The Sick, Dead, and Dying

This is a post which I have adapted/ added to which I never completed last summer after visiting my Opa. It has some bits which aren't true to timing, but I've chosen to leave them. The original title was Realities...you'll see why.

Reality number one, summer is over.
Reality number two, school is starting.
Reality number three, all good things on earth must come to an end.
Reality number four, this post is late.

The Sick
My house, as you might know from last week, has become a hospital for sick cats. Fred and George decided to get sick within a few days of each other. Now they are both home and steadily recovering. George you might never have known was sick. Differences as a result of this drama include diet changes, and for now at least, a pill. Each cat has successfully claimed their own personal food needs. So now Lily eats with George downstairs, Lily eats the boring dry food and George gets spoiled with a scoop of prescribed dry and a little wet. Meanwhile upstairs Fred is scarfing down chicken. The twins are on the same medication for swollen bowls and they are both due for a follow up appointment sometime in the next week or two. The ordeal has reminded me how much we take health for granted. Life is so temporary. A seemingly healthy cat one day might be dying the next. I'd like to note that the sick stage is hardest for me. I don't like others to be in pain. The uncertainty of of whether it is goodbye or if a cure is possible is something that haunts me.

The Dead
I don't often contemplate death even knowing it could happen at any minute. Lately however, with three Old relatives, one of whom might not be far off, I've had to. I have been to more funerals in my life than weddings. Two of those I supplied the music for. Four of them were for relatives. Causes have been old age ailments, cancer, and suicide. Just this week I attended a service for Elizabeth Elliot, an incredible woman whose husband and his group of friends were killed by a tribe they were bringing the gospel to. Elizabeth and her daughter then lived with that very same tribe for many years afterword. This particular service was good. Many friends, and relatives spoke of their memories. Joni Eareckson Tada was the big speaker which I didn't know until I was there. In general, I don't know what I think about funerals and burials. Perhaps it seems as if too much emphasis is put into holding on to those passed. I mentioned that I handle sickness worse than death, at least I think I do. At funerals, and I am including those for whom I was directly related, I cannot cry. Perhaps I am cold and unfeeling but I can recall sitting in services among other mourners who were weeping their eyes out and I could not summon a tear. Does this make me a horrible person? You could excuse me for being young at the time, but I do not think that children feel things any less strongly than adults. This was all merely an aside, I am not going to linger on the subject.

The Dying
I have been off in the far flung corners of the states, soaking up the last bit of freedom and sunshine. Along with that, I have been visiting with the Old, and with that came the awful realisation that no matter how great you live your life, we will nearly all leave this world as pitiful and clueless as we came into it. Needing help possibly even more. So small, forgetful, and broken. The Old are simply little wisps, hovering around, worrying about what they cannot control and wondering what they are forgetting.

I am reminded of a quote by T.S. Elliot which says,
"Death has a hundred hands and walks by a thousand ways."*

I'm not sure exactly what it means, but it sounds creepy and expresses how death is unavoidable. Another quote goes,
"A man may walk with a lamp at night, and yet drown in a ditch."

No matter if you follow the most regimented workout schedule and eat super healthy. No matter if you work from home and never drive a car. No matter if you spend your entire life holed up in an empty room and have your food delivered to you through a cat door, death will find you. It's like Sleeping Beauty who, threatened with the curse of 100 years of sleep if pricked by a spindle, took precautions to banish every sharp object from the kingdom. Of course, one little slipup is what got her in the end. But who would want to live with that kind of fear and never take risks? It's like that proverb about the fool who says he won't go outside because there might be a lion in the road. Well you might also have a heart attack. Or be bitten by a disease carrying insect. The what-ifs are endless.

I just finished reading a book by Madeleine L'Engle called Summer of The Great-Grandmother. It was very good and I'd recommend it to anyone because at some point almost every person has or will have to deal with an aging parent. It helped me know how to handle my grandma when she asks who I am, or when she points at the tv commercial and says something big is going to happen. Or asks where I live for the 100th time. She can't help it. Doesn't know she's doing anything out of the ordinary. It scares me though, when I can't get myself to laugh it off. Will mother be like that? Will I?

