Roberta Teller: Reflections on the Unexpected Deaths of Friends

I talk to Miami-mostly when I’m feeling down, blue, going through an emotional time. or need advice. I talk to her while driving in the car, or in the bath or sometimes as I’m falling asleep.  Recently, when I had my hip replacement surgery, she was there with me in the operating room. 

Miami died on Sept. 14, 1999, two months after her 50th birthday. We had talked a couple of days before.  She told me she thought she had a blood clot and promised me that she would make an appointment with her doctor the next day.  I never found out if she did make that appointment, but I do know that she had a massive seizure 3 days later that rendered her brain dead. The doctor and family agreed to pull the plug after no brain activity for 2 days.  She had just celebrated her 50th birthday. Her death shocked and rocked me. It left a hole in me that over the years has only gotten bigger and more painful.  I thought that time healed wounds, but not in this case. Contrary to what I believed, this loss has become greater as time passes.  And as the years go by, I miss her more and more.  Several years ago, I became really angry and I started yelling at Miami for abandoning me .  Where was she?  I needed her!!!!  She responded to my tirade.  We’ve been talking ever since. 

I am fortunate to have lived so far to my 66th birthday in good health.  I’ve had my  issues, but nothing life threatening (Knock wood!) .   Some of my other friends have not been so lucky.  Ginger had been diagnosed with acid indigestion, so when she had her last symptoms, her partner gave her a Tums. She died from an undiagnosed heart problem at 57.  Jim died of a stroke or heart attack at 62 somewhere between Oakland and LA along Highway 5.  Kenny had just returned home from a game of basketball and collapsed and died in his living room.  We were teenagers when we met, I married him at 21 and although our marriage ended 33 years and lifetimes ago, I was heartbroken. He was 60 when he died.  Why didn’t I go to that poker tournament he asked me to attend in Vegas?  

I think about these old friends of mine.  Sometimes, it’s a dream, other times it’s a song on the radio. Sometimes it’s when I drive by or remember favorite restaurants we frequented.  Every once in a while I look at the obituaries and wish that I had seen the one written about Ginger.  Had I seen it, I would have known a lot sooner that she had died and could have attended her memorial service and grieved with her friends and family. We hadn’t spoken in about a year and a half.......we were both workaholics in distant school districts and work took precedence......Her friends tried to find me, but couldn’t......my unlisted phone number didn’t help. 

I was waiting until I retired to contact Jim.  We were very close for many years. We had so much fun together and somewhere along the way, we had a falling out. I was always going to call him when I had more time.......wish I had known that his time would be up before I got around to it. 

I miss these old friends of mine.  They are all part of my story, woven into the fabric of my life. And yes, I talk to one of them and lovingly remember the others.  I can’t go back and change what’s been done, but I do hope that I remember to make time for who and what is most important to me.  And forgive myself for my  screwed up priorities.

Roberta Teller says, "I do not want to die while I am alive."

When I was in my mid 50’s,  I would suddenly awaken, panic stricken in the deepest, darkest hours of the night,  with the realization that,   I AM GOING TO DIE!!!!!   I would lie in bed terrified, feeling completely powerless as I faced my inevitable demise......

Now, in my 60’s, I sometimes think the same thoughts.  What’s different, though, is, that  now the thought usually comes to me during the day, and it is without the terror and fear and charge of my 5th decade.  It almost feels like a sense of awe comes over me....like, “Wow, I am really going to die.”.......most of the panic and fear is gone, replaced with a reverence for life and a deep respect for the mystery of death.  The truth is we are all going to die.  Everyone and everything that is alive dies.  There is no escaping it.  

What I fear most now is a life not lived.....a life devoid of meaning, a life without love and connection.  

I do not want to die while I am still alive.  

And so, my commitment is to honor my life by:

Being present in all that I do 

Ensuring  quality time with those whom I love and care about

Spending my time doing what I most care about

Yes, I am going to die.......and dammit, I am going to live while I’ve got the chance.....

Roberta Teller reflects on hip replacement surgery, help and healing

If you had told me a year and a half ago that I was going to need hip replacement surgery in the near future,  I would have replied, “What are you,  NUTS?   Me, an avid ,”Get me to the gym, kinda gal. Someone who enjoys an active lifestyle, loves traveling to exotic places, enjoys hiking, walking....... I didn’t get the name, “Biker B”, out of nowhere....”  Plus, I have strong bones-no osteoporosis in this girl’s body......

