Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Emotional Dilatation & Curettage

It's been over a week since Steve died. It hasn't really sunk in yet. The only times we've been apart for more than a day were when I visited my brother Steve and his family in Wisconsin while my Steve stayed at home and held down the fort.

I took my sister Kittie's advice and tried not to be alone. On Sunday, the 13th, I had dinner with Jessie at Panda Inn. She brought a falafal and salad stuff with her, so I had snacks beyond the stuff already in the fridge. She helped me pull out all the expired food and haul it out to the dumpster before we left for dinner.

Monday I was scheduled to spend at Robin and Evan's place, but somehow I just felt like being alone in the house, watching a movie, and so I did. Tuesday Jeff and Chuck descended and scooped me off for dinner at Green Street (one of our favorite restaurants). And Wednesday morning, Kittie arrived.

My greatest dread, beyond the paperwork needed to inherit the house and transfer the bank accounts, mortgage, etc., was going through his two file drawers crammed with papers. Also, the medical bills, the household expenses, HOA fees, insurance; the list goes on.

So Wednesday, Thursday and Friday (when her husband David joined us via Amtrak and the Gold Line) were pretty much given up to digging through the files, shredding pages with signatures or personal information (like the Social Security number), and tossing the rest. It goes back to 1991.

We also organized the medical bills, and Kittie put together a pile of calls to make and things to do in logical, sequenced priority.

Saturday the shredding started in earnest, moving everything downstairs so we could watch TV while we destroyed documents from two decades ago. In the evening, we went over to Robin and Evan's, and were joined by Jessie for a lovely dinner and evening.

Sunday was low-keyed. We continued the shredding (it's still not finished) and Kittie and David slowly packed up and left around 5 o'clock.

Monday I concentrated on building the InDesign file for the Directory from the master template. I didn't really look at my to-do list, and I know I didn't want to call anyone.

In the afternoon, a package arrived from my sister-in-law Carla. I had suggested she send chocolates to Steve, since they're easy to eat. When she got my e-mail about Steve's death, she e-mailed back, "Is there anything I can do?" I sent a reply: "Send the chocolates." And she had, along with a jar of my brother Jim's strawberry jam. Joyous!'

Today I sat down and wrote out a painful sum of checks corresponding to the medical bills received so far. The money's all there, but after having gone through this month of pain and death with Steve, to have to pay these amounts seems outrageous. Still, when Medicare and the VA coverage turn a $122,000 hospital bill into a $1,200 co-pay, I don't mind paying.

I also called the Neptune Society to make sure things were going smoothly. My contact there was on another line, so I left her a message (no voice mail?) why I was calling and my phone number. I'm assuming she got the stuff when I sent it last Thursday (something else Kittie helped with).

And that was it. That was all I could do. I have to call the bank tomorrow about the equity line of credit and the mortgage, since I want to pay both of those on time. There's still about a dozen calls to make, but I just can't make them today.

I figure one or two morbid tasks a day and one or two studio tasks a day, and things will be on their way by the end of the month. I sure wish they'd ship back Steve In The Box, 'cause I really miss  him.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

It is a Puzzlement

It's coming up on the 22nd hour of day zero. It literally has been the longest day of my life. I caught a half-hour nap here and a 45-minute snooze there during the day, but no real REM sleep. Two Xanax this evening to relax me and keep me asleep.

For relief and distraction, friend Jessie came over and took me out to dinner at Panda Inn (not to be confused with the fast-food atrocity known as Panda Express, although they are owned by the same corporation; go figure). We had Crab Wonton appetizers (Steve's favorite), a mango-duck salad that was quite tasty (but not enough mango or duck), and shrimp upside-down crispy noodles.

It was wonderful to get out of the house with her and talk about the crazy times working together at the "DeeJ" (Los Angeles Daily Journal) at the turn of the millennium, traveling in general, and reminiscing about taking Steve to London and Paris; the next trip was to be to Vienna and Salzburg, near his ancestral turf.

When you think about it, any kind of planning is really just an active bucket list, like our plans to retire to Eureka and live on the cool, unpopulated coastline. It was a great idea for us, but not for me alone. Someone said, "Don't make any major decisions for at least a year," and that sounds like good advice.

My sister Kittie (pictured below) told me I shouldn't be alone for a whole day, so Monday I'm going over to Robin and Evans, Tuesday Chuck and Jeff are taking me to dinner, and Wednesday Kittie herself will arrive, with her husband David showing up a day or two after (that part's still sketchy). Anyway, my week's worth of caretakers has been arranged.

