Gardening and Hand Bells

Two years ago

June 9, I drove David to Jamaica Plain campus of the Veterans Administration Healthcare System, about a 40-minute drive. I didn't know why we had to go into Boston; there’s a VA hospital 10 minutes away, in Bedford. But I braved Boston traffic, parked in the VA garage, and we waited patiently in a dark, drab corridor on the third floor of a large medical office building. When we finally went into the social worker, she also couldn’t understand why we were there; the excursion was a complete waste of time. At least the parking was free.

On June 11th, the blood tests showed that in just 3 days the percentage leukemic blasts in David’s bloodstream had risen from 79% to 89% and the white blood cell count had more than doubled, manifesting in his low energy level. We had a frank discussion with Dr. Fathi and a conversation with a hospital social worker about hospice.

I re-read Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande, an articulate and thoughtful Boston-based surgeon who discusses how current American medicine fails to realistically deal with end-of-life issues. I went into this new phase with eyes wide open, or so I thought. How does one prepare for the unimaginable.

Early June 2017

I opened the online newsletter of TCF (The Compassionate Friends), the club no one wants to join. Unexpectedly, I read his name, “David Johnston”: the newsletter had a list of August death anniversaries. As evening fell, I sat at my desk, listening to hand bell Youtube videos, writing and weeping in the gentle glow of my laptop.

Two years ago I did no gardening: I was paranoid about microorganisms in the soil. Last year I didn't have the ambition. I'm glad I didn't: I'm often inconsistent with watering and with the drought, any new plants would have shriveled and died. As it was, I almost lost my perennial rhubarb from my neglect. When I finally looked at them in August, they were languishing and limp. This year, after debating all spring, I bought tomatoes and basil and petunias. But it was cold and rainy while we were in Charleston; they hardly grew. My rhubarb, however, is glorious. I bottled 7 pints of cranberry rhubarb jam.

Another glorious thing in my life right now is hand bells. I mentioned this in February: a new friend of mine owns his grandmother’s hand bell set. She, Margaret Shurcliff, brought English hand bells to America in 1902. At this point, our intrepid little hand bell choir is really just messing about. That's a quote from a favorite book of mine, The Wind in the Willows: Rat asserts to Mole, "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats." I feel the same way about hand bells. The feeling of power, flicking my wrist and producing a huge ringing sound: there is nothing like it.

If you didn't watch it in February, check out Eui Gon Kim's solo. And Kevin Mazimas Ko, who plays six bells at once!