Now, all I have to do is write more.
Cheers.
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