The Zipper Club

Apparently, I have become a member of a "club" that I had no intention of joining...in fact, I don't believe I  knew it existed. The initiation is grueling and the "new member" fee is break-the-bank high. I am safe in claiming that not one member wanted into the club. However, they are all around me and you. I think most button their shirts as high as they can and they rarely talk about the club to others, unless they discover another club member; then they feel an instant bond with that "brother". The club does not discriminate. All races and sexes are welcome. There are far more males in the membership, outnumbering the females significantly. The average age of the clubmember skews to the higher side....let's just say most have been around for quite awhile.

The "Zipper Club" members share one thing in common.....a long pink vertical scar down the center of their chests. Some are secretive about the "hallmark", others will open their shirt boldly to show anybody, interested or not. I learned I was a member of the club in Cardio-Rehab from another member...indeed everyone in there was a member...except the staff. We had a laugh about the irony of our chance meeting. I felt a bond with the man...let's call it a very human moment. Not wanting to seem boastful, I chose not to tell him I was a member of another club. These "club" entrance requirements are a form of hell-on-earth, so two clubs are enough for me. What good is a club if the members would rather not be such? There is no fun to be had.

As I go about my day, wherever I am, I see prospective members-to-be. They are everywhere. The funny thing is they don't know they are making themselves candidates for the clubs.

I'll let you figure out who those future members might be. They take life and health for granted.

SRH

"Plein Air" Wrap-up.....Meeting with Dr. Amersi

I am so naive....really!..... Sue and I drove up the coast on Hwy 1 toward Cambria and decided to stop at Harmony, a small "town" of several relic dairy buildings occupied by kitsch art galleries. We used to go there years ago with the boys and pick up ribs and chicken from some entrepreneur who I am sure went broke  for lack of customers. Anyway, I was wandering about a courtyard photographing wild flowers and other details of the garden with the macro setting on my digital camera when a woman approached me and asked if I could take a picture of her and "Molly", her little white poodle. She was very specific about where I should stand and where she would pose with Molly. I took several pictures and handed back the camera so she could view the results, which she found to her liking. She then proceeded to ask me questions about features of her camera she simply could not understand. As I pondered her questions and attempted to explain she moved closer. At that point Sue suddenly appeared at my right side, having materialized out of nowhere, as far as I could tell. And just as mysteriously the camera lesson ended as the woman said "Thank You" and bid adieu. And it was a good thing....I couldn't answer those questions. In fact, I don't think there were answers.

I love wildflowers. They are like nature's jewels. I was surprised how many were still showing their colors this early in the summer. Poppies were everywhere...I don't know the names of the others. I think some people are like wildflowers....different from the others, unique and unto their own nature. You know them when you meet them.

We reluctantly set our direction back to Whittier on Sunday morn. We visited two wineries, one just outside of San Luis Obispo and the other in Los Olivos. We traveled through backcountry on roads winding through hills studded with ancient oaks and newly planted vineyards. The last leg of our rural journey took us over the San Marcos Pass and past Lake Cachuma. We dropped down into Santa Barbara and joined the thousands of vehicles crawling back to Los Angeles and other points East and South.

An afterthought.....We sat in our parked car at the winery in Los Olivos and ate some of the snacks we had picked up in Avila Beach. I gazed at pepper trees and oaks swaying in the cool breeze. The bright sun made the shadows dark and the leaves glisten as if wet. A furtive jackrabbit scurried by, not more than ten feet from the front of the car. Horses stood stock still in a corral across the road...... I looked away and tears filled my eyes. It was good to be alive.


Meeting with Dr. Amersi....

Sue and I drove across Los Angeles to Cedars-Sinai for a 5:00 pm meeting with Dr. Amersi. I expected some routine visit in which Dr. Amersi would examine the incision, dress the wound if necessary and check out vitals. The expected meeting with Dr. Wollin, Dr. Amersi and the Hamrocks had not been arranged due to schedule conflicts. We expected to hear, at that meeting, what Dr. Wollin, the oncologist, prescribed for future treatment, if any.

As it is, Dr. Amersi came into the small examination room and proceeded to tell us about the difficulty of pulling all interested parties together at one time. She went on to say that Dr. Wollin concluded that, based upon patholgy reports and Dr. Amersi's observations, "any treatment of  Mr. Hamrock would be unnecessary at this time"........I furrowed my brow, did a double-take, and stated warily "That's good news, isn't it???"

