Anniversary

My surgery was one year ago today. I can hardly believe it. It's funny how anniversaries can bring everything right back. The weather feels the same, the sunlight feels the same - it's made me remember how scared I was. I wish I could go back and tell that girl that brain surgery is no big deal. Just do what they tell you and before you know it, it's over.

To alleviate some of my anxiety, I interviewed a lot of brain surgery patients in the weeks leading up to my procedure. One of the things they all advised me was that I would feel much better after the first three months, and I would think I was back to normal after six. But at one year it would be as though a veil had been lifted and then I would remember what normal is.

Well, I believe that I will miss this epiphanal experience as my body is far from normal at this point. Something tells me another epiphany is right around the corner...

Milestones

1. My haircutter told me at my last appointment that my hair is now even on both sides, and he no longer has to cut one side differently to camouflage an inconsistency. He was going to pop some champagne, but alas, no bubbly for me in my condition. (By the way, didn't it take forever to grow out my hair!? No one could tell there was any difference for some time now, but there was. The texture and density were different. Apparently it takes a while for blood supply to return to the follicles so they begin to function normally again. Who knew? Turns out my follicles were more traumatized than I was.)

2. I just drove on the highway for the first time this past weekend. I didn't feel entirely comfortable because turning my head from side to side still triggers the vertigo sensation, so switching lanes is a little unsettling. But it really was time - and it went fine. But if you see me on the roads in a little silver jetta - may want to keep your distance.

3. I cooked something last night. Terry is still in Argentina and I've already finished the package of English Muffins that was in the freezer (I've been getting home from work way too late to have the patience to wait for takeout), so I actually resorted to making something all by myself. Mac n Cheese with tuna and peas. I don't know if you would count this as cooking, but I do since I combined ingredients that didn't originally come together. Plus I had to use the stove top and several kitchen gadgets such as a slotted spoon, a can opener and a collander. Consider how desperate I am: last week I was still hungry after finishing some doggy bag chicken so I topped it off with three spoonfuls of chunky peanutbutter.

4. Terry has ordered the range for the kitchen. There is no turning back. After torturing for several months about whether the love of his life was a Thermador, a Blue Star or an American Range, he went with the American Range. They start ripping out our kitchen on March 10th. Seriously, could I have timed this worse? Taking chaos in stride is going to be an early life lesson for Baby Voltz. Here's a picture of the range. We might include this picture on the birth announcements.

A love hate relationship

Sometimes I love him so much I can hardly stand it. Sometimes he disappoints me to the degree that I wish he'd just get out of my life forever. I'm speaking of Eli Manning, of course. And today I love him.

Let's see how I feel next Sunday at about 7:00 pm. But for now, I'm thrilled that there even is a next Sunday.

In case you haven't heard by now, the Giants beat the Bucs yesterday and won their first playoff game since 2000. It was Eli's very first playoff win since being drafted, in fact, hopefully laying some demons to rest. Next week we play the Cowboys - and here's something that may surprise you: it will be the very first time the Giants play Dallas in the post season. Ever. Weird - huh?

This past week I was discussing the upcoming game with a colleague who asked about my weekend plans. I explained that I had all but written my team off due to an abysmal showing in the second part of the season, but now I had some hope after seeing how they performed against the Pats. I started to continue, but my colleague stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Joan, let me just interrupt you right there. Gay men just don't care about football. Many before you have tried to engage me in this conversation. I can't go there." I countered that I was a little puzzled by that stance since there were so many exceptionally good looking men in the NFL. "It's a bunch of 300 pound men. Not my thing." Still not accepting this, I said, "Well, they're not all that way. The quarterbacks and receivers, for example are very svelte. Look at Tom Brady." I was stopped dead in my tracks with a wave of the hand and a simple statement that I could find no fault with, and indeed, have myself invoked in many situations: "Yes. Well, I just don't have time to sift through all that riff-raff." Say no more...

A picture of my brother and I watching yesterday's game at my mom's house (I went old school with Simms - I felt we could use a little 1986):

Real Beauty is a skull scar...

Lunchtime diversion...

My Agency did an amazing video called Evolution for Dove last year that won all kinds of industry awards, received unbelievable media attention and was passed around the web like crazy. It placed Dove firmly at the leadership front of the beauty debate in the US - an important discussion to be having in this age of obsession with "perfect" anorexic celebutantes.

The follow up, Onslaught, was just launched and has already been getting unbelievable buzz in the media. I think it's great work. Enjoy...

I know that you know that this doesn't work!

Last week was one of those weeks where I just couldn't catch up to where I was supposed to be. All week I felt ten minutes late and ten minutes away. I was getting it done, but just barely. It's a feeling I hate. I prefer being well prepared and ahead of the game.

