My Second Favorite Memory of Mom

Sometime ago, I wrote about my favorite memory of my mother. It involved a cat and if you missed it, I'm sorry. I am currently too lazy to look that one up and give you the date to find it on EndangeredSwimmer. This little piece is about my second most favorite memory of the women whose influence I still feel everyday of my life. An odd thing about this memory is that Mom wasn't even in it. It is an anecdote my sister, Carol, told me about during the last few months of Mom's earthly life.

We-- us, my sister and I, plus some hired sitters-- were staying with Mom 24/7 during that time. Twice a week I stayed all night. For a long time those duties were not too strenuous. I would come in about 6:00 p.m., get Mom's meds together, fix or buy her supper, feed her and administer her medications. After that, I usually watched television until bed time.

Gradually, however, staying the night meant working the night, all night. I'll spare you the details. Eventually, my sister, who did all the scheduling, took me off the night shift. Mom was not happy about this. When she protested, Carol asked her, "Do you think it is fair for Zane to stay up with you all night and then go to work the next day." To that she replied, "Yes."

I promise, I not only laughed out loud then when Carol told me that, but now several times per week it crosses my mind and it always produces a chuckle. Often, after the chuckle, I tear up because it reminds me of how much she loved me, us, all her children. She wanted me around. No matter how bad her health grew and how old I became, I was always her little fair-haired boy, and nothing was going to change that. That is what makes mothers, and mine in particular, so special. They love. And that love continues to minister to its recipients long after they are gone.

12:17; 12/17

While I was swimming the Chicot Challenge, unbeknownst to me a crises was brewing on West Harding Street in Greenwood, Mississippi. My aged mother, who has had more health struggles than Job himself, fell, landing on her face, and producing wounds of an unspeakable number and severity. My sister called the ambulance which transported her to the Greenwood Leflore Hospital where they tapped out, so to speak, and pronounced her beyond their capabilities. She had a broken nose, a split nose, multiple bruises, and damage to her upper lips that the attending doctor declared beyond his ability and the ability of any physician in town to repair. She needed a plastic surgeon. So it was off to Jackson, to a burn center that had several competent plastic surgeons on staff.

She suffered a devastating fall, an ambulance ride to the local hospital, a long ride to Jackson, heavy medications, surgery, and the slow post-surgery recovery that always comes with being put under anesthesia. So what was her main concern after waking up? Was it: 

a) Will I survive? 

b) How long will it take to recover? 

c) Will I have permanent scarring? 

d) When can I go home? or 

e) How is Zane? 

If you chose e) How is Zane? then you probably had a mom like mine.

It is no exaggeration to say that the worse she is the more she seems to worry about me. When she was hospitalized almost constantly in the winter and spring of 2012, her chief concern was, "Did you get something to eat?" I was asked this over and over both to my amusement and annoyance.

"Mom, I have a debit card. I know how to get to the cafeteria."

I think I already wrote in this blog somewhere about the time I was staying with her when she shuffled in on her walker and brought me a bell. 

"What?" I asked.

"If you need something, ring the bell."

I guess I will always be her little fair-haired boy and I don't mind, in fact it's quite touching, but it makes me a very poor care-giver. Whenever I am with her, she wants to know if I have eaten, have I had a nap, do I want to watch something on TV? do I want to take all the newspapers home? did I notice the Diet Cokes in the refrigerator? etc. 

Recently I became Facebook friends with an elderly woman I knew while I was growing up. She had a daughter my age, and two sons, one older and one younger than me. We went to the same church so she remembers the little fair-haired boy my mom sees every time I try to take care of her. Over the past few months, anytime I posted something about training or the swim on the Chicot Challenge IV Event Page, she always responded, "Now Zane, you be careful."

I was always amused.

And touched.

Thank you, Mrs. Browning. I will be careful.

Anyway, to make a short story long, that Saturday when I was swimming for twelve hours, my mom asked my sister over and over, "Have you heard from Zane? Did he finish the swim?"

Finally, Carol was able to give her an answer, "It's over. He swam it in twelve hours and seventeen minutes."

"Twelve seventeen," Mom repeated. She was quiet a second. "That's your dad's birthday."