So after 18 months of chiropractic, naturopathy, physical therapy, bone density supplements, acupuncture (okay only a couple of sessions due to my needle phobia-not that I don’t believe in it! ), daily epsom salt baths, massage, an appointment to consider stem cell implants, and ultimately a suspension of my belief about my flawless physical self. I had to acknowledge that the arthritis in my right hip was not getting better.  It was getting worse by the day.  I tossed and turned every night  and was becoming increasingly sleep deprived.  Chronic pain and sleep deprivation are not a good combination. The reality was that I was  becoming physically, emotionally, mentally and socially, debilitated .  I didn’t recognize myself or my life anymore. I tried to hold on.  I tried to maintain my regular routines.....simple things like a morning meditation and tarot reading, picking and arranging flowers from the garden into vases around the house, taking a walk around the neighborhood, going out to dinner with my partner, Diana  or friends, even sitting around watching TV, all became chores rather than delights.......Trying is not the same as living fully and I couldn’t even try anymore......It was time to make a date for surgery.  

I’d never had surgery before, unless you count some teeth extractions, a couple of sigmoidoscopies, 3 colonoscopies, (one of them being a virtual which to me is worse than the regular one, but that’s another story) and once I had a fatty tumor removed from my right upper arm. There is not one former broken bone in this 66 year old body.  

Oh, and did I tell you that I am a wuss?  I can honestly say that the sight of blood doesn’t make me faint or even dizzy, but that is where my bravery ends and my squeamishness takes over.  It is all downhill from here.   I have an extreme aversion to needles (remember what I said about acupuncture?)  I cannot even look at someone in the movies or on TV get a shot or have blood drawn without feeling faint and nauseated.  The notion of having my body cut and violated-with layers upon layers of stitches being sewn into my precious body after having the ball end of my femur removed so that the new cobalt ball and titanium parts  could be inserted into my body, defy anything that I could wrap my head around.    And maybe that’s a good thing......because once I made the decision to have the surgery, I focused completely on getting through it as bravely and cooperatively as I could.  I was not going to enter that operating room a weeping, wuss.  I was determined to meet my surgery, my surgeons and the hospital staff with calm, focus and a clear image of me as a cooperative and engaged patient and have a successful and easy operation.  And most amazingly, I did.

And I didn’t do it alone........the hospital offered an excellent two hour class that addressed pre-op questions and protocols, what to expect in the hospital and post-surgical issues.  The class was taught by the orthopedic Physician’s Assistant, a pre-op nurse, (as it turned out) my physical therapist and a psychologist who discussed the value of visualization  and guided imagery as  successful tools for surgery.  And while each presentation was most informative  and valuable, I made several follow-up  appointments with Dr. Murphy, the psychologist to help guide me and my mind through a most successful surgery.

Perhaps,  besides my clarity and understanding of the surgical procedure, and  my grounded mind and positive expectations, the most important person to my recovery has been my partner of 23 years, Diana.  She was the person I wanted to feast my eyes upon when I came out of the recovery room.  And there she was.......She was the person who brought me all the nourishing food those first couple of days I was in the hospital.  And never did I have to worry about being cared for once I got home because she was there with her unwavering support (literally and figuratively) as I took my steps in my recovery.  She was there supplying me with all the supplements to support my healing.  She was there with nourishing meals, dressing me and freezing her butt off as she washed and dried me in our tiny bathtub making sure all the time that I was safe from falling.  

When someone in a family falls ill and has health problems, we sometimes forget the impact on the others.  For the past year and a half, I have suffered-there’s no denying that. I have been uncomfortable, grumpy, scared, tired, energyless, unavailable and shutdown.  And, I have been supported, visited, contacted, and commended.  I have received gifts and cards and words of encouragement.  I have been loved and cared for.  

And during this time, my Diana has stood quietly by my side while caring for me. She has lived with me through the pain, gone to every doctor’s appointment with me, supplied me with supplements, given me acupuncture treatments, massaged me, driven me places, held me up, and cleared a safe path for me when I ventured out into the world. 

For much of this time, she has silently mourned the loss of some aspects of our 23 years. She hasn’t complained much.  She has done her best to care for herself while attending to my needs and my lack of presence and availability.  It hasn’t been easy for me and it has been challenging for her. I am blessed to have had the insurance to pay for this hip replacement.  But I am way more blessed to have my Diana, my guardian angel, my partner.......Thank you.......thank you......thank you.......

