Calm before the storm

I am usually bad at picking titles for posts; it is however one of the things that H takes pride in. This time however, there was little question what to have in the little box at the top of the page.

Story 1.
Mom and I are in NYC on the 18th floor of a highrise above a park. On the south, west, and north, there is nothing between us and the wind for miles. The only east facing window is on a small courtyard space with the other side of the building facing us. They are predicting that Hurricane Irene will hit tomorrow with unprecedented wind and rain.  Herb has suggested we leave and go to my brother's apartment where at least the building is a more recent rebuild and the windows are not single pane glass in 70-plus-year-old metal frames. We will spend some portion of today clearing the window sills of the books and papers and boxes and plants and the other accumulations of the years we have lived here.

There are terraces on the building with an accumulation of plants and patio tables and chairs. In the past, in storms, the water has backed up in the drains and soaked through the plaster here, flooding closets and ruining the paint.

New York Mayor Bloomberg is shutting down all public transit as of noon today. They have evacuated parts of lower Manhattan and the islands. They are predicting 100 mph winds.

Mom won't leave.

Story 2.
Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer about a month ago. She has had several procedures to remove the fluid from the cavity between the outer surface of the lung and the inner surface of the rib cage, normally 1 mm thick. They took out 2 liters when she had the recent surgery to "glue" it shut. It was keeping the lung from inflating. No surprise there. I was however surprised that what they used to close the space was talc. The irritation causes scarring and that closes up the space where the fluid would normally accumulate. No fluid?...the lung can expand. But what happens to the fluid?  Her primary care doc says it is as though you had something in your eye, and they removed the tear ducts. The eye couldn't produce tears even though the object was still there. (I like simple explanations of things.Too bad the explanation didn't come from the pulmonologist or the oncologist despite repeated attempts to ask what would happen to that fluid if the space was closed off. )

In any case, she is now back in the 18th floor apartment overlooking the park. Other than being tired, she is ok. Her breathing is better.

Story 1 (chapter 2)

The rain has just started and stopped. We closed the windows on the north side. I have a small electric fan in front of the western windows to keep the air moving.

Story 2 (chapter 2)

We are awaiting the visiting nurse who is supposed to come to check her blood pressure and may change the dressing on the incision site.

We haven't heard from the oncologist who was supposed to give her the drugs for the tumors. He was MIA all day yesterday despite repeated attempts to contact him by doctors, nursing staff, and me.

The pleurodesis which closed the cavity seems to be holding; her breathing seems to be unimpaired by any further accumulation of fluid. The metaphorical tear ducts have been removed.



 Calm before the storm.