Day Trips, a Medical Update, and a Bathroom Reveal

At the Marine Memorial Museum with early San Franciscans

It's months since I've posted!  Sorry about that.

Here are a few updates before I pretty much switch to Instagram, if you'd like to follow me there. Instagram is short and sweet, easy to use, and more personal.  I'm turning into a lazy old lady.

Some recent adventures:

1. You may have seen this photo on Instagram a couple of days ago.  I was at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center undergoing a cardiac catheterization to check my coronary arteries for blockages.  Good news: all is normal.   This stemmed from my diagnosis of atrial fibrillation last winter and a couple of earlier tests that were inconclusive.

 Worrying about this test and the two that preceded it has taken a lot of energy since January. Thanks to all the pals who listened, soothed, and encouraged.  You know who you are!

2.  A few weeks ago Jerry and I went on a bay cruise from Fisherman's Wharf.  We might have been the only English-speaking people onboard, except for the couple who sat across from us, who spoke Scottish.   Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge was a bucket list item of mine, and I dangled a post-cruise visit to Fort Mason (read: insect habitat) to get Jerry to go.

The vistas were splendid, and I highly recommend checking it out (Red and White Fleet, $32 each for seniors). We took BART and the F Muni streetcar to Fisherman's Wharf and left the car at home.

On board

Sliding past Aquatic Park and Ghirardelli Square

The Marina and the Palace of Fine Arts

Crissy Field and the Presidio

Approaching the bridge

And...

...under!  Looking toward the Marin Headlands

Afterward, the Scottish couple was off to Chinatown (she wore a sleeveless shift on this journey; Jerry and I were in fleece), and we were off to:

Jerry's pay-off and a relaxing oasis in the city.

Butterfly hunting

3.  We've also been out to Angel Island to hike and to see what's up since the last time we were there, c. 1976.  The brief boat ride (10 minutes) departed from Tiburon.  We hiked, and then took an hour-long tram ride around the perimeter of the island and then hiked some more.  Good views from everywhere.

Leaving Tiburon

Ayala Cove, where the boat comes in

Searching roadside weeds for butterflies

Historic US Immigration Station, now open to the public

The tram that circles the island 

View from the west side of the island

 

The butterfly hunt continues

4.  Our bathroom remodel is finished!  Many thanks to my sister, who designed it, and to Geoff Semans, the contractor who put it all together.  For four months, Jerry and I  slept in my studio  to be out of the way of the construction, which got way old!  So did sharing a bathroom (spoiled!). 

 

Before

This space was converted from a master bedroom closet by the previous owners, and we'd done little to it since we bought the house in 1984.  Petite but handy and all mine.

 After

New tile floor,; more compact toilet;  new vanity, quartz countertop, mosaic splash, shower door, recessed lighting, and medicine cabinet

 

  

The small magnifying mirror has been a godsend for this blind old bat doing her eye make-up (from Amazon, of course )

And that's it!

I've also been to two quilt shows, and maybe I'll get to posting photos from those.  So much for ending the blog...

What the Doctor Ordered

These days, I get up in the morning, make a big cup of black tea, and start reading Google News on my phone to find out what fresh hell Trump has stirred up.

Then I switch to the Washington Post, The New York Times, and sometimes The Guardian.  By breakfast, I am wired and outraged.    

I know I should stop.  But as my friend Debbie says, "I keep thinking I will take a day off, but then I don't because I'm scared to not know."

Me, too.  I'm scared not to know.   Take your eye off Trump for half a day and God knows what he'll do next.

Well! This morning I had an appointment with one of my doctors, a woman in her sixties who lives in Berkeley, so you can imagine the conversation.   She's incensed by Trump and just about ordered me (is it in my chart?) to join  Indivisible , an organization founded by Congressional ex-staffers who suggest ways to make your voice heard most effectively.  Apparently, you're assigned a pro-democracy, anti-Trump task  to do every single day. 

Among other things, the doctor wrote to Dianne Feinstein and told DiFi that she'd never vote for her again if  she didn't oppose the Cabinet nominees.  And what happened?  DiFi started opposing the nominees!  The doctor's very bucked up.

