If bad news really does travel in threes, it's time I packed up my family and headed to an undisclosed location.
We were hit with a major blow on Friday. Lab results confirmed that Dennis is still carrying around the infection that landed him back in the hospital last month. What does this mean? Lots of things. First, we're back on the grueling routine of antibiotics - dialysis for five hours every other day, then a trip to UCD for another hour. This will go on for several weeks, most likely, depending on how he responds, but there is always the possibility of (ugh) readmission to the hospital for further procedures to find and eliminate the source of this bug that just won't go away.
Of course, this puts our transplant dreams on hold...again. The next appointment, December 22, still stands, and there's always the possibility that he will still be cleared by that date. Still, we aren't holding our collective breath - no point in setting ourselves up for another disappointment. The hardest task now is to keep his spirits up enough to continue this never-ending battle.
Meanwhile, my mom took a fall earlier this week. After resisting my repeated requests to see a doctor, she finally realized things weren't right yesterday. She's now in the ICU at UCD (here we go again) with several fractured ribs and a blood pressure that's off the charts. It's not that serious, really. The ICU is more of a precaution, something they do primarily because of the age of the patient, and I just learned from her nurse that she'll be transferred to the regular floor later today because she's doing so well. No word yet, of course, if she'll be allowed to go home or to a Skilled Nursing Facility, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
I'm starting to wonder what I'm going to do with the 22 lb. turkey that's resting in my refrigerator right now...
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Family Matters
For those of you who have been waiting for updates on Dennis's transplant progress, I have news, finally.
Our slow, forward crawl and giant steps backward have been replaced by improvement and progress. The two drains were removed a week ago and the antibiotics discontinued earlier this week. With the completion of the oral surgery, also this week, Dennis has met all of the requirements for listing by the transplant team.
Considering what a skinny guy he is these days, Dennis looks great. He has more energy than he's had in months and feels better, for the most part, overall. He's ready and anxious to get the transplant over and done with so we can get on with our lives. Our next appointment with the surgeons, tentatively scheduled for Dec. 22nd (could be sooner if cancellations come up), should be the "listing appointment". After that, it's a matter of time and patience (again???), waiting for the call. I don't think it will be a long wait.
Our slow, forward crawl and giant steps backward have been replaced by improvement and progress. The two drains were removed a week ago and the antibiotics discontinued earlier this week. With the completion of the oral surgery, also this week, Dennis has met all of the requirements for listing by the transplant team.
Considering what a skinny guy he is these days, Dennis looks great. He has more energy than he's had in months and feels better, for the most part, overall. He's ready and anxious to get the transplant over and done with so we can get on with our lives. Our next appointment with the surgeons, tentatively scheduled for Dec. 22nd (could be sooner if cancellations come up), should be the "listing appointment". After that, it's a matter of time and patience (again???), waiting for the call. I don't think it will be a long wait.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Another Look at Proposition 8
Like many people who've watched the events of the 2008 presidential election unfold this week, I've shed a lot of tears. I cried when I saw our new president take the stage for the first time as President-Elect Obama. I cried when I saw my oldest son following the election night returns on the web instead of checking his e-mail, and I cried again a couple of hours ago listening to the first press conference of the new president.
There were different tears, though, when I learned of the passage of Proposition 8, and again when I read the following letter. The letter was written by a San Francisco attorney. I don't know her - she is the girlfriend of a co-worker of a close friend of mine. This friend had asked me before the election to write something here about Prop. 8. and I wasn't able to come up with anything I thought worthy of publishing. Now that I've read this, I know that nothing I could've written would ever have had the same impact. Even though the election is over, it will never be too late to keep fighting for the rights of all of our citizens.
November 5, 2008
A letter to my friends and law firm colleagues--
It was with a heavy heart that I awoke at 5:00 a.m. this morning. Something wasn’t right.
A dark cloud lurked in my room. Over my house. I felt the swastika of hate painted on
my front door by a silent, smirking neighbor who loathes me behind my back, yet happily
borrows a cup of sugar from me when she is without. Or was it put there by the guy who
lives on the other side? Could it be he who painted my door? This is how I feel in this
dark hour.
I am your colleague, your partner, and your friend. Many of you know me personally
and work with me every day. Yet this morning, my friends, my reality has changed.