It was good news....very good news.......And it is still sinking in.

Stephen

"En Plein Air"......Traveling California's Central Coast

Hwy 101.....pathway through Montecito, Santa Barbara, the Gaviota Pass, Santa Ynez, Buellton, Santa Maria, Pismo, Avila Beach, San Luis Obispo, then on to Hwy 1 through Morro Bay, Cayucos, Harmony, Cambria and just beyond San Simeon to the Piedras Blancas lighthouse and the Elephant Seal Preserve.

I've been down this route many times in my life. I enjoyed it more than ever this weekend when Suzanne Aimee and I decided spontaneously to "take off" and chose to visit this part of California for a get-away trip.  Re-Hab will make it difficult to leave town for the next few months (if I don't play hooky, anyway).

I don't think this country has ever struck me more with its sunlit natural beauty and serenity. The French
term..."en plein air"....means "in the open air". This expression is commonly used to describe a manner and style of painting characterised by the artist capturing his subject on canvas in the outdoors, in natural light. A "school" of Impressionist painters in the very late 1800's through the present have used the California landscape for inspiration. Much of the landscape featured in the paintings of the earlier artists no longer exists
as portrayed, having been subdivided or paved over since. These early paintings reveal a lost heritage, in a way......a California that can never be again. However, one need but drive a few hundred miles North on "101" to see the California so tantalizingly and romantically portrayed by the "Plein Air" artists of the past.

The rolling hills are no longer green like the felt on a new billiard table. This weekend they are a light camel in color, with blotches of dark green oak trees in the canyons and ravines, or, quite often, whole forests of the things covering the crown or the slope of a hill. Cattle graze in the open, or rest in the shade of the oaks. Farmhouses nestle in groves of huge eucalyptus trees planted decades ago. Watertanks on stilts, windmills turning in the breeze, haybales spread across fields or gathered in stacks, tractors parked outside barns, collapsing outbuildings and sheds....all these and more to let you know that you are in a different world.

Then, there are the thousands of acres devoted to vineyards. I don't remember that much land planted in grapevines along Hwy 101. It is astonishing. The vineyards extend miles inland. Amidst them are the
wineries, more often than not with tasting rooms and facilities that cost huge sums of money.

Our destination was Avila Beach. It is a charming beach town and we would go back again. We both noted
how pristine the beachfront walk and businesses were, as was our hotel. It turns out a section of Avila Beach was literally torn down and over 6500 truckloads of oil-contaminated ground was removed to remediate a pool of petroleum that had gathered below the beachfront property after years of leakage from petroleum pipes that coursed underground to a distant pier used to load tankers many years ago. The town had to be destroyed in order to save it.

I'll continue the account of the weekend tomorrow. I need to attend the first re-hab meeting at 7:00 a.m. and much later in the afternoon drive out to Cedars- and see Dr. Amersi for a followup visit.

SRH

Talking over Re-Hab.....

I mentioned earlier that another Hamrock, Inc. employee, John, had his bypass performed by the same surgeon as I. He went through the cardiac rehab program at Presbyterian Hospital some years ago, so I touched base with him this morning to check out his experience. He endorsed the program wholeheartedly. He learned to understand and cope with the emotions that are released by heart surgery...that was the most valuable lesson he took away from those weeks. We talked about this for some time. John admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he would cry with little provocation. He remembered seeing a frustrated parent manhandling a young child in a supermarket....and tears coming to his eyes. He asked the nurse if he had been injected with female hormones...I think jokingly...because of his tender emotional state.

I understood. We talked for some time and I took comfort in his observations and advice. I know that recovery isn't just a physical healing now, and that emotional healing is just as important and is part of the whole deal.

I took the time to go back and read all my blog messages (I dislike the word "blogs") from the very beginning.  Little did I know what this "pilgramage" would be like. I am reminded of the title of one of my messages: "A life unfolds and a path is created". This brings tears to my eyes. I know the pain and uncertainty
behind that statement. I hold it as dear advice.

This weekend we are escaping up the coast to Avila Beach....a little town just above Pismo Beach and just shy of San Luis Obispo. I imagine we will go to some wineries, maybe further up the coast to San Simeon,
and if our friends are in their second home up on See Canyon Road in the hills we will drop in and say hello.

