Mid-Wived into the Adventure

I am sitting on a bed in my friends' home in Mazatlán, Mexico, using a borrowed computer to write this entry. The gated window is open for a breeze, and the sounds of neighborhood partying mix with the periodic barking of a neighbor's dog. My friends' twins, not quite one month old, have stopped crying. 

At the corner of the bed sits one friend's 15-year-old son, who is playing the "Sleeping Dogs" video game he loves, about under-cover police sleuthing. This really lovely young man has eagerly invited me to try this video game and "Minecraft" as well, both of which I have indeed tried to his great delight. Of the two, I found the former, though violent, more interesting to play. Hmmm.

My almost complete lack of coordination with the controls was quite funny for both of us. My figures moved about as if drunk: they walked into walls, wandered in circles, bumped into vegetable stands, and generally jerked about. On one occasion, without intending to do so, I made a figure slam someone else's head against a wall, leaving a blood spatter. I was horrified. Such is life in the early days of my adventure.

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The final days before my departure were a wild ride. The company managing my apartment got a new property manager shortly before I left. She reversed the prior manager's decision that I would not have to clean my carpet because it was due for replacement, and I got this word the Friday before my Monday walk-through. Ten minutes before closing time that same day, I also got a list of cleaning requirements that I was seeing for the first time, and that appeared to demand a level of cleaning fully inconsistent with the condition of the apartment when I had first taken it. I have to admit, to my own disappointment, that this whole experience was the breaking point for my prior calm and positivity; I was not pleasant with or grateful to the new manager, who received a full dose of my frustration and intensity. The experience was a great lesson in the importance of approaching the rental scene with camera in hand and detailed written record co-signed by both parties.

In the final week prior to leaving, I probably got about 20 hours of sleep total as I alternated between cleaning and packing, with some travel organizing thrown in for good measure. There were a couple of nights that I didn't sleep at all. I was perversely fascinated by the gradual deterioration of my own cognitive capacity: slowed thinking, inability to sustain attention -- even for the completion of a single sentence, let alone a single thought -- and word-finding problems (beyond my norm, I must add with a -- what's that word? -- wry, yes, a wry smile). Fortunately, I did not slide into psychosis, but I thought a lot about the sleep deprivation approach that is sometimes used in interrogations and/or torture.

I also thought a lot about the use of stress positions in interrogation, a practice that has been questioned as regards whether it "really" is torture. My knees ached from constant kneeling on the floor and/or sitting on the single low stool that I had kept for working on papers and packing. I can tell you from my years as an artist's model that it hurts to return to any single position repeatedly, even with breaks. The body knows quite exactly, "I was here," when it hurts. I cannot imagine what it is to maintain any body position for hours on end without a break, though I am certain that it is torture.  

The cleaning and packing did get finished, thanks again to the extremely generous help of many others, and of one friend in particular. I simply would not have been able to complete this process alone and I believe this is true of anything significant in our lives: development after development, we are mid-wived by others into what matters. 

Meanwhile, as the cleaning and packing proceeded, I was trying to work out the acquisition of a four-month "travel supply" of my daily medication. Whereas I'd previously gotten this medication through a mail-order pharmacy, with a minimal co-pay, this was now impossible because my COBRA had not yet been finalized. I checked with a local pharmacy and discovered that I could get the extremely expensive medication fairly cheaply by joining their pharmacy program, and the pharmacist said she would order the medication I needed because it was not common enough for them to have it on hand. I was good to go with my Plan B -- or so I thought. 

To make a long story short, I did not prioritize picking up the medication because I saw it as a sure thing. However, when I went to the pharmacy the day before leaving in order to pick up the prescription, I was told that it had been sent back because I hadn't come to get it earlier. When the clerk investigated further, she discovered this was not the case at all. It turned out that the pharmacist had somehow forgotten to place the order in the first place. Interestingly for me, I was not angry about this; it was an unfortunate error, but an error nonetheless. The pharmacy called around, and I was told that the store in Sunnyvale was the only one with the necessary quantity in stock. That night, my friend drove me to Sunnyvale -- 50 minutes away -- to get the medication. For me, it was a much appreciated opportunity to visit with him the night before leaving the US.

One important detail that did get addressed before I left the US was the discussion of my Advanced Medical Directives with the friend who is first in line to oversee their implementation if that becomes necessary. Ever since the Terri Schiavo case, I've worn a "Do Not Resuscitate" bracelet. The guiding principles for my end-of-life wishes turned out to be: (1) though there is a great deal I would like to experience, work on, learn, etc., I've lived a good enough life already; and (2) I wouldn't want to burden or obligate others with my long-term care if I were significantly brain-damaged. It was personally valuable to have this discussion because it required a level of clarity I might not otherwise have achieved in my thinking about the matter of my eventual death. I recommend the process!

There were many more final details to which I had to attend that night, and others to which I did not get. It made me think of the Buddhist retreats about which I've read, where, when the bell rings (say, for lunch), one simply stops what one is doing. The broom, for example, is laid down mid-sweep -- and so it is with life. I worked through the final night to complete as much as possible, and was so very glad that my friend had insisted I get some sleep the prior night! At 3:20 AM on the morning of March 27th, my friend was driving me to the San Jose Airport while teaching me how to use the iPod Touch he had lent me for my trip.  

All this story and so little about the travel itself. My next entry will be about the beginning of my actual out-of-country travel, I promise.  

meg  3-30-2013