Then she wrote to Uber and told them she was quitting because their top executive met with Trump.  Haven't heard back on that one.

And the demise of the Affordable Care Act?  She waved that off.  Patients are being overcharged and insurance companies and hospitals are making millions.  She assured me that doctors were not.  We need single payer health insurance, and that's it.  She was very firm about that.

I came straight home and wrote to Dianne Feinstein and Kamala Harris. 

It's a start.

 Does he know this is for real?

* * * * *

I'm in one of those phases where I feel like I've physically aged several years overnight.  I squint at myself in the mirror and wonder what the hell's happened.  Crepey skin, more chin hairs, and a shocking web of wrinkles under my eyes.

 My ineffectual arsenal

More cream, more plucking, more exfoliating more, more, and more, and not much difference.    Maybe I should start an organization called "Invisible," because that's what women in their sixties are,  unless they yell loudly,  which is not a bad idea (see above).

My mental state has also taken a hit, and not just by Trump.  Last week I learned that a friend has a serious illness, another friend has died, and someone else has had a skirmish with a cancer caught at an early stage.  You reach an age where death no longer surprises, but it's still shocking.  

The other night, Jerry and I watched an eccentric movie called "Still Life," about a nerdy, fortyish Englishman who's in charge of tracking down relatives of people who are found dead.  He's not very successful, and sometimes he's the only person at the funeral, for which he writes a eulogy that a minister reads.  In the end, you realize that the message is kindness, and we are in so much need of it.  It's classified as "drama/comedy," but I'd call it black humor (Amazon Prime).

* * * * *

We're taking on another bathroom remodel, due to leaks, mold, inconvenience, and, yes, a "dated" look.

For this, we're going to have to move out of our bedroom and into my studio,  which means I'll have to find another place to quilt.  Afterward, I'll have a sleek new bathroom in a former closet (converted by the last owners).

 Where will it all go?  Haven't dealt with that yet.

* * * * *

This rose bush will not give out!  I keep thinking I've cut the last bloom, and it produces another.  A rose in the winter of our discontent, etc.

Hang On and Help Out

At least they're color-coordinated

Not to rain on anyone's New Year's parade, but honestly, hasn't it been a wretched year?  Or is it just the year?  If we're honest, isn't aging, which occurs every year,  a bitch?

I say this as a person who was diagnosed last week with something called atrial fibrillation, which I never paid much attention to as an illness when I was young and well, although I did notice that there were lots of ads on the evening news for blood thinners that had something to do with AFib.

Now I know.  Palpitations that I thought were an occasional bother, turned out to be caused by an electrical storm in my heart.  And the storm can cause blood to pool, which can cause clots, which can cause strokes. Oh, boy. 

All this I found out when a cardiologist called me on Christmas Eve (I knew it wasn't going to be good news).  He'd analyzed output from a monitor I wore for two weeks, and on the very last day I wore the monitor I had an episode of AFib.

Not to whine, but this was the same week I found out I'm allergic to a glaucoma med, plus I had  to have yet another bone scan to monitor my osteoporosis.

I told the cardiologist this when I met with him on Tuesday.

"All these things going wrong!" I said.

"Well, it's better than the alternative," he said, cheerfully.   He looked about 40 and very fit.

"What causes atrial fibrillation?"

"In your case, aging," he said.  "Now let's talk about blood thinners."  He got very involved in the merits of various meds they advertise on the evening news, which must have a geriatric audience.

Wait until you're 66, I thought.  Just wait.  You get chipped away at.

Yesterday, sitting around a table with my quilt mini-group for our annual Christmas party, I surveyed my friends and catalogued what these 60+ year-olds have gone through:  breast cancer (2), knee replacements (3), lung cancer (2), and now AFib (1).  And these are active, healthy, middle-class people who take care of themselves.   I see clients at the Berkeley Food Pantry who are my age, according to their driver's licenses, who use canes or who have come straight from the hospital after heart attacks.   Poverty seems to accelerate physical decline, which is entirely unacceptable.