SRH

Cardiac Rehabilitation....The Meeting

I should have started Cardiac Rehabilitation several weeks ago, but the tumor surgery and the recovery from that surgery delayed my attendance. Frankly, I had forgotten about it. It is required, but in my heart I considered re-hab a nuisance....something to put up with. After all,I feel great.

My introduction to the program occured today. A dynamic nurse, who pulled no punches, bombarded me with questions and facts that left my head spinning. The bottom line is that I have a good deal more healing to do. I have only just begun, really. The eight week recovery time so often quoted is the time it takes for the chest to be healed enough to allow for certain activities. The chest really takes up to twelve weeks to fully knit. But the precious heart takes upwards of six to eight months to heal from the wounds inflicted on it. The grafts are still fragile for quite some time after surgery.... far more so than I thought. How naive I am.

I learned that my two main arteries were 100% blocked!! My heart/body made up for this by diverting blood flow through other minor veins, which expanded to take the increased flow for oxygenated blood....blood that could not pass through my arteries. A third artery was 70% blocked. The reason for the lack of classic heart disease symptoms was the compensating flow of blood through the smaller veins. That is what was keeping me from having a major or fatal attack. That is how close "it" was.

A regimen of exercise (treadmills, stationary bikes, walking) is on my "must do" daily list....for the rest of my life. Likewise, a proper diet and low sodium intake is mandatory for maintaining health.

The nurse, who I respect, stated something that she deeply believed...... I could tell from her eyes and the catch in her voice. She stated that the heart is what drives our emotions and moods. When the heart goes through surgery, it is "pissed" and it will bring on depression, sadness, uncertainty, and crying. It is the source of love and "heart"break. Well, I hadn't heard any of that, but I can understand it. I'll accept it as true.

Stephen

Reflections on June 20th....a Father's Passing

Yesterday, the 20th of June, marked the anniversary of my father's death. I failed to mention it in last night's blog. He suffered a minor heart attack in February of 1988 and underwent bypass surgery. The night before he was to return to work he fell terribly ill. He was suffering an intestinal blockage caused by a tumor in his colon. He was 63 when that all occured. He passed away just after his 66th birthday earlier in June, 1991.
Among his regrets was that he would not live long enough to celebrate the new century. I lit a 50 yard long string of firecrackers that New Year's Eve, 2000, in his memory.

He died in his bed, surrounded by many of his children and his loving wife. We were all able to give one last kiss....and he died just minutes after the last family member bent over him and said goodbye with that kiss.
I look back on that night and my witness to his passing as a privileged gift. I lived next door to my parents' house, and I still do.  As I walked back to my house in the early morning hour to tell Sue of his death, I looked at the western horizon and saw three bright planets aligned as if beacons in the sky. The crescent 
moon was just to the left of those planets. I have never forgotten that.......and I have never seen that celestial
alignment since.

The parallels of my father's experiences to my own are obvious. I was fortunate. That is all I can say.

He told my mother that when the wind swept over her, it was a sign that he was present and watching over her.

Stephen
 

"The Road Back"

I am reading a book titled "The Road Back", written by Erich Maria Remarque...the author of "All Quiet on the Western Front". The latter, written in German, described the hell of trench warfare in World War I. "All Quiet" is considered a seminal anti-war work. It did not glorify carnage, but rather described the savage and dehumanizing effects of war on the human body and psyche. Remarque was "there", having been drafted in 1916 and he was on the Front till the Armistice in November, 1918. He was wounded twice.

"The Road Back" describes the disengagement of the armies when "peace" came, and the return of the tattered remnants of the German units through the eyes of the men who fought to the bitter end and survived.
If one wants to gain insight to the reasons for the rise of political extremism in Germany, and the eventual stranglehold of the Nazi Party over that society, then read the book. We are still feeling the effects of those tumultous years nearly a century later.

I cite the book not as a history lesson, but as a human story of men that on one day were leading vicious raiding parties with knives, clubs and grenades...and fighting off the same from their enemies....only to find that the next day "Peace" had come. They could peek over the parapet, then stand exposed and not be shot.
They were incredulous and finally at a loss as what to do. Their world had had come to an end and they were not quite comfortable with the new order. As it is, the story goes on with the march back to Germany and the slow acclimation to the reality that "it" was over. It is a touching story. And I identified with their plight and their emotions. They had to "come to terms" with what had happened to them and make sense out of it all.

