Category Archives: Ann’s Update

Ann’s Update: 12 Jan 2011

Dear Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend me your Ears,

We drove Sasha to the surgeons, Dr. Parrett and Dr. Safa, both excellent, skillful, indeed — vastly superior — vascular surgeons who did the job of saving his left foot. They examined and admired, then carefully re-wrapped the lovely skin-graft. Then they said the magic words, “It’s time for Sasha to put some weight on his foot and begin walking, just a few minutes several times a day,” and we began smiling. They told us to return in two weeks, at which time they would “ratchet up the activity.” Later, when we were home again, I phoned Dr. Abramson (“Dr. Paul”) and asked how long I should continue giving Sasha the heparin shots, and he said that as soon as he began walking, he wouldn’t need the heparin to prevent clots from forming. That was good news. I’ve managed to learn how to give a shot smoothly and without more than a smidget of anxiety, but I’m very happy to give it up, too.

Sasha still has needle-strike pains, now and then, sometimes in both left and right feet, but usually in the left one, and he may need pain meds for quite a while. If the pain is due to nerve regeneration, there will come a time when the needles will disappear; if due to peripheral neuropathy (as I think I already described), they may be permanent. We’re hoping for the former, but if it’s the latter, there’s hope that the attacks will come less frequently. But right now, we’re so happy about the saving of his foot, we’re not going to worry about anything else. For 24 hours, at least.

I’ll write more tomorrow, if I can; otherwise, I’ll be back with you Thursday. In the meantime, I send my thanks and deepest gratitude to those dear hearts who have contributed money, both small amounts and very large, all of them received with feelings of something close to awe. I know that Sasha has contributed to the happiness and increased richness of many lives, but it still seems incredible that so many of you are sending help — in the form of money — as well as expressions of love. We are determined to care for him at home, no matter how far the so-called dementia may go. Right now, his chemical knowledge is still mostly intact, just as his musical memory is. He’ll be walking to the lab within a week or two, at the most, and he’ll be back in the world he loves, with the help of Paul Daley. We will continue giving him round-the-clock care as long as we can afford it, and we’ll continue raising funds every way we can so that we’ll be able to afford it. I’m very optimistic, and that’s due entirely to all of you and your responses to our call for help. Tania and Greg have been steadfast friends, giving of themselves and their energy for years to both Sasha and me. Without them, I would be in hospital or in a state of complete breakdown (I admit I’m not really 39 years old, although that news may shock you deeply), and I just don’t have the energy to do all the things that Tania does for us without complaint. And our caregivers have become affectionate friends as well as paid helpers. That’s why I think of us — Sasha and me — as really blessed.

Thank you again, and much love — and talk to you tomorrow or Thursday…

Ann

Ann’s Update: 11 Jan 2011

Dear Everyone,

Now, this will be really short, because tomorrow is the big day, and it makes more sense to talk to you after Sasha’s foot gets examined by the two surgeons who did the skin-graft. What we hope is that they will look at the beautiful graft and admire it (and themselves, justifiably), and declare that, instead of continuing with the effort to keep Sasha’s left foot off the floor, and without any pressure on it, the whole picture for the future will be the reverse: Keep the left foot ON the floor, begin a bit of walking, then walk more, then walk normally, then walk to the lab!!! Of course, the surgeons won’t know about the beloved lab, so they won’t say anything about it, but the rest of us know, oh yes, we do!!!!!!!!!

And all our spirits will rise, most of all Sasha’s. Finally. After a whole year, for Pete’s sake.

And I can stop giving him shots of heparin. I’ve never given shots before, and my hand still shakes a tiny bit now and then, but I’m getting really good at it. And Sasha, bless his beautiful soul, utters not a squeak when I plunge the very fine needle into his tummy area. Now that I can do it so well, I’m ready to relinquish the privilege. ASAP.

Talk to you tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Love and Blessings to all of you —- Ann (& Sasha)

Ann’s Update: 7 Jan 2011

Dear Friends,

Sasha is home, thank hevvin. I’m on my way to Marin, but before I can even get out of the house, there are so many things to do, including giving Sasha a shot of heparin — to prevent clots — that I suddenly found myself in the middle of a good ole-fashioned anxiety attack, including slightly shaking hands. So I asked Tania to give the morning injection, and promised I could do it this evening. I’ve got to get to the bank, get gas in the car, and I’m going to be waaaaay late. Wendy is the first person to say, “Don’t worry; any time you get here, it’ll be fine,” but anxiety attacks don’t allow that message to get through convincingly.

I’ll continue this later today — this evening — by which time I should have calmed down and retrieved my normal state (well, at least I’ll be over the anxiety stuff).

I haven’t even opened a single Xmas present yet. And I haven’t sent off most of the Xmas presents to my family, would you believe! It’s ridiculous. Have to remember that everybody understands and stop beating myself up about it.

To be continued when I return home from my Mental Health Day.

Ann/Nanna

Ann’s Update: 3 Jan 2011

Dear Friends,

Finally, we have the really great news we’ve been waiting for! Sasha’s left foot has been encased in a wound vac. for five days, and yesterday, on the fifth day, the vascular surgeon, a terrific man named Dr. Parrett, took the vacuum off and examined the graft site. He said it had taken, hooray and Amen. Until now, we had not been able to dismiss completely the possibility of amputation, but this tells us that (at least, for the foreseeable future), the foot will remain with the rest of Sasha’s bod. And, thank heaven, Sasha can come home on Wednesday!