Tears stain my face as I confront the horrible news that so many people outside my front
door believe I am inhuman. That I somehow deserve to be singled out and treated with
less respect and dignity than any of you. These strangers would crucify me despite the
cups of sugar I have lent, despite the hours I have toiled beside them, despite the taxes I
have paid to keep their roads smooth and build schools for their children, and despite the
help I have offered in their own time of need. It is depressing at least, and deeply, deeply
hurtful at most. It makes me want to hide in a dark room and scream at the injustice of it
all. It makes me want to leave this beautiful place we all call home and move to a foreign
land.
Until you have had your life placed on a public ballot against your will, and had snarling
people load your mailbox with filth, spending millions of dollars to take away your civil
rights because they believe you are less than human, you have no idea what I mean. It is
demoralizing and degrading. Especially when you’ve never met them, they have no idea
who you are, and you’ve done absolutely nothing in the world to deserve such barbarism.
This, my friends, is my reality today. Happily, it is not yours. I am glad you could wake
up this morning, roll over in your warm bed in those wee minutes before the alarm goes
off and say, “I Love You, baby, have a wonderful day” to your husband or wife, then
shuffle off to the shower and get ready to come to this office. But I ask you to stop right
now and think –
Remember the day you vowed to love and honor and protect that person till death do you
part. Do you remember that? Do you remember the unparalleled joy and happiness you
felt? The beautiful place you were – perhaps Hawaii? Perhaps the backyard of your
parents’ home? Perhaps with a few friends at San Francisco City Hall, or did you gather
at your church or cathedral with hundreds of friends and family? Remember? Do you
remember your tuxedo and your too-tight tie? How about your dress? Do you remember
the scent of the flowers you held in your hand, or the one pinned to your lapel? Do you
remember how it felt to hold your partner’s hand, look deeply into his or her eyes, and
with all the love in your heart proclaim your undying affection? Your friends cheered,
didn’t they. Your mom wept tears of joy. Your photographer took hundreds of photos
that you still cherish to this day. Look around – is there a wedding picture on your desk?
On a bookshelf in your office? In your wallet? On your desktop?
But what if you awoke this morning only to learn that you weren’t married after all?
That the treasured soul lying next to you in bed, the person with whom you have spent
years of your life and have pledged to spend the rest of your life, was just a legal stranger
with no more connection to you than someone on the BART train? Can you just imagine
how that would feel? Really? Now what if this wasn’t a game and that wasn’t a horrible
dream, but was real? How would you feel? And what if you learned that not only were
you not married to your beloved, but you could never be married?
What would you say when you got to the office today? Anything? Would you talk to
your friends and colleagues and tell them what happened? Would you cry? Would you
just stay home under the covers and pretend it didn’t happen? Would you run screaming
into the streets searching for help? What would you do?
This is my reality today, my friends. My right to walk down the aisle has been taken
away, and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot be married, like most of you,
because out of the millions who voted yesterday, just over 350,000 decided my fate. It’s
about the children, they say. They are wrong. First of all, I have no children. Like many
of you, I decided long ago that parenting wasn’t right for me. Perhaps it was my
profession that drove me to that choice, who knows. But I have a deep respect for how
hard it is to raise kids and I admire my many friends who are doing just that. Yet in my
home there is no child who will “suffer” because I am married to the person I love. But
me aside, there are many, many gay and lesbian families who are waking up this morning
to have their cereal and put on their shoes and rush their kids off to school. What will
those parents tell their children?
My being married to the person I love takes absolutely nothing away from anyone else.
Even death row prisoners have the right to be married, but not me. Even Joe the
Plumber, or Joe the Rapist, or Joe the Child Molester have the right to be married. Yes,
even perfect strangers can marry on a moment’s notice, and get divorced two weeks later.
But not me. I cannot marry unless I choose someone those 350,000 California voters
approve of. Are we in a foreign land where women are forced to marry men they’ve
never met? I cannot pick my own spouse? In our beloved California?
My parents struggled through the Great Depression, picked cotton, and raised me and my
brother to be honest and hardworking and kind. I strive for that each day. I chose college
and worked my way through law school – one of the few in my family with a college
degree. My brother chose another path. He took the laboring oar on a job that lasted
more than twenty years and is now retired. Before they died, our parents told us often
how proud they were of us. My brother has been married twice and has two sons. One
of his sons has married twice as well. Why can my brother and his son be married four
times between them, yet I cannot be married at all?