I don't want to overplay my personal "coming to terms" issues and liken them to the physical and spiritual trauma that those soldiers endured.  Though I still need to go through Cardiac Re-Hab, I believe my recovery is essentially complete, but I am so conditioned to "recovering"....doing the things that need to be done to advance my recovery.....that I find myself at a loss toward the end of the day as to what to do. Like those soldiers I figuratively peek over the parapet and, of late, feel safe enough to stand up exposed to life.
I think that is "coming to terms" largely defined. Crying is a release. I think tears wash away the hurt and the uncertainty of purpose and direction brought about by two major surgeries in six weeks.  So I am not concerned about the need to cry....it is natural and healing in nature. I am fortunate that the outcome of both surgeries has been so positive. I don't take that for granted.

Yesterday was Father's Day. Sue dragged me to Nordstrom's to take a look at the "Men's Half Yearly Sale"
I think I would rather gather cow pies than sort through clothing racks crammed with bargains, most of which hurt my eyes and I would never wear anyway. However.......we did run across some nice things that fit my newly svelte body. Sue was thrilled and declared she was going to use me as her personal "Ken" doll. I said I didn't have enough hair, but that didn't matter to her...so she says. Later we grilled Tri-Tips and roasted vegetables for the boys and my sister. We ate out on the patio in perfect weather.

I still don't know "What's Next?"....though I am getting advice from various sources and collecting my thoughts.

I think I have largely "Come to Terms". I am at peace.

Stephen

 

Coming to Terms........

Apparently people are actually reading what I write. Several blogs ago I mentioned the New Moon was overhead that night (Wednesday, 15th) and I would go out and take a look and "remember". The night sky was overcast, unfortunately, but the moon was up there somewhere. I think I could detect a faint glow through the clouds. However, the point is that a reader mentioned that blog and the reference to the New Moon at the end of it. I think that reader may have gone out to look at that moon. I didn't ask, but I was touched deeply by the support and the fact that my thoughts meant something to another.

But something else took root in those kind words. It has to do with "coming to terms" with all that I have experienced  in the last eight or nine weeks. I am tempted to call it a type of PTS, or Post Traumatic Stress.
A wave of emotion swept over me that evening when I looked at the scars and still-healing incisions that stretch across my chest and stomach and tears came to my eyes...... I cried.

I cried for myself, my body, and for all those who have loved and stood by me these past weeks. I have cried many times over the last several days. I really can't control the emotions that bring the tears. There is no use in that. A memory, a song, an aria, or just a few minutes of solitude will bring the tears. Writing about this brings tears to my eyes. So maybe I am coming to terms with the trials I have endured. It is all good. There is no shame in it. It is purifying. I am human and I can cry.

As I write this I am listening to one of  Richard Strauss' lieders sung by Lucia Popp....a soprano who fell to brain cancer in the prime of her career. You can listen to it on YouTube...."Im Abendrot" (In the Sunset).
It is beautiful. Listen to it and let it carry you away. She's no Britney Spears I'll have you know.

I have been reminded of the "Phoenix".....the mythical bird that arises from the ashes of its own immolation.
I think this belongs to the "What's Next?" blog. Look forward to that one. LOL

Stephen

Coming to Terms...."What's next?"...continued

As I write this, I am listening to an aria from the opera "Die Tote Stadt". I never tire of it. It often brings tears to my eyes. It is called "Marietta's Lied"....a duet sung by a soprano and a tenor that is hauntingly beautiful and very listenable for those intimidated by opera. You can find it on YouTube, sung by a number of artists.
For those unfamiliar with German, the translation is "The Dead City" or "The City of the Dead"...
I found music wonderfully therapeutic over these last nine weeks. I have spent hours wandering the "Cyber-Aisles" of Apple's iTunes store hunting for lieder, arias, adagios, sonatas, symphonies, concertos and movements that appealed to me. I often gaze out of the window overlooking our backyard while listening to my music and realize that I rarely see the yard at its most beautiful during the early and mid-hours of the day. We take our reality with us wherever we go, somehow thinking it is all before us and that is all there is. The few hours I enjoyed the yard in the past seemed the only time it existed, when, in reality, it was always there and always beautiful. Isn't there some expression about slowing down and "smelling the roses"?