So, if you or someone you know, care about and love is about to become either a patient or a caregiver, please make sure that both people get the support they need. And, if you know someone who is single and alone and is about to get surgery, help them build a solid system of support and care so they don’t have to do it alone.  It will make all the difference in the healing.

Roberta Teller asks: "How many doctors appointments can I cram into one week?"

My record is now 7.  Set the week of April 15, 2013.   The truth is only 6 of these appointments were for me.  One was actually  for Diana, but, I canceled my physical therapy appointment on Friday so I could be with her when she had the needle aspiration on her kidney.    So, even though, these were not technically all my appointments, they would have been, had I not swapped one of mine for hers.......Such a good girlfriend, eh?  Not really.  Diana has probably escorted me to more doctor’s appointments these past few months, than she has ever had for herself in her whole life......maybe that’s an exaggeration, but maybe not.....

I really did not want to go to the orthopedic appointment on Thursday.  After all, the physician’s assistant told me a month ago now that I COULD cancel it if everything was going well.  And mostly, everything was going well, except for that damn pain above my knee when I walked (hobble is probably a better verb, but I am practicing a more positive attitude about my healing).   Diana told me I should keep the orthopedic appointment.  But I didn’t want to listen to her.  I was hoping that Linn, my PT would concur with ME that I needn’t go on Thursday.  I envisioned him telling me, “a waste of time, no worries,” but he didn’t . HE concurred with Diana and when I got that orthopedic confirmation call, (bad) luck would have it-I was home and I answered.  Cornered, I  confirmed for Thursday at 3pm.  

The truth is that I am getting a bit worn down from all of this.  It’s been a year and a half of dealing with chronic pain, discomfort, information, opinions, and DOCTORS APPOINTMENTS.   The older I’ve gotten, the less I like sitting in these usually stuffy, noisy and uncomfortable rooms........only then to be called to sit in yet another small and even more uncomfortable space with less air and windows that don’t open as you wait and wait and wait some more. 

So there I was complaining that I had to suffer through 7 medical appointments that week.  I was feeling grumpy, irritable, tired and annoyed that instead of going to the gym, doing yoga or taking a walk, I, instead had to park my ass for who knew how long in yet another doctor’s office......

My ears perked up as My “New Age, Enlightened Voice”, whispered ever so softly to me to be grateful that I have the medical insurance to cover my health issues, with that subtle (or maybe not so subtle) implication that  “not everyone does, you know.” She disapproves of my crabby, complaining self.  I was starting to feel bad about myself......I have so much, how can I complain??????  

And then my Wise Ass, NYC Crone dropped in for a visit.  In her less than subtle tone and dramatic flare, she belts out , 

You can have an attitude of gratitude while you kvetch, whine & complain

You can have an attitude of gratitude while you kvetch, whine & complain

Have a party of pity if you feel shitty, kvetch, whine complain

Enjoy your attitude of gratitude while you kvetch, whine & complain”

Thank you my Wise Ass NYC Crone.  Thank you for reminding me that  just because I’m complaining does not preclude my deep appreciation for what I have.  Thank you for reminding me that complaining and appreciation are not mutually exclusive. Both are valid experiences and  can exist side by side in a person at the same time.   

Now, how do I get that damn verse out of my head?

Roberta Teller: Reflections on the Death of My Parents: The Insights Continue Even After 13+ Years

I always knew that at some time in my life, my parents would die.  It is kind of a given......the older generation dies out...........It’s the way things are supposed to be.  Now of course, I didn’t know when or how.  My mother and father weren’t sick with anything in particular,  They were in their late 80’s, living at home and caring for themselves....Well, in actuality, my mother really was my father’s caretaker.  She did the cooking, had someone come in and clean every other week, and drove around town for food, movies and some social events.  It’s true the burden of everyday life was on her shoulders, but I did actually assume that my mother would outlive my father, since he had 2 macular degenerations, was hard of hearing, had a history of  colon cancer and survived, had to have polyps removed regularly from his intestines. and was not surprisingly,  depressed.  