The screensaver on my Mac is a "Ken Burns" slideshow (pics slowly moving across, up or down through the frame). As I walked into the studio, two or three of Steve's pictures played in a row on the monitor.

I realized that I really didn't have a group of photos of Steve or of us together. While picking some out, I started to play and uploaded them to JigZone.com.

If you're at all into jigsaw puzzles, this is a fun little website that will waste a lot of your time. I'm linking 48-piece puzzles, so as to waste only four minutes of your time, give or take.

Click on each to solve, then use your back button to return to these pics. If you want to sign up, or if you're already a member, buddy up to see all my puzzles.

I find it's a fun way to assemble all the pictures in my head of Steve, examine his visage from a new perspective, now that there's no real Steve to look at, just pictures to remind us of the clarity and playfulness and soulfulness of his eyes; how that meticulously trimmed goatee wrapped just so around his chin; a far-off gaze of sober contemplation, or just how shiny his head could get!

Thanks for all the kind words everyone has been sending and the prayers that go along with them. Steve was not a churchgoing kinda guy, and neither am I, but we shared a sense of spirituality and a deep belief in the overflowing goodness of most human beings. Church services and worship and fellowship weren't our thing, we just tried to carry that spirit in our hearts and share it with everyone, no matter how stupid, shallow, self-involved, numb-skulled and/or thick-headed they might be.

Again, Emily Dickinson will suffice:

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I, just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along.

(Remember: to get out of any puzzle page, click your back button.)


Click to Mix and Solve
The wedding photo

Click to Mix and Solve
Steve on the patio in Pasadena

Click to Mix and Solve
LAX to Eureka

Click to Mix and Solve
Inside a burned-out living redwood

Click to Mix and Solve
Steve with Mark, Mark's sister Kittie (left) and mother Paula (right)

Click to Mix and Solve
At California Adventure with Steve and Roberto (not pictured)

Hasta la Vista, Baby

My best friend died this morning at 1:20: also my husband, my lover, my date and the warmth in my life.

At 1:15, I got a call from The Home, saying Mr. Burtner was "in distress." The doctor and the ambulance had been called. Five minutes later, he simply stopped breathing. As he was under do not resuscitate orders, they simply called me ten minutes later and let me know what had happened.

"Stopped breathing," was the way she put it on the phone. "You mean he's dead?" I asked, sitting on the toilet, getting ready to dress and leave. "Yes." She almost sounded hesitant.

This latest bout of illness began only a few days after the last blog entry: Steve started to have trouble hearing people on the phone, but soon it was people in the room, talking loudly. On Monday, Oct. 7, he had gotten to the point of hallucinating. I had had it in my mind to have him transferred down to the Long Beach VA Medical Center that day, since all his doctors are down there, but the severity of his condition required quick diagnosis of what was going on. So he was taken to Huntington Memorial Emergency Room, two blocks from The Home.

They took a chest X-rays in the room, and I could tell by the image on the portable cart's screen that the bone cancer had really spread to all parts of his rib cage, and the main tumor was half again as large as the last chest CT scan I had seen in Long Beach. It made sense, since it had been almost two months since his last round of chemo.

A CT scan of the head revealed no cancer, so the incoherence wasn't due to that illness. All the blood cultures and tests came back negative; only a urine sample, taken as a last resort, showed a urinary tract infection by a rather virulent strain of bacteria. He was put on IV antibiotics and sent back to The Home; transferring him to Long Beach was something that wouldn't happened until he stabilized.

The next five days, Steve was not really available. Visiting, I could get him to look at me, focus and recognize who I was, but there were other, fantastical things happening in his cranium, and they obviously took his attention. It all seemed rather pleasant for him, until Friday, when he didn't speak at all during my half-hour visit.

On Saturday, exhausted, I decided to take a day off. Our friends Steve and Roberto visited him in the afternoon, and as long as he saw friendly faces, he'd know, if he could, that he was not forgotten. So, when visiting time (usually around 6:00 or 6:30) rolled around, I stayed at home and watched "Hedwig and the Angry Inch," which was a favorite of his. I puttered some on the computer, researching fonts for my latest web project, and turned in about 12:30. Forty-five minutes later, the first call came.