"We have gone on living,
Living and partly living."

Being Old just doesn't seem like there is much life left enough to live. A shriveled shell which is susceptible to viruses, cuts, and diseases. They must be careful whatever they do. Their schedules involve menial tasks which they spend hours on when in reality it should take minutes. When they go places they must hurry not to be late and then hurry home so they can do nothing.

"I am not in danger: only near to death."

I would like to point out that dying isn't something God designed when he created the world. It came as a result of sin. Still, if you know where you're going, it isn't something to fear because glory is on the other side. As Revelation 21:4 puts it,
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever."

Okay, enough on that. I'll end by writing briefly about something we don't usually associate with death: babies. They signify more like new life, right? So a day or so after I got home from the trip, I got a call asking if I could watch a 14 week old baby while the granny was away. This is new...and only a month after being asked about watching an almost newborn! That's the third one this year. Who decided I would be good with babies? I agreed, and have become officially impressed and empathetic for mamas with little babies. I babysat this kid for ten days, 8 and a half hours per day. That felt like a looong time. I think a full time job is something like 40 hours a week. I was doing 42 and a half. But I can't imagine what 24 hours seven days a week would be like. Add on a couple more young children who can crawl and walk? Ahhhhh! I'm pretty sure I am going to be having nightmares about crying babies for at least a week.

I'm going to stop now because, and here's a last quote,
"Human kind cannot bear very much reality."

*all quotes from today's post unless otherwise noted are from Murder in the Cathedral by T.S. Elliot

Home Sweet Home

I am probably done with my travels for the summer, the big journeys anyhow. I got my dose of summer, even if it's not going to visit me. However, getting back home again I had a lot of exciting things to look forward to. A couple include: no air conditioning, no internet, no car, no hot water, a disgusting kitchen, and sick cats. I said it was exciting.

Yeah, so maybe getting home wasn't a thrill. The air conditioning I can deal with, the internet is closer than it might have been, and the car has been out for months. But the broken water heater? Not fun. Can't even take showers because it's got a dial instead of separate handles for hot and cold which makes the spigot not work at all. Guessed it yet? This means cold baths. Not just cold as in the refreshing showers you might challenge yourself to take once in a while when it's hot. No, this is ice cold water. Lake Michigan cold. Makes your brain freeze every time you go under. It's been a couple weeks now but thankfully a hot water isn't in the same league as a car that the P.U. thinks we can do without.

Also when we got home the kitchen was nasty. What's new? Flies everywhere, and odors of rot and who knows what else. I could barely feed the cats it was so gross. The cats. I left knowing Fred was lighter than he had been before, but I didn't think I'd come home to a skeleton. Not dead, no, but ravaged. I could feel his spine and see his hollow sides. The little meow he had regained was completely gone. Then there was the multiple piles of urp. We waited another day, realized he was not getting any better, and brought him in Wednesday to get weighed. He had lost nearly 3 and a half pounds. What is that for a cat? A quarter or a third of his total body weight? Things weren't looking good. The doctor was booked until Tuesday. Fred couldn't wait that long. We brought him home and hoped for a cancelation. 

On Thursday, it came. The phone rang and I picked it up. It was the clinic saying they could take him at 5:00. I wasn't sure how I'd get him there, but he needed the appointment so I said I'd take it.

Two hours later, I came to the conclusion that I would be walking Fred the half mile to the clinic. So I packed him into the pet taxi, and off we went, slowly but surely. 20 long minutes later, with very sore arms, we arrived with time to spare. As we sat in the waiting room, I felt like someone waiting to hear if their best friend has cancer. I let Fred out and he curled up behind my back and began purring. When the nurse came in Freddy continued purring through the exam. She told him he was a sweet cat and he liked that. Then the Dr. came for his part, and said that losing so much weight was bad. I knew that. Then he felt around Fred's belly and said that his artery walls were thickened. That was the most likely reason Fred wasn't able to keep his food down.