Well, life has a way of not working out the way you think.  While on a cruise in Mexico, my mother suddenly died of an aneurysm.  And while like I said earlier, I knew that this was inevitable, there’s no way to prepare for the absolute shock of it all.  I was supposed to be visiting them in Florida in just a few days........couldn’t she wait?????

There is something profoundly different between knowing (that it is inevitable) and the actuality of experiencing the death of a parent-especially your mother.  While, I will admit that my mother’s and my relationship was “complicated”, her death unraveled a lot of family glue and put me on an emotional  roller coaster ride that lasted for many years.  

Not surprisingly, and again shocking, my father died 11 months after my mother.  He had moved in with my sister who took amazing care of him.  He too died quickly, after suffering a heart attack at the Senior Center.

Some people say it’s a blessing to die quickly rather than to have to live through a long illness, or dementia. You don’t have to make those  critical and important decisions under duress and stress or spend a lot of time in the hospital or nursing home with feelings of guilt or blame or anger  Or sometimes having to compromise with family members who have differing opinions.  

My sister and I were spared that.  The life and death decisions were made for us.  Our parents died on their own.  We weren’t consulted or asked and didn’t have to make those end of life decisions that we probably would not have agreed upon.  

But I didn’t get to say good-bye to them.  I didn’t get to hold their hands or watch them take their last breath.  I didn’t get to see or feel their spirit linger as they left their bodies.   And, I never realized this before, but,  I regret that.  

Age Never Mattered To Me Until Now

The truth is age never much mattered to me.  While some of my friends bemoaned turning 30 (yes, that is true) and some of my friends wouldn’t tell their boyfriends or husbands, or even their girlfriends how old they were (how could they get away with that?  If you were their boyfriend, or fiancee or husband, or girlfriend, wouldn’t you wait until they were in the shower or fast asleep and sneak into their wallet to look at their driver’s license?  I would......).  

Me, I celebrated every birthday-especially the ones that started a new decade.  I remember my 30th birthday party with the male belly dancers gyrating  around my Berkeley apartment living room with plates of lit candles on their heads.......And my 40th birthday party with all my friends stuffed into my tiny Mabel Street living room.  And that short black dress I wore to my 50th and the long skirt I had on for my 60th birthday........hmmmmmm......maybe that was a clue of what was ahead........

So, the truth is age never much mattered to me.......until now.   And to be honest, I’m not sure that it’s really the age thing.....I think it’s more of what I see and notice and feel......I wonder sometimes if  the scaly skin on my arms and legs are signs that I am perhaps a descendent of a fish or perhaps even worse, I’m a mutant specimen who is evolving back to the sea........I am a water sign, after all.     And where has the elasticity gone in my skin.....?  Now, if I happen to pinch myself, my skin  seems to stand at attention like a soldier who has forgotten that she was dismissed.   And then there are those things they call “age spots” that appear all over my body.  Can’t they call it something else, like wisdom mounds or beauty dots?  I have a special relationship with the ones on my face.....I just bought a product at Aveda this week called a “concealer” so I can hide these facial intrusions.  I keep forgetting to put it on......

And then there’s my neck......that protrusion of soft skin that no longer wants to adhere to whatever it was attached to before.......and the gray hair that I strive to color back to its natural state that I can no longer even remember.   And, oh how I miss my naturally wavy hair that the grey hairs insist on keeping straight.  You know, sometimes when I haven’t seen a friend for a month or two or longer and we meet and, this is really hard to tell, because it is really embarrassing, but if I am really being honest, if they don’t tell me that I look good or well,  I immediately have  this monologue in my head that frantically says ,  ““Oh, my God, I must look really old and be showing signs of aging.”  Then I feel a sense of shame about my aging, unkind and  judgmental self.  And then I feel more shame and guilt because I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts, at all.  But I am.

“Well”, I tell myself, this is just superficial crap.  It’s the youth culture mentality of our society and I don’t buy into it.......But I do.....on some level at least.  That’s why I color my hair and I bought “the concealer”  the other day.  I want to look good, be considered attractive, pretty.......young????   Younger than I am??????.  And while  I probably would never really consider plastic surgery, I can kinda understand why (mostly, but not only) women spend huge amounts of money buying all kinds of cosmetics and promises of a youth returned, and pay exorbitant amounts of money to remove wrinkles and tighten up that loose skin.  And yet,  recently,  when I was watching the Academy Awards, I was shocked and revolted when I saw the new and improved John Travolta who looked mannequin like and other worldly.  Or have you seen Joan Rivers lately?  I don’t want THAT either.  