Imagine my horror when this extended into an egregious fashion faux pas.

First, allow me to set some context. I always select my work outfit the night before. I'm not a morning person, so it would take me three times as long if I didn't do it this way, and I also know I would let things slide. I wouldn't feel like switching handbags, for example, so I'd just go out with a purse that simply isn't right because it's the one I carried yesterday. I'd regret it the moment I came before the scanning eyes of subway riding fashionistas, but in the haste of getting out the door I know I'd just blow it off. So I pull it together the night before. (Side note: if I ever have to wear shoes for the commute and they really don't go with my outfit, I make sure the shoes I'm going to change into are visible - peaking out the top of my handbag, for example. If that isn't possible, I feel like screaming out: "I KNOW these don't go with my dress! I have my real shoes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and they're perfect for this ensemble!")

Within this framework of obsessive compulsive dressing, you can imagine I selected last Tuesday's outfit carefully on Monday night. Several factors had to be taken into account:

• Tuesday was September 11th. I always wear a small pin made by a former colleague's son in 2001 as part of a fundraiser for the victims' families. My outfit had to be simple enough that the pin (a funky version of the flag) would be visible but not overly obvious. So, probably black.


• I would be attending focus groups with Clients. The back room at these facilities is always freezing. I needed something that could accommodate layers and be comfortable enough to sit in for several hours.


• My handbag would need to be large enough to accommodate the files I'd want at the groups.


• After the groups, we'd be attending dinner at an old New York steakhouse. So nothing trendy.

None of this was easy because we're also in that awkward time of year when the seasons are changing and nothing in my closet seems exactly right. I ended up in a respectable, but conservative outfit without an ounce of flair. Pleated skirt. Black sweater. Small jacket. Ballet flats.

So guess what happened!? The dinner venue changed mid-morning. Instead of an old-school New York steak house as originally planned, I ended up in the private dining room of The SOHO House. I was wearing the absolute wrong outfit. The SOHO House is a trendy hipster spot located in the heart of the meatpacking district, open only to private members (one of our Clients is a member). It's quite the celebrity, euro-jet-setter crowd, and here I show up in a dorky pleated skirt and flats with a handbag that looks like a briefcase. As we were led past the Dolce & Gabbanna clad crowd snootily sipping whatever the tendy cocktail was for that 10 minute period, I felt just as I feel on the subway when I'm in the wrong shoes. I wanted to scream, "I selected this outfit to fill very specific functional needs! I didn't know I'd be here! This is not representative of what's in my closet at large, and by the way - this would have killed at Kean's Steakhouse!"

It gets worse. When I completed my walk of shame and was finally sequestered away in the private room, safely out of the view of the fashion nazis, I looked down only to realize I was still wearing the dorky corporate looking "Visitors Badge" sticker that had been forced upon me by security at the focus group facility.

I can never show my face south of 14th Street again. I'll miss Pastis.

(Update: The real story. It was hard not to realize how trivial all this outfit nonsense was the instant we were seated in the dining room. There was a large window facing south, and it allowed an open view to two stunningly bright columns of light reaching for the sky from Ground Zero. A stark reminder to pay attention to what's important.)

Goodness gracious

We were the recipients of two gracious acts during dinner on Sunday night that bookended an already wonderful meal and made it that much more enjoyable. It was a good reminder that small gestures can make a large impact.

I love staying around New York on holiday weekends. Everyone else takes off and those that remain have the run of the place. You can see any movie you want at a moment's notice, stores are airy and empty (as long as you stay out of places that sell back to school supplies on Labor Day) and it's the perfect opportunity to try the trendy restaurant you can't normally get into.

This Labor Day Weekend we took full advantage and went to an AMAZING restaurant that I highly recommend to any non-vegetarians out there: BLT Prime. It's one of the gems in the Chef Laurent Tourondel empire, and it's just perfect. They have a 30-foot dry aging room and a menu boasting 20 different cuts of meat. It's got everything the classic steak house offers, but the space is contemporary and beautifully designed. Not a trace of the stodgy feel traditional steakhouses can impart (although that can be fun in its own way too - a true carnivore, I'll always be a huge fan of Gallagher's, Luger's, Sparks, Frankie & Johnnie's and Smith & Wollensky's to name a few).

Gracious Act #1:
I have a friend who lives in the neighborhood and is a regular at BLT Prime. He's always talking about how good it is, so I mentioned to him at the end of last week that we were headed there on Sunday. When we arrived for our reservation, the hostess said, "Welcome to BLT Prime. You're a friend of [D's]?" He actually called ahead and had them find our name so they could make a note. As a result of his extra effort, we got comped on several special appetizers. Uncommonly thoughtful. Bon appetite, indeed!