He also voiced the suspicion that there could be fluids that shouldn't be there, which, he didn't say directly, but probably meant eminent death. That was a scary thought. But after taking Fred back and running a quick test, he said there was nothing there. What they'd do then would be take some blood so they could run a panel and also test for Leukemia. I could pick one or the other or both. I didn't know what to do. I got some numbers of how much it would cost and called my sister. After consulting, we went ahead and told them to run both tests. He said the results would come in the morning. I began the trek home and it started to rain. I draped my raincoat over Fred's carrier so he wouldn't get wet and arrived home sore, wet, and worried.

Friday morning I took the call and the Dr. explained all Fred's levels of health. The gist was that Fred did not have leukemia, but a case of severely enflamed bowels. All I had to do was pick up some antiinflammatory pills, follow the dosage, and he should be fine. I picked them up ready to begin that night. Relief.

Then, Monday night, I came home from rehearsal to find George outside lying on the ground, face in a bowl of water, lying completely still as if dead. Not George! I thought. The dear p.u. said I'd have a dead cat if I didn't do anything about it. I nearly lost my wits. I picked him up and brought him in. He was cold. More than normal. So I frantically began thinking of a friend who would still be awake and whose car we could take to get George to the emergency care. I found someone, and after much anxiety trying to find the clinic, got him in. Waiting. I was a complete mess by this time, and was unhelpfully thinking
"No, Fred dies first! George loses an ear, but Fred dies." I guess that shows where my heart is. What a jerk I am. After a minute with the nurse, she said his temperature was low and took him to the back. I knew that was a bad sign. Waiting. 

Then the Dr. came in and explained very bluntly how George had a urinary tract infection, his pee was blocked which was fatal, and how he was near exploding point. It is what Fred had last year, and is apparently the most common emergency they see in male cats.

Dr. then said what the procedure was, how some die in the process, how Georgie's kidneys might be damaged, all the things that could go wrong, whether or not we wanted George to be given CPR if his heart should stop. I suppose he mentioned at some point that the procedure had a high success rate, but mainly I heard that George was about to die because of his elevated levels. Of course we gave the okay and after a short visit, George was taken behind closed doors. Before he went, I whispered in his ear "hang in there George." Waiting. About 1:00 a.m. they were finished with the chancy part. He'd made it, peed, and we could think about his future. He was transferred to our local clinic in the morning. Waiting.

George has been there since Tuesday now. They are keeping him while he recovers. He has a catheter still so they can see when his pee isn't bloody, an IV connected by a tiger bandage to his paw for hydration so they can keep him cleaned out, and a cone collar so he doesn't mess any of it up. I visited him on Wednesday, Thursday, and today. My designated driver was along as well, and though I know I'm being irrational, was being slightly annoying because I don't agree with people only petting and enjoying a cat when they're sick. 

Anyhow, George is doing well and they said he can come home tomorrow. He'd have been back today except he had another bout of red and they wanted that monitored. George has everyone there loving him, of course. Who can help themselves from falling for a drugged kitty who is already overly friendly? One of the nurses called him a dork. It's not just me, he's special. He seems to be enjoying himself though. They say he likes all the flavours of food so far, and always wants belly rubs. I pick him up in the morning.

I'm still worried about Fred. I thought he'd gained weight because he wasn't throwing up, but now I'm not so sure. I think we'll bring him in for a weight check tomorrow as well. I wish these dear twins could just be cute as always and not cause all kinds of heart wrenching trouble. God is definitely testing my trust and how I view my pets. I always thought of Fred as a kind of younger brother because he is so annoying. He meows, he eats icky food, he smells, he catches gross animals and eats them, and he is always sticking his wet nose at me. But like a younger brother, however much I sometimes am angry with him, I don't want him to die. I would miss that cracked meow, cuddly head, motorcycle purr, and long nose. He's the only semi normal cat we have. And what would George do without his brother?

I already have a post picked for next week, the topic in any case. Tune in if you're in need of some more depression in your life. I'm off to do some more waiting.

MC part 2

It's still Friday and here is Part 2, as promised.