So I guess what I’m saying is that I too, am a victim of the youth oriented society and the ageist language of the culture we live in.  But with that said, never liking to consider myself a victim, I am also a survivor.  And while I haven’t come to completely embrace my physically aging self,  I have stopped trying to hide it or deny it or fix it.......I am moving towards  acceptance of it and of myself as a beautiful 66 year old woman with some wrinkles and beauty dots.  

Oh, and if you happen to see me in the middle of the summer with a gorgeous shawl wrapped tight around my neck, remember, I am a work in progress......and wink at me in solidarity.

Where's My Wise Woman Council When I Need Her?

I’m 66 years old.  I like to think of myself as a Crone, an elder woman of wisdom and knowledge and depth and above the fray of the annoying world out there...Well, today, that annoying world came to my home.  Now the truth is, I invited him in.....yes it was a him-from the county to inspect the heating system we had installed 2 years ago.  And yes, I waited two years....well, we actually have 3 years from the application date, so really I could have waited quite a bit longer, but being so responsible I did not wait until the deadline.   And thank the Goddess, or the Universe or Whomever that I didn’t wait any longer because our state of the art, brand new, already received and cashed all the eco rebates,  heating system had some violations- 6 of them, but really several of them really aren’t violations because we actually fulfilled the requirements, but the paper work was-well-hiding this morning.   And while the inspector assured and reassured us that this was quite normal and I think he even said fixable, he did mention something about having to cut a big hole next to our cool air return vent high in the wall above our newly painted room above the gorgeous rug we brought back from Turkey last spring.

I got upset and agitated.  I contacted our very professional heating company immediately, sent them the inspector’s name and phone number-per his instructions  and a  list of the violations-maybe it’s that word-....Maybe if they had called it errors or shortcomings or ways to improve your already great heating system, it would have been easier to take in.  But violations??????  I felt violated!!!  My heating system’s reputation has been jeopardized and I was now facing one of my biggest nightmares - having to navigate the county bureaucracy and having to facilitate and organize communication between the heating company and the county. 

My wise woman was no where to be found.  Now to be fair, I did hear some voice in my head telling me that I was perhaps overreacting- that this “issue” really was quite solvable, but that didn’t stop me from leaving my body and getting spacy.  So, I decided that the best thing for me to do at this time was to get in my car, fill the empty tank and give my 10 year old  vehicle a nice bath-(well technically it would be called a shower because the water and soap comes from above and there was no bathtub to speak of) and  just not think about the heating systems violations for a while.

Well, the truth is that all I thought about was the heating system and the inspector. Where was my wise woman counselor?  I was cringing at the thought of my new walls being violated (there’s that word again) and imagining my now unpainted wall in the hall staring at me every time I walked by.  

And then I heard that voice again......this time, she wasn’t trying to calm me down or rationalize the situation.  She wasn’t even trying to fix it or me.  This time she said something very diffierent.  She reminded me that I have been wanting to explore through writing, my relationship to my wise woman for a long time.   She told me the time was now.  She told me to go home and write.   And so I did.  

Oh, and I feel so much better......

So, where was my wise woman counsel when I needed her?  I know now that she was there all along.  She told me the truth that I was overreacting and that the issue was fixable....I knew that....I just couldn’t let it in at the time.  My 2 year old was in conflict with my 66 year old and if I have learned anything from being a classroom teacher for 20+ years, 2 year olds always win.....at least in the moment.  My wise woman did what all good elders do, she gave me a time out......and I  think that there may be something very synchronistic and symbolic about me filling up my car with gas  AND giving my car ( and me because I sat in it as we went though the carwash) a cleansing because it was after that, that I was calmed down and able to take in what my wise woman counsel told me.  

So here is what I have gleamed from today.

Life is not always pretty and tied in a bow.  Life gets messy and annoying and we get hastled  sometimes by things out of our control.  And even though we may know all the right things to say to ourselves, our 2 or 4 or 6 year old takes over and no matter what our wise woman elder says,  nothing is going to work in that moment........It is simply a time for a time-out.  So take some time, get away from the problems, do something different, relax, take a walk, Find a way to fill yourself up and cleanse the yuck........Then, try listening again.......she’s been there all along and NOW you can hear what you couldn’t before.