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I’m amazed at how quickly life races by me. In an instant, another week has passed – when it feels like last week was only yesterday.
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Two weeks ago I had an appointment with my editor, Carol Walkey on a Monday. Carol didn’t live close by, so we planned to meet at a restaurant somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t far from the large hospital where I went for my eye appointments. So it was a perfect opportunity for me to pick up two new medicines that were ordered for my dry eye condition.
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But at the pharmacy, I was told that I couldn’t order my new eye medicines because my health insurance had been terminated. It was something I would have to deal with later on. Because of my divorce I knew I would be getting COBRA benefits, so I wasn’t too worried.
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As I waited for Carol, my eyes didn’t hurt quite as much as usual; I was blanketed by melodies in my mind. After ten minutes when Carol didn’t show up, I called her and she profusely apologized. She had forgotten because of some family problems; her husband’s son had been severely injured in a car accident. We rescheduled our lunch for the following week.
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I decided to order lunch and ate alone. I enjoyed myself and was relaxed and accepting about everything.
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The week zipped by and it was Monday again. I had hoped my medical insurance problem was going to be resolved after a week, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t even allowed to make an appointment on the phone and wondered what would happen if I were sick.
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I decided to be my own advocate by going into the medical center that was nearby to where I was meeting Carol.
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I met with a health care representative at member services. She called my husband’s employer to find out what the problem was. She was placed on hold for a long time, just like I was. Finally her call went through and the person who could help was already out to lunch.
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This representative seemed sympathetic when I told her that I needed to get those medications. She spoke with a supervisor to see if my prescriptions could be ordered, but to no avail. I could feel anger mounting when I was informed that I would be charged for medical insurance going back several weeks. I was going to have to pay for services I wasn’t getting and that didn’t seem fair at all. I told her I wanted to file a complaint.
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Most of this problem had resulted because all of the correspondence had been mailed to my ex-husband, instead of me. I hadn’t received it in a timely fashion and how was I to know if he didn’t share the mail with me?
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All the while as I sat there, my eyes were throbbing and tearing uncontrollably. After two hours, I left. I was told it was going to take a few more days, but I was glad I made the time to sort things out. I raced to my car and realized I was now fifteen minutes late to my lunch with Carol. I took a few deep breaths and drove there carefully. I wondered if I could change gears and enjoy my lunch.
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Carol was waiting and told me I looked happy. That surprised me because I didn’t think I smiled much anymore.
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It had been almost a year since I’d seen Carol. She was retired and had worked as a journalist and editor at a large newspaper. Editing was a nice side job for her, and she had helped edit the 34 stories I wrote for my first audio book.
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Carol was such a lovely woman. One of the most interesting things about her was the fact that she had a wonderful marriage to a fascinating man who was a former Disney Imagineer. He was much older than she was. It wasn’t until she was 60 years old that Carol decided she was ready to consider getting married if the right person came along. And shortly thereafter, she met her future husband who was divorced after 48 years of marriage.
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We finished our lunch and then I hesitantly asked her what she thought about the new material I had emailed. She handed me a large envelope and began to summarize some of her notes to me.
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She began by saying, “Judy, do you realize how you say the same thing over and over? Too many words, short is sweeter. I listen to the way you speak; you’re clear and to the point. But when you write you go on and on with a lot of detachment.”
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I already knew Carol would hate my Princess writings. Those were in third person and anytime I wrote “she” Carol felt I was distancing myself. I hadn’t given her any of that to read though.
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Carol continued. “You don’t have to tell your readers everything – like a staircase, you want to climb up to the top without listing every step. And I hate it when you say things like – the amputation of my soul. You’ve said that too many times already! What I want to hear are real feelings. When you wrote Jason’s story, there were things in there of a personal nature and that is what moved me.”
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I understood. I said, “You mean like when I spoke about the opera of Jason’s death.”
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Carol nodded. She could see my eyes were big and was concerned she had hurt my feelings. With kindness she told me she knew she was being critical, but emphasized that it was constructive criticism.
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I reassured her that I could handle it. What I had sent her was a rough piece that I wanted feedback on before developing it further. I liked her advice and thanked her for being so honest with me.
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She said softly, “Have you considered that since you speak so well, perhaps instead you should just talk instead of typing? Record your heartfelt words and then transcribe that.”
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Her advice was terrific and I would definitely give it a try.
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Then she added, “Judy, you say that you are a passionate songwriter. Can you find a more interesting way to write about that?”
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I began to describe to her how I see my songs as part of a garden. I am a song gardener, tending to all of them as they have grown from tiny seeds into wondrous blooms. As I talked about it, Carol enthusiastically nodded.
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“You see – that is far more interesting! Also you mention how your father suffered and your mother had dementia. Many people have declining parents and could relate to that. But you just glossed over it and didn’t reveal much.”
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I had not to gone into detail about that because my story was already so long. But it turned out that was the kind of material I needed.
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I became thoughtful as I searched for an example of my father’s suffering to share with her. The few thoughts that entered my mind caused my throat to tighten. I tried to speak, but my voice quivered and I had to stop.
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As we left the restaurant, Carol said, “Now you understand what you need to write and I can’t wait to read your revisions. We’ll meet again soon.”
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I wasn’t sure what I was feeling while driving home. The doubt that constantly clouded my life was setting in. Was I making a mistake redoing my book? How long was this process going to take? The microphone tests I had done with Lon weren’t that great and a lot of audio editing was going to be required to remove sibilance on whatever I recorded.
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Yet now I was very motivated to write something that would be far more touching. Sometimes I’ve noticed that my writing on my blog has been rambling and repetitive. I didn’t want any of that for my audio book – Carol was right.
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Tomorrow is my father’s birthday. His urinary issues and painful infections wore him out and he told me that he looked forward to dying.
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He went into a coma on his 88th birthday two years ago and died five days later. His death was more a result of dehydration than anything else. He was fairly aware of his death and it was horrible to watch.
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I had started to describe to Carol how a simple trip in the car with my father was a major stressor for both of us. I would be picking him up from the nursing home and bringing him for a visit to my home. It was the highlight of his week. First, I would fold up his wheelchair and put it in my trunk. He would admonish me to be careful lifting it, so as not to hurt my back.
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Then I would gently give him a boost into my minivan. As he sat down, he would tightly grip his catheter bag and let out howling moan.
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I would always drive as carefully as I could when he was in my car. I made sure that I slowed down for every bump in road.
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But sometimes I didn’t see one. As the car bounced, my father would curse and let out a horrific scream. Then he would dissolve into sobs and yell at me to be a better driver. A few moments later, he would apologize for yelling at me. He would sniffle and cry softly for the remainder of our trip.
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Yes, this was something I could write about.
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Thinking of his absence over the last two years, is a mixed bag. I miss his caring and concern for me. His last phone message was to see how my eyes were because at that time I had started having problems seeing; I didn’t know I had cataracts.
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I miss the feeling of him loving me so much; I also know he would be overwhelmed worrying about me at this time in my life.
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So the truth is, I do not miss my suffering father.
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It was too hard to watch.-
Image may be NSFW.