The viola professor. I don't know how to describe her. She's a super cool person, has very much her own style, and a way of speaking that makes everyone like her. Demanding at the same time though, it's a strange combo. By the end of my first lesson I was already so much better. I've been working on the same dratted piece on and off for about a year and a half. I didn't practice it much except for a few isolated measures because I didn't like the piece. I listened to other people play it, but couldn't get myself to enjoy it at all. Until music camp. My ears were opened up not only to how painfully lifeless and boring I was playing it, but how I could fix it, make it interesting to play and listen to.

Now I really like it. It's still probably not my favorite, but there is real music in there if only I pay attention. That probably made up half of the lessons I learned. Listen. Listen to yourself, both to what sounds bad and what sounds good. Enjoy what is pretty. We musicians too often get stuck on the bad, ignoring all the good and beautiful, never truly enjoying what we play.

Something mentioned during devos or a career lecture, can't remember which, made me feel pretty good about myself and music in general. About how music lessons are helpful in so many different ways beyond learning the instrument itself. The process of learning it teaches skills such as focusing on super small details. Working effectively to get the smallest trills perfect. A surgeon better pay darn close attention to little details, because if she doesn't, things aren't gonna go well. There was an amazing opera singer who went on to become a very successful lawyer using the skills she'd developed. Confidence from performances, and the ability to tell convincing stories which no doubt came from the many dramatic roles she played in operas.

I didn't get a lesson on the third day because my teacher has a couple week old baby and understandably can't be everywhere and do everything anymore. That was disappointing, but also means I have an extra lesson to look forward to over the summer. Instead of our lessons, I got to play the coolest viola duets ever with a councilor who is also a violist. We were given them with the instruction to have fun and enjoy great viola music together. Which we did. Who knew there was sight readable interesting music for violas out there?

My last lesson was super fun. Mainly because she said she wanted me to be in her viola studio class during the year. It's like a group masterclass lesson for viola majors. She thought it would be beneficial for me but also for her students. So I said yeah, I'd love to! And then she asked if I would babysit for her during a class she teaches. Of course I said yes! I got to start right away though because Baby was asleep and Mrs. G was teaching another lesson after mine. So I carried Baby around the halls for a little over 30 minutes probably. It seemed like a long time though because my arms got so tired. Mothers must develop huge muscles from having children. First iron feet and back before the baby's born, then carrying around weights balanced on their forearms non stop, weights which are always getting heavier.

Okay, sorry for the tangent. The last thing, non chronologically, that we worked on was vibrato. I know that I have a rather terrible vibrato. My hand is too tense and in order to have smooth and controllable vibrato, it must be relaxed. It might be the one technique that frustrates me more than any other. I've had numerous teachers give tips on learning it, one who I've mentioned before. He's kind of famous. He said to hold the wrist against the shoulder in third position so that it would stay still and only move above where it is stuck to the instrument. Work on it every day and it will be immensely better in two months. Two years and I'll have it down, worst case scenario.

I have a lesson with the camp teacher and she says that vibrato isn't or shouldn't be wrist motion, it's the whole arm. Which is so different! I can't just switch by thinking about it. My entire vibrato career has been from the wrist. I hadn't gotten far with the other instruction either, but arm vibrato is starting from scratch. So I'm not sure who to listen to. The older and perhaps wiser? Or the other who is also talented and uses arm vib? I suppose if I were to study with her further, I would go with her technique.

Enough musical terms. I think I've probably bored you to tears. I will finish with a description of free time, which there wasn't much of. One thing we did was square dance. Yep, musicians are cool like that. And we had real live fiddle music to dance to. When I say we, I don't really include myself because I was simply watching with some others. The dance only required eight. We also played Ultimate Frisbee, walked through downtown at 10:00 for ice cream that no one ended up buying, and watched big hero 6 while eating popcorn.

On Saturday we had a recital for anyone who had signed up and wanted to play. I soloed the exposition I had fixed up and my quartet played our piece. Both went well, as did the rest of the recital. Then came packing, number exchanges, a last lunch, and farewells. I could have gone for another week. It was an experience I shan't soon forget.

