Sometimes I want to howl like the coyotes I remember in the night in Corrales. I miss Doris—seven months living apart. I miss my circle of memoir writers and tarot readers, all my NM friends, parties, political rallies. I miss ABQ theatre, any theatre, performing Mabel, writing play reviews. I miss casually cruising art festivals and galleries, buying jewelry from Native artists, discovering NM culture.
I miss Corrales, living in our beautiful casa, watching the mountains change color, enjoying our Southwest art everywhere. I miss my library and particular books that I had to give away in May. I miss travel just for fun. I miss taking walks, swimming, yoga, going and doing whatever I want whenever. I miss my energy, vitality, independence, autonomy. I miss my previous body and life.
Doris arrives here next week and stays with me 16 days, most of it to, from, and in Durham, NC, where we go for a full week of grueling tests 1/9-13/12. The following week Duke will tell me when they want to see me again or when we need to move to Durham. Duke wants me living in Durham two months before they anticipate doing the transplant surgery in order to get me as fit as possible.
After surgery I'll be in hospital for 2-3 weeks and then at least two months of rehab exercise. They advise planning to live in Durham 5-6 months. After that, we'll move on somewhere, but we don't know where. We'll have time to consider options in that post-transplant period. We must sell the house in NM before we move to Durham so that Doris is free to leave Corrales.
I hate to admit what a news junkie I’ve become this month. I thought I’d ordered the Sunday New York Times only, but the daily paper started appearing—my mistake—and I got hooked. I’ve become embroiled in the insanity of struggles and suffering around the world. Will the wise and good-hearted win over the greedy and cynical? Of course, we all have a bit of both in us. In January I switch to Sunday only.
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