We older peeps have gotten wiser with age, and many of us have more money than we did at 25, but there's illness and even tragedy around every bend, if you have your headlights on.   The AARP shows us slender, happy couples in sweats jogging around their retirement community, and God knows happy times are still possible, but let's get real.  At least one of those people is taking blood thinners to avoid stroke.  These decades are booby-trapped.

Anne Lamott says we're here to see each other through,  and I agree.  All we do is hang on and help out.

Anyway, happy New Year.  There are still rewards to be had.  I think.

Medical Bills--Is There A Planet They Go To That We Don't Know About?

We've gotten a blizzard of paper about the colonoscopy/endoscopy I had last month, and it's a complete mystery to me how it's worked out.  I can see why Bernie Sanders's hair looks the way it does.  Medical billing in this country is extra-terrestrial.

Here's how it shakes down:

Bills from doctors, anesthesiologist, lab, surgical center:  $9961.  Let's call it $10,000.

Blue Shield paid (we don't have Medicare): $2,992.  Let's call it $3,000.

We paid: $742.

That leaves  more than $6,000 unaccounted for, billed to Blue Shield, which brushed it off!  The providers aren't fighting this, so why did they bill so much in the first place?

No matter who wins the election--a Democrat, God willing--I hope we can sign up for Medicare.  The University of California let us opt out in 1975 when Social Security looked dicey.  Big mistake (?).

* * * * *

A couple of quilt books I'm enjoying:

Being a general boy-cotter of quilt classes, I'm learning new techniques and getting some new ideas.

* * * * *

Have a good week-end, if you read this before it happens...

A Quilt Show Jaunt

Thanks, everybody,  for the sympathy and commiseration following my post about shingles.  My friend Marion commented that shingles pain was like being shot in the back, and that's the best description I've heard.    I'm feeling better, and some days I'm able to get out and about--briefly.  Then back to ice packs...  

* * * * *

I made a quick trip to the Stitch Modern quilt show sponsored by East Bay Modern Quilters at the Piedmont Art Center.

The show is small, but includes a range of quilts--modern, traditional, complex, simple, and heartfelt.  I managed to get photos of most of them, but hastily, because the place was about to close.

Sampler Quilt I, Kristen Takakuwa

Shattered Heartburst, Lacy Asbill

Handcrafted Round Robin, Rita Nguyen, Anna Carloni, Terri Carpenter, Birgit Hottenrott, and Kristen Takakuwa

Stacked Coins - I Ching, Michele Wyman

Alas, I didn't get the name of the quilt or quilter, and I can't make it out in the photo.  Nice quilting.

Black Lives Matter, Elizabeth Jerde

Refractions, Chancy Fessler

Double Wedding Ring Quilt, Tara Faughnan (hand quilted!)

Playing with Color, Patricia Smith

Challenge #1,  Inta Faulk

HiFi, Kathy Grady.  A whole cloth quilt made with hand-dyed fabric

Luna Mountains, Claire Sherman

Bits and Pieces, Stacy Sharman

Beehive,  Dan Rouse

Window: Embers, Darci Read

(detail)

 Convergence, Carol Van Zandt.  Quilted by Terri Carpenter

 Pink X,  Stacy Sharman. A quilt made from "pieced triangles of wool taken from women's career clothing of the 1980s and 90s: a jacket with tremendous shoulder pads, a tailored pink wool dress, a cashmere sweater, to name a few of the items."

And guess who else was there?

Kate Johnson, who taught the pool exercise class I joined in 2002, a wonderful teacher who inspired many couch potatoes to get with an exercise program.   She left in 2010 (or later?  neither of us could remember) to study for a certificate in nutrition.  She's working with people in pools again, though, and quilting!  Thank you, Kate, for introducing me to the only exercise program I've been able to stick with.

* * * * *

Stitch Modern,  Piedmont Arts Center, 801 Magnolia Ave, Piedmont, through May 8.  The hours are 12 pm-3 pm, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.