I think my physical healing is almost complete...certainly, if the heart surgery had been the extent of my experience, I would be "recovered". For the last nine weeks my life has been defined by surgical procedure and recovery. But what is recovery? "Recovery" also means coming back from a state that might be
characterised as exile and embracing some semblance of one's previous life. Believe me....one's life is forever impacted and changed by what I have come through. This is part of  "coming to terms", I think. One simply cannot go forward as that same pre-surgery person. There are the physical scars from incisions, and then there are the psychological and spiritual "scars" that set one apart from all others who have not suffered through the same battles. I am fortunate in one respect ......I do not have to face prolonged treatment or fear the return of the type of tumor found in my body. That is the indication to date, anyway.

I still can't tell you "what's next". And I still haven't covered the whole of "coming to terms".....

That will come later....I need to gather my thoughts and fathom my emotions.....and maybe cry a little.


Stephen

Coming to Terms....."What's Next?"

I have been at a loss for words to post on the blog....call it writer's block. But I'll give it a try and probably find myself loosening up.

The tumor surgery was three weeks ago yesterday. I am healing well and feeling about 90% of my old self...except when I feel about 70% toward the end of the day. I experienced "rebound"...that's what they call it....when I tried weaning myself off of the pain medication too quickly. It is part narcotic and can induce dependency. Some chronic pain sufferers take the same medication for years....no thanks, thank you. The overwhelming feeling is akin to an adrenaline rush. I reduced the dosage to one tablet every five hours, however I forgot to take one this afternoon, so it has been about thirteen hours since the last tablet and I am feeling a bit weird right now. Then again, I may be going through an anesthetic flashback. All the Doctors tell me that it takes weeks for the anesthetic to be purged from the body. A flashback is marked by drowsiness and a general "down" feeling. I may sound a mess, but, really, I am fine and enjoying writing about all of this.

A realization came to me earlier today. For some reason I consider the tumor surgery less an important event than the heart surgery....and therefore diminished in its impact on my life. It seems to have been an afterthought. The actuality is that it is one of the two bookends that prop up my story. It was "major surgery", as the Doctor reminds me each time I see her. The anesthetic used in that surgery is the culprit causing the flashbacks....not the anesthetic used in the heart surgery.

I wonder if  I have come to terms with the events of the last eight weeks. When Dr Amersi left the exam room, after delivering her very good news, I dutifully began to put myself together so Sue and I could leave.
As I buttoned my shirt, I turned to Sue and saw a wave of emotion and relief sweep across her face. A few tears filled her eyes and she gave me a big hug. It was then I realized the significance of the news and felt some emotion. And it was then I understood the stress and the fear she had been living with. Maybe it was the anesthesia and the pain pills, but I had not been emotionally affected to the same degree. I had detached
myself and took a clinical perspective....... and still do today. Perhaps part of the reason for this is that recovery is comprised of small "victories" and demands a focus that is conscious and subconscious at the same time. A global perspective is difficult when one is preoccupied with water retention, regularity, medication levels, pain prevention, and finding comfortable sleeping positions. Then there is the unspoken concern about wound infection and re-opening the incision through stress or bending over the wrong way, and then the ultimate worry about the bowel re-section holding. I am human, after all.

I am asked, more and more frequently, what I want to do "next"........"What's next, Steve? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?" I don't have an answer to that question right now. I do know that I don't want to return to the grind and routine that was much of my life for many years. I remember my father
telling me shortly before he died that I must not let work dominate my life to the exclusion of enjoying my life.
It was one of his great regrets that he had not taken the time over the span of his years to make the time to do the things he wanted to do and see the things he always wanted to see.

Every night, before I go to sleep, I sit on the edge of my bed to gather my thoughts and settle my mind. It is a form of prayer. That is when I contemplate what I have endured these last eight weeks and what it all means.
It came to my mind several nights ago, as some near-revelation, that a gift has been given to me......call it a gift of life, or a gift of understanding and compassion, or maybe a gift of light. There is no darkness. There is no sadness. There is only calm.

There is a Full Moon tonight. It is the third Full Moon of the Journal. I am going outside to let the light shine down on me and remember.

Stephen

"The Score"....Monday's Meeting and Lab Report

Tomorrow....June 7th....marks two weeks since my tumor surgery. At the time, the surgeon, Dr. Amersi, felt the operation was a success and there was no apparent spread of the tumors to other organs of the body. I've described the mass removed from my abdomen in previous posts. But Dr. Amersi could not draw any conclusions with certainty until the pathology reports came in from the lab.