Music Camp Part 1

Go ahead and say it. I'm an unreliable, untrustworthy, irresponsible, inconsistent, deceptive, oath breaking and lazy blogger who can't manage my time or priorities. Summer seems just as full as the school year but in a sneaky way. Each Friday comes and goes and I'll lie in bed thinking "darn, I didn't post today!" *sad face* Though we are now into July, I'm going to go back a bit into the middle of June in which I wrote the beginning of this post.

I just had one of if not the best week of my life! I have been at music camp with some of the coolest, friendliest people I'll probably ever meet, super great professors, funny councilors, and one awesome viola teacher. Seven whole days spent living on the other side of the train tracks. But seriously, it was incredible. Stick 17 Christian musicians together and there are instant friendships.

God works in a mysterious way. What started as a camp that didn't look like it was going to make it off the ground turned into the perfect amount of attendance for a terrific week. I signed up not sure how I would pay for it. In the end a number of people contributed money so that I could go. That was just the beginning of God showering blessings.

I was the only local kid at camp, others coming from places as far as Indonesia, Philippines, and Alaska. It was kinda fun being asked for directions. I've practically lived on campus this past year with orchestra and all. It was weird getting to take lessons from professors, most of whom I have known since I was a little tyke. But enough sentimentality. About the camp.

Every morning we had breakfast at 8ish(a.m.!!). Then afterwards we had group devotions which might have been one of my favourite parts.
We reflected a lot on the verse Ephesians 2:10
"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
And decided that even if that were the only verse in the whole Bible, it would be enough to think about and enough comfort to ponder for a lifetime. The other thing we did was read through a short book called Art For God's Sake. Each chapter was assigned to a pair of kids who volunteered to read it beforehand and then prepare a little summary/ lesson. I surprised myself and volunteered to lead the second to last chapter. Of course, despite our best intentions, the other girl and I didn't get a chance to talk about it with each other until a couple minutes beforehand that morning, but it worked out.

After devos we headed to "movement class." This alternated between two techniques called Alexander and Feldenkrais. I definitely preferred one over the other. Whereas one is feel good stretching with some yoga-ish poses, the other we spent the entire 45min lying on our backs on a mat trying to visualize and feel each individual vertebrae along our spines move up and down. Someone was snoring quietly during it.

Next on the schedule was practice time, which didn't turn out to be enough at all. However, some practice is better than my usual none and it was probably more productive than if I had been given a few hours. After a short period which seemed like only enough to get unpacked, it was lecture time. Some of these were about applications, a bit about majors, volunteering, careers in music, and two were spent with one very vivacious music history prof. He is one of the most energetic, passionate- about- music guys I've met. On two nights we went into the city for orchestra concerts. The afternoon before each of these, we had the pleasure of previewing the concert pieces, composers, and were told what themes to listen for by the history prof.

Normally, I'd much rather play music than listen to it. But this guy made it so interesting, that everyone caught the bug. During both nights I could recognize parts the prof. had pointed out. I focused much better. Ooh and the first time we went, the Walton viola concerto was played! I was probably the only one that liked it that much. The second concert, both were outdoors, it rained. And everyone was wet and varying levels of miserable. I didn't mind all that much because it's okay to be having a bad time if it's together with friends. All in all, the concerts were good.

The first night, instead of the outdoor orchestra, we watched a faculty recital. I love the music profs and it was sooo fun to hear them perform. My favorite was a cello and viola duet (my two instruments!). They were having so much fun together and you could hear it, feel it, and see through the music and the way they smiled and communicated with one another. Almost everyone said it was their favourite too. Why are violists so made fun of?

Theory class, surprisingly, was a blast. I'm not sure I learned all that much because half of it I knew and the other half I can't remember, but the teacher was hilarious. He was almost always making jokes, or puns, and brought in desserts twice. Then came the best part of each day; lessons. First was a group/technique class. This I could have cared less about because, as the only violist, I was in it with a bunch of violins. I learned a couple useful tips though. It was after that that was great. Private lessons with Mrs. G.

You'll have to wait until next week for that though. I've decided to split this up into two parts because I can, and because it's long. Tune in next week to read about what I learned during lessons, a dilemma in advice, and exciting news about prospects for this school year. You won't want to miss it.