Gracious Act #2:
Just as we ordered our dessert (passion fruit crepe), the woman at the table next to us gestured with a sweeping motion that sent her glass of red wine sailing to the floor, spattering my ivory shirt (very first time I wore it) with deep, garnet colored speckles. Breathless apologies gushed. Club soda and napkins appeared. Broken glass was swept away in the blink of an eye. Within two minutes there was no evidence the incident had ever occurred, except for my wet shirt covered with now slightly faded spots. I knew the girl was mortified. And as Terry had rightfully pointed out, "On a different night we would be apologizing to you for the same thing." Obviously it was an accident yet, I felt a little cranky as I sat doused in cold seltzer. Apparently, my favor can easily be bought. The maitre d' appeared and let us know our dessert was being paid for by the table next to us. This time I meant it when I said, "Really, it was no big deal! That was completely unnecessary." Well, not completely.

Small gestures. Big impact.

It's a living

I'm back at work. It's a little jarring, frankly, and now I'm home feeling a tad shell-shocked at the end of a long day. But I'm happy to see some semblance of normalcy gathering on the horizon (or are those storm clouds?)

The only disappointing thing today was the discovery that the entire staff at the Starbucks downstairs has turned over. I now have to retrain a completely new crew to have my grande latte ready by the time I get to the front of the line. Do you know how long it takes to do that? A very long time. There are always new folks folding in to the mix, but once you get that machine up and running, the new folks catch on quick. Now I have to start from square one.

Speaking of catching on, it seems an appropriate time to share some of the things I learned during my three month hibernation:

1. Brain tumors really suck. Truly.
2. People are compassionate by nature.
3. The Stick Up Bulb is awesome.
4. My cleaning lady is an ambitious entrepreneur, a Jehovah's Witness and does not particularly like my building Super.
5. I have chosen friends really, really well.
6. My husband will never divorce me, and he responds to tough situations with humor and patience.
7. The pull out bed in my living room couch is exceptionally comfortable.
8. If I had all the free time in the world, I would not re-read all the Shakespeare plays. I would read TMZ.
9. My health is more fragile than I realized, and it's completely worth guarding with diligence.
10. The ladies on The View are surprisingly knowledgeable.
11. Dr. Phil is surprisingly entertaining.
12. The hallway carpets in my building get vacuumed twice a week and the mail gets delivered at 3:00 ish.
13. There is an invisible population of handicapped and sick people in Manhattan that only comes out during the day when the rest of us are at work. Some of them are compromised not for three months, but for years and maybe for the rest of their life. They deserve respect for their perseverance and courage.
14. White paint comes in a dizzying array of shades.
15. The skin around my eyes doesn't sag because I don't get enough sleep - it sags because I'm getting old.
16. I am gutsier than I thought.
17. It's never too late to write a thank you note.
18. My metabolism is not super-human after all. After sitting on the couch for three months, guess what? My clothes no longer fit.

I'm sure the next three months will bring a whole new set of insights. The one I'm really interested in figuring out: how can I get Google to give me a million dollars for this blog?

Four week status report

The Wednesday status reports are getting boring. I apologize in advance. I can no longer spice them up by throwing around exciting sound bites like, "Good news, I'm out of the cerebro-spinal fluid leak danger zone!"

The milestones of recovery are becoming more mundane and more spread out. I am SO over my recovery. I can't even imagine how uninteresting this is to you. I forgive anyone who stops reading the status report postings in favor of Bachelor updates and gossip tid-bits.

Still reading?

Really?!

How 'bout now?

Come on! Seriously?

Ok. Well in that case...

I learned a few important things during week four. Allow me to share:

Week Four: Eight Key Learnings

Key Learning #1: Healing is not linear

Some of the things I thought were history have reared their ugly head again (not that there's anything wrong with ugly heads). Like why does my jaw hurt? I know they sawed through bone, muscle and nerve, but that pain went away for at least three days in a row during week three. I thought the statute of limitations was over? And why is the rice crispies noise inside my head getting louder after it had almost nearly subsided? And what about the voices that tell me it's time to turn on Dr. Phil?

Key Learning #2: Jazz is not always relaxing

Note to self: when going out to "quiet" neighborhood restaurants, call ahead to make sure it's not jazz night. Oh, and make sure that they don't have a special treat on that particular jazz night: opera singers performing their favorite show tunes. We planned a dinner out this past week - my first! We had planned to meet a good friend (and former neuro nurse) who helped me out enormously through this process. So we purposely selected a restaurant that I could easily walk to and that is very quiet. About an hour into our meal, we heard musical instruments being tuned just on the other side of a small wall dividing our table from the front room. We poked our head around to see what's going on. Sure enough. Live music. Three feet from me. Awesome. I spent the rest of the evening with my finger plugging my good ear while the rest of the diners enjoyed rousing renditions from such classics as South Pacific. That remains our only dinner out to date.