Today, Sue and I met with Dr. Amersi to go over the lab analysis. It was just this morning when it began to dawn on me that I would hear the "final score" of this contest later in the day. So it was with some anxiety that we traveled across Los Angeles to Cedars/Sinai this early afternoon. I would know what my medical future was going to be like by the end of the day.

The Pathology Report affirmed Dr. Amersi's observations. However, there were SEVEN tumors in a cluster involving the mesentery and the small intestines. They ranged in size from about 1/4" to almost one inch in diameter. This is why Dr. Amersi had to remove a tangled "ball" of small intestine and mesentery tissue. The outlying tissue of the "ball" was clean and showed no sign of cancer. The bottom-line is that there are no cancer tumors left in the body. Future "treatment" will involve periodic scans (every six months) to detect any possible return of the carcinoid tumors.

I am walking the streets with a retuned heart and newly repaired plumbing. The healing process, initially feared to be more painful than the heart surgery, has proved to be rapid and less painful than feared.
I am a very fortunate man. The final score came out in my favor. What a game!!!

Stephen

"Good Morning, Mr. Hamrock.........."

I found the level of care at Cedars-Sinai to be excellent. Interestingly, the nursing staff was about 80% Philippino...a mix of male and female nurses and aides. To a person, all the staff treated me with patience, care, and genuine respect. The Philippino's were a particularly happy lot of people. By and large they were not a sophisticated group, but very true.

I have come to realize that each floor of a hospital is devoted to the recovery of patients suffering the same or similar illnesses. You don't have cardiac patients mixed in with cancer patients....their needs are different and the hospital concentrates resources accordingly. In the cardiac recovery section of Whittier Presbyterian the focus was on heart rates, blood pressure, circulation, preventing blood clots, etc....making sure that the patients' hearts were ticking properly. At Cedars, I was on a floor where the common denominator was bowel surgery. I, like others down the hallway, had a section of bowel removed and the two loose ends reconnected with sutures. The intestinal tract heals very quickly and this reconnected juncture is "ready" in twenty-four hours. However, one does not know how successful the re-section is until there is evidence that the tract is clear and allowing matter to flow past the re-sectioned juncture. It takes several days for this evidence to make itself apparent and indicate successful surgery. Hence there is a laser-like focus by all medical personnel in search of that evidence.

Very early on the fourth day after surgery I got up from my very uncomfortable bed and walked the hallways. Walking helps promote circulation and the elimination of retained fluids and it is encouraged from the day of surgery to the time you are released. As I approached the nurses' station I saw the diminutive aide  who had attended to my needs through the nightshift discussing something with another male nurse. "Parri" looked up and with a bright smile greeted me in a voice for all to hear.."Good Morning, Mr. Hamrock!! Did you pass gas last night??".  As I passed by him, I put my hand on his shoulder and laughingly told him that I had not, but expected to any hour. Everyone laughed and I proceeded down the hall chuckling to myself. From the nationally recognized surgeon to the night aide....the indication of a successful re-section was the passing of gas. All, including myself, were relieved once that happened (no pun intended).

It has been seven days since the surgery to remove the tumor was performed. I am feeling fine, though the recovery from this operation is different than the recovery from the heart surgery. As I wrote in an earlier blog, this last surgery caused me a good deal of anxiety. I had no idea what the surgeons would find once they got into my abdomen. As it is, the outcome was the best that I could ask for. No other organs were affected. The tumor infested area was restricted in scope and removed. The small intestine was re-sectioned and I was closed up after an operation that took no more than one and one-half hours to perform. They got me off the table in record time. My heart held up just fine and the anesthesiologist was amazed that all went so well and so quickly.

The tumor had attached itself to the outside walls of the small intestines and had bound up a section of them in a mass that, once removed, proved to be the size of a large grapefruit. The surgeon told me she was surprised that I could eat anything and not experience discomfort. The probability of a blockage in the very near future was real......and that would not have been a pretty situation.

My appetite is still repressed and food doesn't interest me like it once did. However, I am seriously thinking of making a pot of Chili Verde this weekend. I don't know if I will eat much of it, but everyone else is enthusiastic. I should feel up to the task by this Sunday.

Stephen