It Makes Me Think

A year or two ago, I had some business cards printed. You know those "free" Vista Print specials. Wow, like I didn't already know to run like the wind anytime the word "free" is ever used. To make a short story long, I'm very happy with the cards, but these free ones cost me a lot of money.

They have a pic of me on front with my nose taped. What, you expected me in a business suit? I announce myself as an Extreme Swimmer. I like that. Pertinent information like my cell number, blog address, and slogan, "Fighting diabetes one stroke at a time," finish out the card. I always keep a few in my wallet and give them out with pride. The look of confusion on people's faces when I pass them out causes me extreme joy. Maybe I'm sick.

I got a call last night. It's a wonder I answered because I didn't recognize the number. I was almost to Minter City, coming back from Masters Swim in Cleveland, MS, when my phone went off, and I had to turn down my brand new Marty Robbins cd to answer. Marty was singing about loving a Mexican girl in El Paso at Rosie's Cantina, and I was just about to cry. That song does it every time, so I was a little pissed somebody messed up my experience with the dark-eyed Mexican beauty and Marty's enchanted story telling.

"Zane Hodge?"

"Yes?"

"I found one of your business cards at Kroger" [in Cleveland where I had stopped to buy fruit and some diet drinks].

I waited.

"It says you're an extreme swimmer."

"Yes I am," I answered with pride expecting questions about my athletic feats to follow. Instead, what followed was:

"Well, you swam away from you wallet at Kroger."

"WHAT?!?!?!!"

Already I was braking and the truck was lurching towards to shoulder of the road before I finished my scream.

Dude, who does that? Lately I've begun to worry myself. I locked the keys in the truck at Twin Rivers last week. I popped the hood on my truck, Tuesday, and was working on my battery connection-- me and some good Samaritans-- for a good ten minutes before I discovered instead of a battery problem, I had simply left the truck in drive. Who does that? Now the wallet. Who loses their wallet in a busy supermarket in a crime-ridden town? Who tapes their nose with pink duct tape to swim? Who swims in catfish ponds? Who takes his wife's dog riding with the window down to look for cats?

*Raises hand meekly*

OK, maybe I am different, but so was my dad. All of this made me think about him. In fact, everything makes me think about him. Everyday I think about him, and the thoughts are always good.

My sister texted me and wanted me to take Mom to the doctor. No problem. This was my older sister who has been here from Florida for several weeks, and I must confess she has given my younger sister and me a nice break. She also wanted me to go with her to the place in Carroll County to dump some corn, Huh? Don't ask. It's a long story and it involves our dad.

I took Mom to the doctor, and back at the house, Helen was ready to head to the hills. The bed of Dad's truck was filled with corn, really, hundreds of pounds of corn. We dumped the corn in an open field. I don't hunt much anymore, but it is far enough from any of our stands that maybe we won't get arrested this winter if we carry a rifle out there. Then she wanted some gravel, four buckets full, so I loaded her some gravel.

We stopped at Acy's on the way back and had a burger. It was nice.Their burgers are the best, and I don't know when I've enjoyed being with my sister more than then. She was happy, pleasant, and we talked about Dad. She told me that before he died, a Scripture came to her mind,

Genesis 25:8 And Abraham gave up the ghost, and died in a good old age, and old man, and full of years, and was gathered to his people.

She said the idea of a "good old age" began to purcolate in her thoughts. For Dad, his old age was beginning to cross over the line of good into the region of just old. He had stopped fishing in Louisiana, he had fallen in his little boat in Carroll County and wounded himself severely. He had sold his big boat. He had several unexplainable wrecks. He just couldn't do the things he always had, and he went home, "full of years and was gathered to his people."

She said that had prepared her for his death. Nothing had prepared me for his passing. Dad was my hero. In my entire life, he only disappointed me one time. That was when he died. It takes a long time to get over something like that.

It Will Be a Great Time

It's Friday morning, the air is cold out, and the rain is peppering the awnings on my house. I love this  kind of day. It's Friday morning, very cold outside and raining pretty hard. I hate this kind of day.

