Judging a book by its cover

Everyone knows the old adage, don't judge a book by its cover. It is a great metaphor for the fact that things aren't always as they appear. Given that intro, I'll bet you think this is going to be a deep metaphorical post. It is not. I actually did judge a book by its cover and learned the hard way that adages are in our lexicon for a reason.

Just before everything happened with Maggie I started a book called Once We Were Brothers that was fairly gripping from the first page. It is about two older men who may or may not have known each other before World War II in Germany. One was a Jew, one was a Nazi. Fascinating.

Then Maggie got sick and died and I stopped reading it. I will eventually get back to it, but reading about Nazi's is not exactly the escape I need right now. Instead, I read nothing. I couldn't concentrate anyway.

Over the course of several days I saw a book lying on a table at the assisted living facility where my father in law lives. It was clearly there to be shared. I passed it by several times, but the picture of the woman in a bright red dress standing on the end of a pier on a lake was inviting. It looked light but not like a romance novel. Perhaps a New England summer mystery. Who knows? It said New York Times bestseller on the top. On approximately my fourth time passing it, I picked it up to read.

Oh. My. God. This was just about the most depressing book I have ever read in my life - yet I couldn't put it down. It was very well written. In fact, I realized just now as I was looking for the picture, it did NOT say New York Times Bestseller, it says the New York Times Bestselling author. Apparently Douglas Kennedy is an excellent writer, but he's done better with other novels.

 The book is entitled Leaving the World. (perhaps that should have been a clue). When I showed the book to my sister and asked what would you think this book is about? She guessed Suicide. Wow! How did I miss the obvious clues. I craved the seemingly carefree lady standing on the end of the pier. I don't think there was a lake in the whole damn book.

In the past few weeks I have been surrounded by friends and family who have supported and cared for us in our darkest time. The character in this book was completely opposite of me. (Spoilers here) I found myself fascinated by this brilliant woman who had no one in her life. The one joy in her life is her daughter who is then suddenly killed. WHAT?!?!?! This is the book I decide to read? Much of the book deals with her (inability to handle her) grief. WOW!

Of all the gin joints in all the world....

Still, everything happens for a reason - or so I keep hearing. I read this book from cover to cover in just a few days and realized I am really doing all right.

Perhaps I will read Mr Kennedy's best seller Pursuit of Happiness, but first I want to know how hard they have to pursue it.  But for now, I'm going back to the Nazis and Jews in World War II. It has to be lighter than what I just read.

Maeve Binchy

Irish Author Maeve Binchy died this week. She was only 72. I believe I read every single one of her books. They are not important pieces of literature, nor do they pretend to be; but they are interesting, fun novels with wonderful characters. One of her books, Firefly Summer very likely saved me from completely losing my mind in 1994.

It was September, Maggie was six months old. She had already endured five or six fairly major surgeries to repair some of the physical anomalies with which she was born. I still believed that she was going to catch up, that she was having a rough start but once they fixed everything she would be OK. That was the only way I could cope.

Now there was a new problem. Maggie was crying uncontrollably and seemed to be in pain. I went to her surgeon, with whom I had a wonderful relationship. It wasn't anything from her surgeries but I still remember him looking at me and saying "I am very impressed with the size of her head." Somehow I knew that he was  not impressed  in a favorable way, but impressed  as in it was making an impression. I remember very clearly walking home through Golden Gate Park that day with a feeling of dread.

I called her pediatrician and she immediately sent Maggie for an ultrasound of her brain. The radiologist confirmed Maggie had hydrocephalus, a build up of fluid on the brain. We were sent up to UCSF and met with a neurosurgeon just outside the operating room. I still remember he was wearing low top Chuck Taylor's, (converse shoes), which was oddly comforting.  He reassured us and whisked Maggie into surgery. They were going to put in a shunt to get the fluid off her brain. There were complicating factors though. The buildup of fluid was because of a brain bleed sometime earlier. They could not do the shunt until Maggie stabilized. She went from surgery to the Pediatric ICU (PICU) with an external drain coming out of her head.

This has happened several times since and now I know the drill, but that first time was horrific. I felt my dream of Maggie's normal life slipping away. We knew she would be in the ICU for a while, but we had no idea how long. (I believe it ended up being three weeks that time.) Maggie was in an open ward and the noise and drama was very difficult to take. There were beeps and  bongs from every patient. There was emotion at every bedside, including ours. I sat next to Maggie's crib in a high desk chair for days. I held her hand and waited for her to get better. I was going out of my mind.

When Maggie is in the hospital, the most intellectual reading I do is People magazine. I read all about celebrities I never heard of and find out who is dating/marrying/divorcing whom. That wasn't going to cut it this time, though. I needed more; I needed to escape the noise, the emotion and especially the fear.

I brought Firefly Summer to the hospital. I think my sister Mary gave it to me and suggested I read it but it had been sitting at home for several weeks.  The book was long - 672 pages (I just looked that up on Amazon). I doubted I would get into it, but from the first page I was hooked. I sat at Maggie's bedside holding her hand as she slept - and she slept a LOT. I flipped the pages using the thumb of the same hand holding the book.

The noise and drama of the PICU melted away I was transported to the Irish country side. I was lost in a world of young people enjoying a summer as their little world faced changes from development.  I still remember Kate, the main character of that story and I remember there was a young girl named Maggie. I read every moment I could and finished the book in about three days, which is fast when you factor in hundreds of  interruptions  involving very serious conversations with neurosurgeons, neurologists, pediatricians, hospitalists, nurses, respriatory therapists and dozens of other medical professionals every day.

 I couldn't tell you exactly what happened in that book but I know this: That book saved me at one of the lowest times of my life.

I hope Maeve Binchy did not suffer through what I read was a "short illness." I hope she had a good book to read to stave off the pain or fear or whatever she was facing.  It really makes all the difference.

Rest in Peace, Maeve. And thank you.