Continuous Beginnings

For 13 years I've been required to appear each Fall or Spring at New York Presbyterian Hospital for an extremely brief appointment with my liver transplant doc. At the end of September this year, Michael and I made that annual trek. I had scheduled the visit to overlap with the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah.

Closure

My check in at The Center for Liver Disease and Transplantation
at New York-Presbyterian/Columbia University Medical Center is always short because my liver transplant was so successful. This year's visit with my transplant specialist, Dr. Robert S. Brown, provided a different kind of closure. It turned out to be a real turning point for me.

Continue reading below for the details on how that day unfolded, but for a complete book full of miracles, pick up my memoir, Not Done Yet: A Tale of Transformation through Transplant Surgery.

On that September day in 2019, I asked Dr. Brown, if we could do next year's visit via telemedicine. He looked pensively at my chart for a moment then said, "Thirteen years? Over a year on the lowest dose of immunosuppressant medicine. Not one cause for concern in your record." He looked up, directly into my eyes, "Your liver is never going to give you any trouble." He picked up a pen, "I'm going to sign off to close your case. Not for lack of interest, you understand?" Oh yes, I did.

I will continue to have labs drawn three times a year with results communicated to him as well as to my local Asheville doctors. But next year, Mike and I can skip the busy hospital halls and mark continuous beginnings by participating in New Year celebrations with family and friends. Just as we did after leaving W. 168 Street this year.

The Family Table Sans Children

This all put a spotlight on how quickly time is passing. My transplant case is officially closed. It's been almost a decade since Dad sat at the head of the table. Our youngest grandchild is eligible for a driver's license permit. Our eldest is considering marriage. What can we anticipate for ourselves if 70 and 80 are now in our rear view mirror? The days are growing shorter in a multitude of ways.

Transition

During the Jewish High Holy Days we think back on the year past and set our intentions for the future. My "New Year's Resolution," if you will, is to take a pause. 

I intend to rein in the pace of my mind and mouth - listen more patiently, more attentively; interrupt people less often. Being less reactive means taking a pause before speaking. 

I intend to pause the teacher within me. Being less pedantic means closing down my website which has been dedicated to "helping people too young to worry about aging, but mature enough to prepare make choices that result in a safe and satisfying old age – at home, surrounded by supportive community." I want to make heart connections now; simply live each and every moment and share that joy in my writing and art. Take a pause from "purpose" to discover "meaning."

Beginning Again

How ironic that when I poked into my old posts on the Blogger platform this morning I discovered the last entry was written Yom Kippur 2013. All I wrote then is still relevant. "What's Up This Time?" now will become the ongoing record of continuous beginnings. I hope you'll continue to follow along.

That brings me to today and this blog. Rustling leaves and pinging acorns are the music of my life. The hummingbirds fatten up and depart. I change the curtains and the bring out the quilt. I am young old; a tween again. And life is good.

Arete in Autumn

For more inspiration, read or re-read Not Done Yet: A Tale of Transformation Through Transplant Surgery.