This kind of weather forces me slow down. I love that. This kind of weather forces me slow down. I hate that. Truth be told, I really need the reduced pace. Fatigue has been my constant companion of late, mostly, I think, from the severe emotion I have dealt with -- and still am -- over the last month. I have learned from personal experience that strong emotion, even joy, to me is exhausting, and sometimes even leads to illness. Enough of the mushy stuff.

I never did the recap of last week's training, so here it goes. For Thanksgiving week, I

ran 11.74 miles,
swam 3,427.6 meters, and
walked .8 miles.

That's it. Pretty pathetic. I know. However, you could consider this my off season, so it's not really a total disaster. Oh yeah, I also gained nine pounds.

One thing I have noticed over the last year, though, is that whereas a few days off used to lead to recovery, strength, and freshness, now a few days off leads to a rapid erosion of fitness. I suppose that's a product of my age. I suppose.

Be that as it may, I am attempting to rebuild my condition -- not that it's that bad -- and possible do The Great Noxapater Journey Run in December and well as the Mississippi River Marathon in February. Not only that, but it's not too early to be thinking about the Chicot Challenge 2014. For a while, I wasn't sure I would be able to pull it off again. Some of my concerns were the school I work for hinting at a return to a five-day work schedule, and the uncertainty of my mom's well being. With Dad's passing and Mom's recent health issues, everything was sort of up in the air. Now, I feel more secure about the work situation, at least for next semester, and with Mom home I now have a better picture of what her care will entail. In short, it looks like the Challenge for 2014 is doable. Of course things can change in a moment, but that's always the case, and when I did the first one I was spending major time with Mom in hospitals. Then, when I had a chance, I just kept going out and training as much as I could, and I made it happen. I think I can pull it off again.

There are a number of issues, however, I still have to work out for next year's big swim. One is the distance. For the 2012 edition, I announced 13 miles but wound up swimming 13.94. In 2013, I announced 16 miles and swam 16 miles but not one stroke more. Right now I am thinking of 17 miles, but I've toyed with the idea of 18. Already I have the route settled, although I know from last year that it could change at the last moment depending of the weather conditions of the day. I have my crew in place, and they are more experienced than ever. And I have purchased a pontoon boat, which will make the swim safer and the crew more comfortable. Another issue is publicity. I think I will not do much in that regard. Last year, I worked incessantly to publicize the swim, as did the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi. I am still baffled that our efforts in that regard so poorly produced results, and I am still pissed off at the Greenwood Commonwealth for not covering the swim.

Concerning The Great Noxapater Journey Run, not only is my fitness a little suspect, but I've had issues recently with a nagging gimpy knee and another Achilles tendon flareup. On the other hand, I now know I could make the run happen in terms of time. My sister has worked out a schedule for Mom's care, and I can get off a few days. Physically, however, I'm just not so sure. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Still, knowing myself, I am certain that the temptation will be more than I can bear, and when I get my chance I will be shuffling east, trying to make my way across several counties and through Louisville, MS and on to the great metropolis of Noxapater. It will be a great time to contemplate my great grandfather, George Henry Quinton, who walked from Utah to Louisville, MS when he was only twelve years old, having been abandoned there by his family. It will be a great time to contemplate my great, great grandfather, Stephen Krebbs, who walked from Oklahoma to Louisville, MS. It will be a great time to contemplate my Uncle Bo who walked out of Louisville, MS when he was seventeen and right into WWII. His journey took him to the Pacific Theater where he was taken prisoner and survived the Bataan Death March. His bones now lie somewhere on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. It will also be a great time to contemplate my late father who ran countless miles, caught countless fish, who walked miles and miles hunting quail, who played tennis, cut wood, gardened, and went and did and did and never stopping for anything but death itself. I am my father's son and that means there are some of my impulses I can not or will not control. Recently, of this run, I told my sister, "I have to do this, this run, I have to." Her response was, "My God, I never realized how much like Daddy you are." It will be a great time to contemplate that, how much like Daddy I am.

It will be a great time.

I hope.

Still I Dream

It's been the best of times and the worst of times. I refer to my week off. It's been off.

Monday started with me lounging around the house, sore and exhausted from Sunday's journey run, and getting absolutely nothing done. I felt like a bum. But I did need some rest. I got it.