This particular hospital experience has not been without problems. We never did get a private room, due to the patient overload, but for the most part, the other room-mates have been nice people, so that isn’t a complaint. The nurses are mostly very nice and pleasant and helpful, with a few inevitable exceptions, who made things a bit difficult for our caregivers, probably not realizing that we have a really good relationship with our three caregivers and that they tell us everything that goes on when we aren’t there. Including what certain nurses say about a lot of things in our absence that they did not — and would not — say when we’re there. A lot of funny stuff, nit-picky stuff, goes on in hospitals as it does everywhere else, but small things get magnified in the minds of patients and their families, because we’re all helpless without good nurses, and there’s a lot of anxiety running around inside us when someone we love is sick and we can’t make them well by ourselves.

All of this rescuing of Sasha’s foot would not have happened without our new primary care physician (also known as the “family doctor”), who knew the right surgeons to send us to, and spends more time with us every time he visits than any other doctor I’ve ever known. Not fifteen minutes, but usually a full hour! He was introduced to us by a dear friend, an addiction and pain specialist named Howard (I’ll write his full name when he gives me permission), when our long-time family doctor left to open a clinic in New Orleans. This new doctor, Paul Abramson, is a member of The Tribe, and living proof that the universe is occasionally kind and compassionate, despite what might be described as overwhelming evidence to the contrary. The only negative (which we are going to accept willingly) is that his office is in San Francisco, a near-hour’s drive from our home. Dr. Paul has empathy, intelligence, humor, and loves challenges. And Sasha’s foot has been quite a challenge, witness the fact that the doctors in the Wound Care Center, where we took Sasha for many months, simply did not see the point of trying to avoid amputation, and thought we were wasting time and money in trying to keep his body intact. A certain lack of imagination, one might say. They are good doctors, but imaginative they are not. So I’m saying here, in front of God and all the Little Gods, that we are immensely grateful to Dr. Howard, who led us to Dr. Paul, who led us to Dr. Parrett, who led us to a successful skin graft.

Now, we are going to have to raise enough money to pay for round-the-clock caregivers for Sasha, for what may be years, since that magnificent mind has lost its ability to remember anything that didn’t happen many years ago. Arteriosclerosis, hardening of the arteries, is the cause, and the only bright spot in this rather sad picture is that Sasha’s true personality — optimistic, pun-loving, people-loving and chemistry-loving — is intact and shining brightly (unless he’s in pain, and we hope that will be an infrequent problem from here on), and when he moves back to the lab, with Paul, our chemist friend and Sasha’s co-author on the Shulgin Index, he’ll be happy again, because he still remembers most of his chemistry, and we hope that will continue for a long, long time.

And the Shulgin Index is off to the printer, thanks mainly to Wendy, my wonderful daughter, who said (something like), “No more! No more! It’s finished. We are sending it out into the big, wide world NOW!” At which point all the exhausted co-authors (Paul Daley and Tania Manning) cried out in unison (sort of): “Free At Last! Free At Last! Thank Wendy Awlmighty, Free At Last!”

Love and Blessings — Ann

Ann’s Update: 31 Dec 2010

Dear People,

Again, it took longer than I had expected to get back to you, but those of you who have had the experience of putting somebody into hospital will understand. The whole world (my personal world, that is) suddenly changes, and there are new dimensions, new schedules, new expectations and new fears to deal with. Like – are the nurses good and friendly and capable? Do the doctors know what they’re doing and to whom they are doing it? Do they remember which Sasha leg is supposed to get the skin graft? Does the nursing station serve the family members hot coffee and tea whenever they need it? Turns out, we are in a very, very old hospital (when is the last time you saw windows that opened with a crank?), and nobody has tea and coffee for family members, as the former hospital did. That’s okay. There’s a cafeteria downstairs and after hours there are machines that dispense. What they dispense is — well, it’s hot, anyway.

As for Sasha (you were wondering when I’d get around to the most important part of this adventure, yes?) – his graft surgery went very well, or so the doctor says, and he doesn’t seem to be having a lot of pain, so far, which is a good sign. To my surprise, they haven’t put the leg into any harness or other kind of restraint, but he’s wearing the soft boots which he’s had on for months, and we do our best to keep the leg up on a pillow. Oh, yes—we were urged to have our caregivers here night and day, because Sasha’s memory is severely impaired, and directions given to him by a nurse are forgotten ten minutes later So his caregivers (Chimmy, Vickie and Carlos) are his memory.

There have been glitches in communication about the particular pain medication being used by our primary care physician, and the nursing staff is sometimes aware and alert and other times somewhat clueless, depending on how well the outgoing nurses brief the incoming ones at the times of shift change. One breakfast tray never made it to Sasha, but he ate a good lunch.

We think he’ll be here until Monday or Tuesday, and we still have hopes of getting a private room, but the hope is fading, since this hospital was inundated by sick people on Monday, and they’re still full. Our doctor did his best to get us on the private room list, since a very compassionate friend offered to pay for it, but there is little hope that’ll happen. Luckily, the other patient in this room is a very nice gentleman, so there is no problem. Besides, we’ve learned to be grateful for human beings who are pleasant and cooperative, having experienced the alternative the first night we were here. There was a 26 year old male who didn’t like being intruded upon by another patient, and expressed (repeatedly) his dislike of women talking – obviously, he meant women doing anything – and during the night, he cursed Vickie, who was caring for Sasha, and kept cursing until he fell asleep He was probably in pain, having crashed his motorcycle, and he also was probably the only son of a gangster who had taught him to spread fear and panic wherever he went, in order to get his way, and the son was only trying to emulate Daddy and didn’t know any better. The nurses who had come in contact with this future crime kingpin made clear their joy at his transfer to another floor, although they tried to be discrete, and we were more than happy to find him absent when we returned the next day. It was a thankfully brief reminder of the fact that we, ourselves, live in a community (worldwide) full of really good human beings, kind and compassionate and loving and possessed – one and all – of minimally destructive dark sides. Of course, I mean all of you.

Love and Blessings — Ann