Southern Marin is dark this morning. The power is out and I am writing on my laptop,
screen aglow at 5:30 a.m., pecking out the keys as best I can. I am alone with a heavy
heart at what happened overnight. Much of the nation rejoices today in a new regime, a
change in tide in the way this country will be handled for the next four years. I join in
that celebration, but only half-heartedly. You see, that celebration is about jobs, the
economy, stopping the war, education, and healthcare. Proposition 8 was about me. Just
me, and my right to marry the woman of my dreams. America’s dream lives today.
Mine has been destroyed.
I’m done giving money and putting bumper stickers on my car. Now, instead, I will
work. I will commit my life and my legal skills to the task of making marriage – not
some other bureaucratic acronym – the right of every person. If not for me, then for the
gay children of my friends who will someday want to join in that special union of love.
Please join me in this fight.
Jan Vaughn Mock
There were different tears, though, when I learned of the passage of Proposition 8, and again when I read the following letter. The letter was written by a San Francisco attorney. I don't know her - she is the girlfriend of a co-worker of a close friend of mine. This friend had asked me before the election to write something here about Prop. 8. and I wasn't able to come up with anything I thought worthy of publishing. Now that I've read this, I know that nothing I could've written would ever have had the same impact. Even though the election is over, it will never be too late to keep fighting for the rights of all of our citizens.
November 5, 2008
A letter to my friends and law firm colleagues--
It was with a heavy heart that I awoke at 5:00 a.m. this morning. Something wasn’t right.
A dark cloud lurked in my room. Over my house. I felt the swastika of hate painted on
my front door by a silent, smirking neighbor who loathes me behind my back, yet happily
borrows a cup of sugar from me when she is without. Or was it put there by the guy who
lives on the other side? Could it be he who painted my door? This is how I feel in this
dark hour.
I am your colleague, your partner, and your friend. Many of you know me personally
and work with me every day. Yet this morning, my friends, my reality has changed.
Tears stain my face as I confront the horrible news that so many people outside my front
door believe I am inhuman. That I somehow deserve to be singled out and treated with
less respect and dignity than any of you. These strangers would crucify me despite the
cups of sugar I have lent, despite the hours I have toiled beside them, despite the taxes I
have paid to keep their roads smooth and build schools for their children, and despite the
help I have offered in their own time of need. It is depressing at least, and deeply, deeply
hurtful at most. It makes me want to hide in a dark room and scream at the injustice of it
all. It makes me want to leave this beautiful place we all call home and move to a foreign
land.
Until you have had your life placed on a public ballot against your will, and had snarling
people load your mailbox with filth, spending millions of dollars to take away your civil
rights because they believe you are less than human, you have no idea what I mean. It is
demoralizing and degrading. Especially when you’ve never met them, they have no idea
who you are, and you’ve done absolutely nothing in the world to deserve such barbarism.
This, my friends, is my reality today. Happily, it is not yours. I am glad you could wake
up this morning, roll over in your warm bed in those wee minutes before the alarm goes
off and say, “I Love You, baby, have a wonderful day” to your husband or wife, then
shuffle off to the shower and get ready to come to this office. But I ask you to stop right
now and think –
Remember the day you vowed to love and honor and protect that person till death do you
part. Do you remember that? Do you remember the unparalleled joy and happiness you
felt? The beautiful place you were – perhaps Hawaii? Perhaps the backyard of your
parents’ home? Perhaps with a few friends at San Francisco City Hall, or did you gather
at your church or cathedral with hundreds of friends and family? Remember? Do you
remember your tuxedo and your too-tight tie? How about your dress? Do you remember
the scent of the flowers you held in your hand, or the one pinned to your lapel? Do you
remember how it felt to hold your partner’s hand, look deeply into his or her eyes, and
with all the love in your heart proclaim your undying affection? Your friends cheered,
didn’t they. Your mom wept tears of joy. Your photographer took hundreds of photos
that you still cherish to this day. Look around – is there a wedding picture on your desk?
On a bookshelf in your office? In your wallet? On your desktop?
But what if you awoke this morning only to learn that you weren’t married after all?