Tuesday, however, started with a kidney stone attack which kept me in bed most of the day. I did feel better in the afternoon and went to DSU that night where I swam

1,450
800 decline 1-4 by 25s
4 X 50 @ 1:00 all out
600 breathing 3, 5, 7 by 50s
8 X 50 @ 1:00 all out
150
Total: 3,750 yards = 3,427.5 meters.

Wednesday was more kidney stone agony. I have had many of these over the years and consider myself an expert at passing them. This one, however, was worrying me. I was trying to avoid a trip to the emergency room which carries a price tag of over $10,000. Yes, I have insurance, but I know from the experience of my wife how expensive that still is and how aggravating it is trying to find out what you really owe. One group threatened to turn us over to a collection agency. We paid then several hundred dollars only to find out the insurance company had paid them in full. Now they "don't do refunds." I could go on and on. It's a living nightmare. So are kidney stones.

Thursday, Thanksgiving, we always go to the in-laws in Carroll County. I had planned to run all the way, about 15 miles. Unfortunately, I was on the bathroom floor most of the morning, dry heaving over the commode. I missed my run. I missed the Thanksgiving meal. I missed my grandchildren. I was all alone except for Jeff and Luvie who both knew something was wrong with me. Luvie followed me everywhere I went and rubbed his head against me incessantly. It made me cry, and I thanked God for his affection.

That night I did feel good enough to go to Mom's and watch the Egg Bowl with my brother, his family, and my children. We won! For four of the past five years, Mississippi State has beaten Ole Miss. Let me honestly report that Ole Miss fans are the worst losers on earth. Really they are. Maybe it's just that State fans have more experience at getting beat than our instate rivals do. Long-time Mississippi State fans are not fair weather cheerers and are unusually humble. Ole Miss fans, on the other hand, are often obnoxious, arrogant, and sore losers. I'm sure this offends some genuinely good people who cheer for Ole Miss. If you are one of those rare Rebels, I sincerely apologize to you, but not to those whom this description accurately summarizes.

By Friday I had gained weight and could feel myself growing soft. But since I had no symptoms, I went out for a little run in the evening and shuffled 3.13 miles. Once again, I was amazed at how much fitness I had lost. I still have a shot, however, at The Great Noxapater Journey Run during the Christmas break. If I can find a span of warm weather, I will take a stab at it. I wish I could nail down a date, but this time of year that is an impossibility for me. Sunday's run left me with a sore patella in my left knee. It wasn't the distance (a few weeks back I did a 30-miler with no problem) so much as the weather. My body does not like cold weather and my knees absolutley hate it. I wore a pair of tights that day and a pair of leg warmers over that, not to stay warm but in an attempt to keep the knees protected from the chill. It wasn't enough. There is simply no way I could do a multi-day journey run in cold weather with cold weather being defined as anything 50 or below. It won't work.

But still I dream.

Mom Is Home

Thursday I ran 5.15 miles and made it to Masters where I swam

1,650
8 X 50
4 X 200 breathing 3 odd, 5 even
8 X 100 pull with medium paddles @ 1:45 breathing 3 odd, 5 even
8 X 50 @ 1:00 decline 1-4
1,000
Total: 5,050 yards = 4,615.7 meters.

Friday we got Mom out of the hospital. We were a bit apprehensive about her emotional response to entering the house for the first time since Dad passed, but she seemed OK and was happy to be home and happy to see her birds. I stayed around with my sister at Mom's all day and did nothing on the exercise front. Saturday I hung out with my wife. The weather was bad, cold and raining, and I just stayed in all day and watched some football.

I saw this cross in the woods just off
the road while I ran beside the
 Tallahatchie River.

Sunday, however, we were off church and the weather turned out cold but sunny, so I packed my Camelbak Mule and hit the road for a journey/adventrure run. I went west from home to Highway 49, then turned north and ran to Bledsoe Plantation where I got off the highway and followed the river along a gravel road until I got to Money. I crossed the bridge at Money where I stopped and had my sit down meal. Then I headed south down Money Road towards home. The trip was 24 miles of which I ran 15.9 and walked 8.1. I had a good time and got to be alone and think and sometimes not think which is something I enjoy about endurance athletics. I laughed a few times but never cried. I think this means I'm coming to terms with Dad's death.