In a fit of premonition, I had remembered yesterday to look for the box that contained Steve's box from the Neptune Society. Directly after he had been diagnosed, he had called them and made pre-arrangements for his cremation. For some reason, we have to supply the box for the cremains, and it can't be any old cardboard box anymore. As I recall, they take care of the paperwork and the death certificate and ship back the cremains. I have the information packet somewhere around here.

The box had arrived about a week after the check cleared, just another UPS package. We had never opened it. I put it away in a closet upstairs and didn't recall exactly where, so I found it and put it on a chair in the studio. Now, just before deployment, I cut the plastic tape and opened package. The box inside is quite stunning, and I have a feeling Steve will be sticking around for sometime to come. Box in box under arm, I headed over to The Home.

All the things that happened to him during this dearth of illnesses seemed to happen on a weekend, and this was no exception: the regular folks are off and not much can happen quickly. When I got there, I went to Steve's room. He was flat in the bed, head leaning to his right. There was a woman in the room, straightening the sheets, preparing him for viewing, but I had made my entrance too soon.

She gave us some privacy but hovered outside the door like a nervous bird. I touched Steve's forehead and he was still warm, but his hand was already cool to the touch. His eyes were open slightly, so I closed them. And there it was: that waxen mask of the face in lax repose, not even death, but the empty physical aftermath. To borrow from Gertrude Stein, there is no there there. Steve's gone, and he slipped out without a trace.

I talked to him quietly, just in case he was still in the room, and went to check that the nurse had called the Neptune Society, and to give them the information needed for "the transfer." While the nurse took care of that, the nurse's aide helped me pack his things, checking against their inventory list. I chucked the bags into the trunk of the car, where they still remain, and drove home.

I got here at 2:45, sent out a group e-mail at 3:10 and tried to get to sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning, I got up, made some coffee and watched the morning news. Slightly dazed, I wrote a short e-mail to all my active clients, letting them know I would not be attending to studio business until Thursday. I need some grief time and me time and time to re-orient myself.

Right now, I'm still numb. Oh, so numb. It's been a long, rough row from back in early March until now. It's 9:30, so I've been up 24 hours with only a 45-minute nap yesterday afternoon. At some point soon, I'm going to collapse. But no need to sleep with the phone next to my bed now. The machine can take any calls that come in.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Alone in Semiprivate Land

Ed is gone. Gone gone gone. When I walked into Steve's room on Tuesday afternoon, they were making his bed and clearing out his jetsam. There were three or four people in the room, including the physical therapy assistant who was working with Steve. I made several smarmy comments about how much more pleasant the room seemed without SOABMA Ed, and everyone gave a look or a nod in complete agreement.

The sling is now off Steve's right arm, and he's actually using the hand for some things (like working the TV remote). You can tell he's still weak on that side if you hold his hand, but it's working, and he has a little gel ball to squeeze and work the muscles.

The biggest thing I'm worried about is his mental condition: after almost three weeks of laying in bed and staring at the walls, he sometimes isn't focused on what's going on, and you have to say things twice, especially if it's a double entendre or something that takes making a jump in thinking. His next doctor's appointment is Oct. 30, and when I talked to the administrator about transporting him, she said that, most likely, I'll be able to load him up in the car and drive him over.

The best thing people can do for him right now is call him on his cell phone (send me an e-mail if you don't have the number and I'll get it to you). Just to say hello. Don't expect great acuity on the other end of the line, but he's not muddle-headed, either.

A lot of the time, he's trying to hear the caller while there are announcements over the public address system, or there might be people in his room changing sheets, taking his blood pressure, etc. And there's also the chance that the cell reception's not it's best.

Cards would be nice, too. The address is:

Gary Stephen Burtner
Room 15-D
Californian-Pasadena
120 Bellefontaine St.
Pasadena, CA 91105

On the studio front, I have the chamber directory going (including all the ads), and I'm starting up a website redesign for a local poet. I've probably told you that before. Looks like Steve's not the only one who's mental acuity is suffering. In any case, I've got the base template for the directory pretty much finished, and I'm collecting the copy and artwork for the website as she sends it over.

I am so lucky to have the clients I do: they're all nice people with interesting content and a real openness to my design ideas. I only hope my good luck continues on that front.

So, no long tirade this evening, just a little update. Hopefully, in four of five weeks, Steve will be home and I won't be making the twice-daily jaunt over to see him, because he'll be downstairs.