That the treasured soul lying next to you in bed, the person with whom you have spent
years of your life and have pledged to spend the rest of your life, was just a legal stranger
with no more connection to you than someone on the BART train? Can you just imagine
how that would feel? Really? Now what if this wasn’t a game and that wasn’t a horrible
dream, but was real? How would you feel? And what if you learned that not only were
you not married to your beloved, but you could never be married?
What would you say when you got to the office today? Anything? Would you talk to
your friends and colleagues and tell them what happened? Would you cry? Would you
just stay home under the covers and pretend it didn’t happen? Would you run screaming
into the streets searching for help? What would you do?
This is my reality today, my friends. My right to walk down the aisle has been taken
away, and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot be married, like most of you,
because out of the millions who voted yesterday, just over 350,000 decided my fate. It’s
about the children, they say. They are wrong. First of all, I have no children. Like many
of you, I decided long ago that parenting wasn’t right for me. Perhaps it was my
profession that drove me to that choice, who knows. But I have a deep respect for how
hard it is to raise kids and I admire my many friends who are doing just that. Yet in my
home there is no child who will “suffer” because I am married to the person I love. But
me aside, there are many, many gay and lesbian families who are waking up this morning
to have their cereal and put on their shoes and rush their kids off to school. What will
those parents tell their children?
My being married to the person I love takes absolutely nothing away from anyone else.
Even death row prisoners have the right to be married, but not me. Even Joe the
Plumber, or Joe the Rapist, or Joe the Child Molester have the right to be married. Yes,
even perfect strangers can marry on a moment’s notice, and get divorced two weeks later.
But not me. I cannot marry unless I choose someone those 350,000 California voters
approve of. Are we in a foreign land where women are forced to marry men they’ve
never met? I cannot pick my own spouse? In our beloved California?
My parents struggled through the Great Depression, picked cotton, and raised me and my
brother to be honest and hardworking and kind. I strive for that each day. I chose college
and worked my way through law school – one of the few in my family with a college
degree. My brother chose another path. He took the laboring oar on a job that lasted
more than twenty years and is now retired. Before they died, our parents told us often
how proud they were of us. My brother has been married twice and has two sons. One
of his sons has married twice as well. Why can my brother and his son be married four
times between them, yet I cannot be married at all?
Southern Marin is dark this morning. The power is out and I am writing on my laptop,
screen aglow at 5:30 a.m., pecking out the keys as best I can. I am alone with a heavy
heart at what happened overnight. Much of the nation rejoices today in a new regime, a
change in tide in the way this country will be handled for the next four years. I join in
that celebration, but only half-heartedly. You see, that celebration is about jobs, the
economy, stopping the war, education, and healthcare. Proposition 8 was about me. Just
me, and my right to marry the woman of my dreams. America’s dream lives today.
Mine has been destroyed.
I’m done giving money and putting bumper stickers on my car. Now, instead, I will
work. I will commit my life and my legal skills to the task of making marriage – not
some other bureaucratic acronym – the right of every person. If not for me, then for the
gay children of my friends who will someday want to join in that special union of love.
Please join me in this fight.
Jan Vaughn Mock
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
So Close, And Yet So Far
To say that Barack Obama's victory in yesterday's election was momentous is such an understatement. He has proven that America has come so far in such a relatively short time, that truly anyone can bring about change. And yet, as I write this, the same Californians who knocked down the wall between white and black have built an even bigger, uglier one with the passage of Proposition 8.
Prop. 8 is quite simply an exercise in hatred. It was never about allowing same-sex couples to marry, but always about segregating that section of the population based on archaic religious beliefs that have no place in government or the constitutional rights of the people. Since they can't all be confined to concentration camps (like we did with the Japanese), let's hold 'em down in any way we can. It's embarrassing and shameful, and I apologize to all the gay and lesbian people who happen to come across this blog.
Prop. 8 is quite simply an exercise in hatred. It was never about allowing same-sex couples to marry, but always about segregating that section of the population based on archaic religious beliefs that have no place in government or the constitutional rights of the people. Since they can't all be confined to concentration camps (like we did with the Japanese), let's hold 'em down in any way we can. It's embarrassing and shameful, and I apologize to all the gay and lesbian people who happen to come across this blog.
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