One thing I did figure out on this journey was the reason his death was so shocking to me. Part of the reason I already knew. His health and acitivity level did not nothing to signal his mortality. But I came to realize it just seemed self-evident that he would outlive mother. Therefore, in my mind, as long as we had Mom, Dad's death was somewhere off in the distant future, something we wouldn't even have to ponder until she passed. I guess this is almost too obvious and cliche sounding to write, but we really can't take anything or anybody for granted.

For the week, I
ran 37.25 miles,
swam 9,048.6 meters, and
walked 10.12 miles.

Mom Set to Come Home

Mom is supposed to get out of the hospital Friday, which is very good news, and I am not nearly as nervous about her homecoming as I was. I do worry about her emotional reaction. Every time I go into their house, I feel shocked, sad, and something else, I'm not sure what. It is still hard for me to believe he's gone, that he's not there, that he won't be coming back. But though I worry about her emotional reaction, I am not as concerned as I was about her physicality. Tuesday afternoon she was able to stand easily and walk herself, using her walker of course, to the bathroom. Amazing. I have a resounding respect for physical therapists. I have now seen them twice do this for Mom, seen them take her from nothing back to standing, walking, and more.

Work has been crazy. I have had to stay all afternoon for registration, even though it is an established fact that students don't register until the week before and the week that classes resume. Besides registration, when you add in my night classes, I have been here ten plus hours per day. This is ruining my credit, my physical health, and my emotional well-being. My bills aren't paid, my lawn in not mowed, and my swimming is rusting out once again. The only way I have been able to run is to do it when I would be sleeping. Seriously, I feel like I am becoming dangerous, like I might snap and shoot a road sign or something. But relief is on the way. Next week I am off. Yeehaaa!

Monday I ran 4.51 miles but missed lifting weights because I couldn't work it in. In fact, I did the running after my night class. Actually, I am enjoying my late night running. I feel totally anonymous out there in the dark with very little car traffic, and the run doubles as some alone time which I have always needed in copious doses. My mind doesn't idle as much as it used to, however, as I am constantly thinking of Dad often chuckling out loud when I remember something he did, something that has made the list of Do Not Forget moments. I have a lot of those.

Tuesday I went out for a mid-long run and ran it multi-paced fashion. After a slow 2.6 miles and inserted 3 X 1 mile at a 9:30 pace with a .2 mile shuffle between. Then I finished the run with a mile and a half of easy tipping along. In short, I got in 7.55 miles with three miles of almost tempo pace. I'm thinking a 9:30 would be a nice pace to try to hold for a marathon. If I did, it would in fact be a PR for me which currently stands at 4:11 set at St Jude in 2008. I haven't run an official marathon in since that year. I hope to do the Mississippi River this February. Last year I did the half and am hoping to beat Randy Beets in the full.

I made it to DSU, Tuesday, where the Mad swimming Scientist had us swim

2,050
6 X 150 as 50 easy, 50 kick on back, 50 fast
2 X 100 easy
12 X 50 @ 1:30 as 2 fast, 1 drill, 1 fast, 3 X through
400 easy
700 pull with small paddles
Total: 4,850 yards = 4,432.9 meters.

Wednesday I worked again all day and into the night. We watched Unforgiven in Film as Lit and it was a big hit with the students, especially the resurrection scene. After class I shuffled 4.12 miles. Since I did pace work the day before, and since it is dark out when I run now, I felt comfortable shuffling as slow as needed in order to get in some volume and recover at the same time. Right now that means I just tipped around at slower than an 11:00 pace but that's OK. It's work, it's gentle, and I do need some safe miles to achieve the goals I've set for myself.

