Secret posts

So I am posting in the back end of the blog as I work on the book. Some things to look forward to: I will be posting China films, writing some about Marcie and I and the kids question, and just reminiscing. I feel as if the dispersal last week(ish) helped me unclog a lot...

A conversation

"You did not," she said.

"Yes, I did!" I insisted.

"Did you record it?" she asked.

I just smiled and she laughed. "Oh my god, honey, you are SO funny. Okay, let's see it."

I popped the tape in and on came John Gibson, talking about Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton.

"So, what do you think, people? I'll be back in a moment to take your comments on the air and hash it out with you, right here on MSNBC," he smiled, tossing some papers behind his shoulder and shaking his head.

She fast-forwarded until the transition screen appeared and played.

"So here we are again, people," Gibson said. "Tell me what you think. Is Monica Lewinsky going to testify and if so, what does this mean for Bill Clinton? Frank in Humboldt County, 30 seconds."

"John, I think she has good representation and if she doesn't, friends of the administration will be finding some for here pretty darn quickly," I said.

It drew a smile. "So you think that the Clinton clan will circle wagons with her? Pretty bold, Frank," he said. "Hey, how are things up there in Northern California? I had one of my first anchor jobs in Ukiah."

"Well, not bad, John," I said. "I love the rain."

"You'll love it up there, then," he said. "There's never a shortage!"

Marcie laughed and looked at me, shaking her head. "You liar," she said. "You like it until you get tired of it, then you get mad at it."

I shrugged as John continued, "So why do you think the Clintons huddle up with the Lewinsky clan?"

"John, it's the presidency," I said. "You don't blow that position for the whole party if you can help it, especially over a little blue dress. You get a lawyer, or even a few. And your spread them around liberally. Let's not dre4ss it up, you hos ethis fire down with cash."

Marcie, her broadcast experience in high school rearing up, shuckled, "Ho ho ho, careful honey!"

Gibson smiled and paused on the television, waiting as he shook his head for a good disarming comeback to occur to him. He looked up and smiled broadly, "So you don't let this incident stain an otherwise good record?" he asked.

"Well," I said. "Depends on who you ask, but I say 'A dry cleaner! A dry cleaner! My kingdom for a dry cleaner!' seems to lack a certain panache, right?"

He guffawed as Marcie held her hand over her mouth, eyes popped wide at my Newschat bravado, then looked at me.

"Point well taken, Frank," he said. "Let's keep it clean, then, right?"

"A bit late, John, but hey... there's always another dress... I mean intern... I mean day," I said.

He was silent this time for a few seconds, smiling and staring at the camera, almost incredulous. Marcie slapped me as she watched, wide-eyed, red as a beet. John changed the subject.

"So you're a student journalist up there in Humboldt?" he said. "You're a pretty funny guy and you have some personality, maybe I ought to watch out for my chair?"

"No, no, I'll get my own, John, when the time's right," I said. "Maybe I'll have an intern, too? Do you have an intern, John?"

"HA! No comment Frank," he said, shuffling his papers and smiling, laughing with nods, open-mouthed, silent.

"Wow, Gibson without a comment?" I asked. "Can it be?"

"It can, Frank, it can," he said, mirthfully, even. "Hey, I have to take more calls, but call back after the show. If you get down to San Francisco, I have someplace you might want to visit for some really good Chinese. The best ever."

"I'll do that, John," I said. "Great show, man. I'll see you on the tube or in the studio someday."

"I don't doubt it," he said. "I'll talk to you later."

I hung up on the tape and Marcie stopped the VCR. "You are so crazy," she said. "I am so proud of you. You were so funny and smart."

She hugged me and I noticed she was blushing. I kissed her forehead.

"So we'll go to the restaurant someday?" I asked. "I did call and get it after the show. I didn't record that."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe we will."

We never did, but it was still a sweet moment. Her pride in me always made me feel like anything was worthwhile, even playing hookie from college for a rest.

We had stir fry for dinner. It was great.

Birthday Girl! (a blog post that should have been)

Dear pals,

So Marcie turned 41 Sunday, as all of you know. here in San Diego we had a nice brunch at Jake's and sipped a bit too much in the Mimosa department. We were late for her dinner at Bob's and Barbara's, but we made tardy worth the while, for sure. Thanks to everyone, what a crowd!

She scored the Lost DVD set with all the episodes she missed when she was bedridden, a ticket to San Francisco (for both of us... for the first time!) and some MORE Jo Malone. God, how much loot does one woman get? As much as she wants, methinks. Send more, she hates that but secretly enjoys it, too...

I can't believe last year I was facing a life without our girl. I would have been utterly lost. Somehow, I just know I would have been broken down and maybe died myself. I am so proud of her. So tough, and so sweet. She's my hero.

I am sorry it has been a week or two since I updated, but I am thinking I might change the blog to "crazy husband loves redhead" or something. This old blog was more about keeping everyone up on her struggle. She's not entirely comfortable with it, now.

Thanks again, everyone! I'll update on the changes and anything else to come when I have it fleshed out. What a strange chapter in our lives. I am glad to turn the page. This one will stay up so we can all remember just how tough it was.

G'night folks!

F.

I wish... so much.

One year ago

I walked into the room and asked her if she needed help getting up. She did. I helped her and her legs buckled under her. The day before, she had been walking fine. I was upset, of course, and called hospice for help.

By the time they arrived, Jane had come by. It was agonizing to fight with the hospice people. Marcie needed help, and they were insisting it was the progression of her disease.

I was suspicious. She had been fine the night before. She had also had a medication change.

Her diuretic, used to control her swelling in the arms from post-surgical edema, had been replaced by the hospice doctor with a powerful statin. I did not piece it together right away, but a few months after her death, I did.

They changed the drug that night while she slept at a nursing home. She never recovered.

There was no progression of her disease, her tumors had been retreating. I found this out a week later. She had, until that night, been recovering and gettign just a little stronger.

This will not stand. I think the statin did the damage, and her three-week downward spiral and death, losing function on one side of her body as she did, lies at the feet of the doctor whose care she was under.

On her birthday, last year, a mistake or something more sinister sent Marcie on a hellish journey to death.

I remembered her very good, sweet nature today as I went through my routine as best I could. I lit her candles and talked to her. Now that her special day has drawn to a close, I reflect on the injustice of it all.

Four decades of her grace, sweetness and beauty was not enough. She, and all of us deserved and had coming far more.

This will not stand.