Key Learning #3: Zagat is omniscient

Zagat publishes an annual movie guide (Thanks, Daphne). Includes reviews of 1,600 movies in alphabetical order, and in traditional Zagat format, breaks down "Top Lists" by relevant categories: Favorite Films of All Time, Best New Releases, Overall Quality, By Genre, By Decade, By Director, By Lead Actor, Top Story, Top Production Values, Foreign Language. It's a great reference.

Key Learning #4: Broadway is noisy

I can walk 17 blocks. But I can't walk 17 blocks on Broadway. Many trucks. Many sirens. Now I know. (It took brain surgery to figure this out? I'm a New Yorker. I never noticed before.)

Key Learning #5: I still don't cook, but I am better than ever at obsessive cleaning

Oxi Clean works well on glass that you can't get inside of to clean. I have a dual chamber balsamic/olive oil dispenser with very small openings. No way can you get a sponge or even a bottle cleaning brush in there. I swished some Oxi Clean and a little water around inside, and it got off all the residue left behind by the dishwasher.

Key Learning #6: I'm a lucky, lucky, lucky girl

I have the best friends on the planet. This has been proven to me many times over the course of my life and especially over the past few months. I had one of the best examples yet during Week Four. My friend Lisa, whom I have been friends with since we were 12, was coming in from Long Island to see me this past Saturday. The minute I answered the door, I began crying. (So, sue me! I've been through a lot, she's a good friend, it was emotional.) So then she says to me: "I left the bagels in the hall." Ok. That's weird, but fine. Let's get the bagels. What do I see? There are ALL my girls. They had traveled in from all over the country to see me.

Here's a funny picture. When I discovered I was the target of the best surprise visit ever I said, "I'm floored," just as I very nearly was. I lost my balance with almost perfect comedic timing.

Here's the whole gang

Key Learning #7: Google is scary

I have known these girls for over 20 (something!) years. No matter how much we've been through, the minute we're all together, it's like we're right back in high school. So of course we spent the visit eating and gossiping. What better tool to fuel the gossip session than Google? We got out the year book and began Googling (this word is spell checkable now) random folks from high school. You'd be surprised what we were able to find out. Can't wait for our 2009 reunion where I plan to surprise a certain now resident of North Carolina with my knowledge of what he paid for his home. I barely spoke to him in high school, and he hasn't entered my conscious thought in decades, but I now know he has a terrace AND a deck.

Key Learning #8: Re-read hospital discharge papers at regular intervals

I read the instructions in the hospital (Right after blowing my nose. One of the instructions is "Don't blow your nose.") I read them again when I got home. Haven't read them again since. But I read them tonight and realized that I have violated several key directives. Most notably, I was supposed to make an appointment to see my neurosurgeon again during week three. Notice this is a "Week Four" learning. Ooops. (Could they have called!? I paid a lot of money for that operation. I'm just saying.)

From the Mouths of Babes

Let me start this post with the acknowledgment that I am married to the most amazing man on the face of the planet. The way he has been caring for me not only since the day I met him, but especially over these past two months is not to be believed.

Having said that, two seemingly unrelated stories reminded me today that sometimes even the best men just can't help themselves despite their most valiant efforts. Occasionally we just have to know when they really do mean the best and simply forgive them for putting their foot in it.

Terence (aka, wing strangler) has been making me take a walk each day for the past three days. The first day was down the hall in my building to the fire stair. Yesterday was to the corner on my block. Today was all the way to the subway entrance three blocks away. It's been a useful exercise to push the boundaries on my equilibrium limits and to try to get used to multiple sensory inputs like traffic noise and wind on my ears.

Today my ear was delighted to overhear three little girls disembarking from their school bus and walking to their apartment building. They really could not have been older than 9 years old, but they spoke with the seen-it-and-heard-it-all-a-million-times before tone that usually takes years of cynical, urban experience to cultivate:
"Oh my God! Today I absolutely wanted to strangle Eric. He is SUCH a loud mouth."
"You know, Rebecca. I honestly think that Eric was ok today. He means well. Sometimes he just can't help it."

They were so serious, and I had to laugh as I recalled this morning's conversation with Wing Strangler:

Joan: "I can't believe this fat cantilever. It looked so much better before. You would think that if they're going to take fat OUT, then it would look better not worse. "
Terry: "Joan, it really looks the same."
Joan: "It does NOT look the same. They took out an ounce and half of fat. It bulges now. It does not look the same."
Terry: "Well, it does look the same. And anyway - don't worry - it will grow back."

Sometimes, they just can't help it.