One of those goals was The Great Noxapater Journey Run which I had hoped to do this weekend and into next week. With Mother just getting out of the hospital, however, and with the amount of care she will need still undetermined, it is most likely not going to happen. I may try for an intermediary run, something shorter, maybe to the in-laws' and back. This would only have me gone two days instead of four and also I would be much closer to home if I need to abandon the run. Since I'm not as fit as I wanted to be, a two day journey run would be a good trainer for Noxapater which I still hope to do maybe during the Christmas break. With the next break coming up in only a few weeks, I don't really feel like I'm sacrificing anything by not tackling Noxapater now. The chief problem with waiting, however, is the weather. The later we get into the year, the colder it is likely to be which requires more clothing and makes staying dry a necessity.

Strange Week

The week started with, "Are you kidding me?" It was a strange seven days.

My light last couple of weeks has resulted not in a fresher, stronger body, but rather in the disappearance of my hard-fought-for fitness. Where did it go? It hasn't had time to wander away too far. Monday I went out for a little shuffle. I did 2.24 miles and was shocked at my pace (or lack thereof) and huffing and weakness of the thigh. *Sighs with tear filled eyes. It was not much better at the pool where I swam 1,800 in 64 degree water, but was sucking air the whole way. *Sighs more and contemplates bodily harm to self.

I guess I've reached the advanced age where I have to keep this body in perpetual motion or my fitness evaporates like the morning dew.

Tuesday I shuffled 3.39 miles and my legs were pretty much toast. At the pool, the water had warmed to 66, so I was able to stay in long enough for 3,200 straight. The pace, though, was horrendous. It was only a few weeks ago that I set a PR at 400 meters, and a little before that, I destroyed my adversary, Randy Beets, at Swim the Suck Ten Miler. *Sighs and contemplates shooting road signs.

Wednesday, I shuffled another 2.28 miles and met Big John at the pool. Although the water was still 66, I got cold quickly and got out after only 1,500 meters. *Sighs and considers life in a mental institution.

Thursday morning while I as at work, Dad called and told me Mom had fallen the night before. She broke her hip, and was scheduled for surgery that day. A few minutes later, my sister called. Both of us teach for MDCC, and both of us were in class at that time. She wanted someone at the hospital because Mom has lots of chronic health problems and narrowly survived several repeated mal-practices two years ago (long, long story that must sounds too shocking to be true to anyone who had the patience to listen or read). I gave my class their marching orders and left.

To make a short story long, I was at the hospital all day until my sister, who is a real American hero, relieved me sometimes that night. I really can't remember what time. It is amazing how cloudy my thinking becomes and how large my belly gets while hanging out at hospitals. I have learned to write down everything. I also have learned that I lose all control over what I shove into my mouth, and I gain weight by the minute. Anyway, when I went home, I put on shoes, fired up the Garmin watch, and headed my recently acquired huge belly out the door not for fitness but for stress relief.

I made it 5.05 very slow miles before my legs tapped out. It looked like just a little bit of my long lost fitness was starting to coming back to me. Just a little bit. Then I fixed up a day bag and went to bed because I had to have Dad at the same hospital at 6:30 am Friday morning for his TURP. That's right, we had Mom and Dad both in the hospital at the same time. Luckily, Mom was in 470, and Dad was straight across the hall in 471. My sister and I were both there until I went to Mom's house for lunch. Dad had bought and cooked food for us before he went in, and I could tell it made him happy when I said I was going there to eat. Before eating, however, I took a little 3.12 mile shuffle

Saturday, I relieved my sister at 8:00 am and was there until about 6:30 pm. Dad got to go home, and Mom was moved upstairs to 5th floor for rehab. I must say they both have received good care at the Greenwood Leflore Hospital. Our bad experiences with health care two years ago occurred in the LTAC unit within the Greenwood Hospital. There they seem to manage death not life. I have had three church members die there and despite having someone in the room 24/7, writing down everything, and asking questions and challenging things like the cessation of necessary-for-life medications, my mom almost didn't survive her stay in what I call the Death Ward. The way she survived is she had an appointment with a specialist in Jackson. He was horrified at what he saw and immediately admitted her to St. Dominic where they saved her life.

Once home, I went out for a run with no plan. I just started running and slowed to a walk after 5.35 miles. Although the run was slow, it was quicker that Thursday's shuffle. If I were in good form now, I might have gone for twenty miles, but that presently is not within my reach.

I will post again soon, like tomorrow.