Leave the Driving to Us

[BY SUSAN]

I guess we're counting down.

Most likely we're trying to avoid thinking about what is looming on the horizon.  I am focusing on transitioning out of my workplace, The Johnson Intern Program, Inc., which I have directed (with lots of help) since 2005.  Over the years we've graduated over 60 alumni, and now one of them, Tricia Lindley (08-09) has come back to run the program in my absence.  We have only three days to work together, but at the end of the first (today) I know that everything is in great hands.

Tricia and  other leaders like Watty Bowes (board chair) and alumna and board member Katie Thompson, plus too many others to mention (if I started I couldn't stop) have supported me through this difficult time and have made it (almost) easy to step away.  Our alumni, both local and distant, have stepped in to help out as well.  And Ebeth Scott-Sinclair, Solita Denard, Susannah Smith, and Liz Dowling-Sendor have been there for me in more ways than I count. During a particularly difficult time Pat McCarthy made me laugh, and Darryl Owens reminded me to breathe.  Both actions are critical to survival.

Since turning the corner a couple of weeks ago, Peter has felt great, has gained weight, and lately has focused on taking care of so many details on the farm.  The road looks great, the fence is fixed, firewood is stacked, and tomorrow a new sheet of tin will be nailed down on the old barn roof.


I'll be at work until Friday, then have Saturday, Sunday, and Monday to clean house, catch up on laundry (the skill of folding has eluded me lately), pay bills, and do some research into the ordeal we'll face on Tuesday.  I hope that the weather holds out so I can ride my wonderful horse, Twill, and maybe take a bike trip out into the country or on the American Tobacco Trail.

While cycling through the many people we saw at Duke last week a couple of  funny things happened.

First, we were both shocked to find ourselves in "Pre-op"  on Thursday.  The first nurse we met was was a good friend of a friend, so we got to run through all connections and shared experiences we'd had.  At one point she looked at Peter seriously and said, "I can see that you're a mild-mannered fellow and you're going to have to learn how to complain."  Though I try to act like a grown-up at Duke, this was too much for me, and I burst out laughing.

The background for this next tale is that Peter and I spent two nights at a B&B in Black Mountain last week.  At home we share a king-sized bed, and sometimes that isn't big enough.  I have allergies, and will snuffle enough that Peter (politely) asks me to move to the guest room in the middle of the night.  Sharing a little "full size" bed in the mountains was a challenge (for Peter) so when I asked the NP if I would be able to sleep in Peter's hospital room he said (a bit too emphatically), "No!"  Then he explained that if he was to get his sleep in the hospital I'd better sleep elsewhere.  Well, there IS a recliner for me, and I intend to be there, insisting that everyone who enters washes their hands.  He'll be too drugged-up to wake (I hope).

The doctors told us that the greatest post-op threat will be pneumonia, and as such, they recommend a "no visitors" policy.  We will welcome friends later, when Peter is at home and past any danger that common viruses can pose.  The girls and I will try to keep you posted via this blog, but visits will have to wait. 

If you have experience with surgery and have any tips to offer, I welcome them.  Hospitals are foreign territory to me, and after this experience I hope to keep it that way.

I need to say thanks to Holli Crawford, who is single-handedly holding down barn and all 5 of the horses there.  She'll get help, no doubt, from Rose Wilson (whose Virgil lives here), and Gayle Dauverd, my trainer and curry chef (and from Holli's friend and expert mucker, Leon).  And speaking of single-handed...fellow barn bum Jen Stout broke her arm and is having a heck of a time getting healed.  She can finally drive, but managing a muck fork is still on a distant horizon.  If you need a horse to ride (and have some skill) let me know and I'll pass your number on to her.  And if you'd like to adopt acute  mustang yearling, give me a call.

I expect to find some real trepidation waiting for me once I let go of this focus on work.  Peter will be hospitalized for about 14 days.  You'll know from the way that hospitals work these days that is a really long time, and it reflects the seriousness of this surgery.  But his surgical team expresses such confidence, and have so much skill and experience among them.  It feels a little like we're boarding a Greyhound bus.  Folks from our generation will remember the slogan, "Leave the driving to us."  That is, it seems, exactly what we're doing.  In a couple of weeks we'll wake up and we'll "be there," --back home and on the mend.