The ‘Get Well’ cards and balloons filled the dining room. Marta was well-liked by all.
But, her diagnosis was grim. It was a rare form of cancer. It had spread throughout her body. If it hadn’t been for COVID, she wouldn’t have known until she died.
We haven’t seen any family visitors. Has anyone called her family?
There is no family.
Nonsense, everyone has a family.
She does not. How long does she have to live?
Perhaps, a month.
Good Odds.
How so?
A neighbor found her during a well-check visit. She arrived here as an attempted suicide.
Welcome … grab of cup of coffee, hot chocolate or tea.
Now, sit in a comfy chair and let’s chat.
A little music might be nice … hope you enjoy my selection :
It’s been quite sometime since I posted on my blog. I was scheduled to have a knee replacement on December 10, 2018. Dancing from the age of5 had taken its toll on my knee joints. My knees were begging for rest.
If you aren’t aware of my addiction, let me tell you what it is. It’s dancing.
I took ballet, tap, jazz and modern dance for more years than I can count.
My husband and I were square dancers working our way up to competition level. We ballroom dance; although, my husband doesn’t like counting. As a jazz musician he likes to jam-out free style. It can’t be done with a partner but he adjusts his thinking for me. And, let’s not forget the 60’s doo-wops songs and the 70’s disco days.
I never sit through any song that’s playing.
Dancing has always been an outlet for any stress I’m experiencing. I used it to keep my sanity when my husband was a police officer. Everyday he left for work could have been his last day with me and his family. When he was shot after 15 years of service I was elated. He could no longer be an officer. He was given early retirement which involved another layer of stress. After all, he was in a wheelchair now. With no hope from doctors, he eventually resolved to be wheelchair bound for life. Then, one day, he angrily stated that he would walk again despite the physicians prognosis.
He went through grueling rehabilitation and today is walking. He’s managed two careers since that retirement and continues with his Copper Whimsea’s artwork.
I guess you could have called me a gym-rat as is the name for anyone whois obsessed with exercise now-a-days.
I loved the muscle aches, the sweating and the smell of the metal weights. My endorphins never rested. I still crave the feelings but my body has put a stop to that right now, but, I’ll be back.
Since my medical history is high risk, my orthopedic doctor wanted clearance from all of my physicians. I have many. A hematologist for blood clots my body likes to make. A pulmonologist for when the blood clots take up residence in my lungs. An endocrinologist for a genetic thyroid disease called Hashimoto. A primary physicians for my tri-monthly check-ups and a cardiologist for checking on all the over-load of love I have in my heart. I had the all clear from all physicians except the cardiologist. He wanted me to take a stress test. The results showed that my heart was enlarged on the left side.
Why hadn’t he noticed that in May at my last appointment?
Surgery was scheduled for two day later. Since December 7, 2018, I’ve been resting and healing.
I discovered during the first few days of recovering that I was antsy about checking my blog, facebook and any other media I connect to. So, you see, I too am a victim of social media.
I replaced my computer with knitting needles and yarn. I’ve enjoyed many movies, books, painting, listening to meditation music and relaxing on my lanai while enjoying the lovely lake my home sits behind. The birds have been scarce but the few that sing to me have provided a beautifully peaceful respite. Healing takes time. It happens in stages. But, I’ll be back.
Namaste,
Isadora 😎
May you all have in the coming year good health,
peace, joy and more love than your heart can hold …
When the ambulance arrived they rushed him straight to the operating room.
We paced outside the coffee lounge waiting area.
It seemed like hours but only minutes had passed.
No one dared speak for fear of causing a deluge of emotions in the nervous mother.
Her woeful cries, when she first heard of her sons accident, rang in Isadora’s ears. She wasn’t sure she could bring comfort to her mother if anything happened to her brother, Vincent.
Hours passed.
It didn’t seem possible, they hadn’t heard anything.
Finally, Dr. Ramundi, approached. “I’m sorry. We did all we could.”
Inside the Mind of Isadora 