Mayrose

When I was preparing to go to college, my father was concerned about my heading off to UCLA. He wanted me in a smaller school, preferably Catholic. He knew I wouldn’t go for that, so he suggested I consider going to University of California in Berkeley (Cal) and live at home. The commute was easily done, I could drive from my house across the Bay Bridge or take BART (rapid Transit) to Berkeley in about 30 minutes, and I could live at home for nothing. It was a futile attempt and he knew it. That was not attractive to me. I was looking forward to being out on my own and I wanted to go away. My older three siblings had all gone away and now it was my turn. Of course, each of them had attended relatively small Catholic colleges and I was headed to a (gasp) public school with over 30,000 students. Cal was also a huge public school, but if I stayed at home, he could keep a closer eye on me. I knew that too and that was part of the reason I wanted to go away. : )


My aunt Mayrose faced a similar issue 40 years earlier. In the late 1930’s a college education was not accessible for many people, and for a WOMAN, even less so. However, my grandfather encouraged his kids to excel at everything they did. Mayrose was smart and she applied, was accepted and wanted to go to Cal. Various priests apparently spoke to my grandfather about how much more appropriate it would be for Mayrose to attend the local girls Catholic college, but that was not to be. She knew what she wanted and went after it. She went to Berkeley during the depression, and lived at home with her dad, five younger siblings and two aunts who moved in to help care for the family following her mother’s death a year or two earlier. That right there might be enough to make a young woman stray off course, but not Mayrose.

She commuted to Cal every day and her commute was not quite the same thing I would have faced. The Bay Bridge was completed right around the time she would have started college, but people did not have cars the way they do now. You did not just hop on the Bridge and drive over there, and there was certainly no rapid transit. She would walk to the streetcar, ride all the way downtown to the Ferry Building, cross the bay on the Ferry and then take a train up to the campus. The trip had to take a couple of hours each way. She did this until she graduated because that is what she had to do to get what she wanted.

Like many of the women in my family, Mayrose had many different names. In fact, only the San Francisco contingent calls her Mayrose, her given name. Her siblings referred to her as “sis” and everyone in Seattle simply called her “Casey”. Jim, One of my SF cousins was up in Seattle last week and as soon as she heard him say “Hi, Mayrose” she perked up because that meant it was someone from San Francisco. She loved San Francisco and as her daughter Peg told me, she left a big part of herself here when she moved away. In the last few years, she has had difficulty with short-term memory and though she has been in Seattle surrounded by her loving family for about 70 years, it was the early days in San Francisco that she could converse about easiest.

I have not seen Mayrose in a very long time. She was the only one of the Casey siblings to move away from the San Francisco area. She met Uncle Fred during World War II and moved to Seattle where they raised a huge family and had a great and happy life. I have not been able to travel since Maggie was born, and her travels were getting restricted by age. The last time I saw her was nearly five years ago when she came down with a bunch of her kids and grandkids for a family reunion.

Mayrose passed away over the weekend at 90 years of age. She was feisty until the end, and leaves kids, grandkids and great grandkids to mourn her. Though she has not seen many of us in a while, she also leaves her extended family in San Francisco and beyond. I have always admired her spirit and independence. Her granddaughter summed it up well on face book, where she wrote: “In loving memory of Casey Baisch, may everyone be lucky enough to have a kick-ass woman like this in their lives.”

Could not have said it better myself. Women like her made it easier for women like me to follow our dreams 30 years later.

Fathers and Sons

Happy Fathers Day to all the dad's out there. Being a dad is tough work, and you should pat yourselves on the back for your efforts.

I was raised by a great dad and I married a man who is a great dad. My husband is fishing with his great dad right now but will come home to a nice dinner prepared by Maggie and I. The boys aren't here, but they have both checked in already and will call back tonight. This should be time for a contented sigh, but....no.

When Tim called this morning he said he had two reasons for calling. One - to wish dad a Happy Father's day and two - with some bad news. I braced myself. Seems he got pushed at a concert last night and cut his face above his eye. He said it's "pretty bad" and he needs stitches. He then said, he was going to go to the doctor tomorrow.

Uh..... NO. I told him to go right now to the emergency room. Stitches prevent cuts from getting infected and IT'S YOUR FACE.

If you're keeping track, this is my second stitches story in a row. Thank God I only have two boys. When Maggie is my medically boring child, you know it's an active weekend.

I also told him not to tell Dad until it's actually stitched up. That will be a nicer Father's Day present for him. It's easier to hear a problem is solved than to picture your son 200 miles away with an unattended injury. Turns out he waited too long to be seen and they could not stitch it. It's just steri-stripped acrocc his eyebrow and he will have a lovely scar about an inch long. Of course he has the dark heavy eyebrows of his Irish ancestry so it will likely be hard to detect in a relatively short amount of time.

I just told my mother this story and she told me she read that boys brains become fully developed at 20. (Tim turned 20 on Thursday). I said that may be, but apparently some of it is leaking through the hole in his face.

Ahhhh, nothing like a quiet Sunday.

Hakuna Matata

Friday afternoon 4:29. I'm trying to fend of a crises for a client before everything closes for the weekend at 5:00PM. I have done all I can do and hope against hope he gets what he needs. All the wheels are in motion, I just have to wait to hear now.

It's terrible to say, but it feels good to be stressed over a professional matter rather than a personal one. Last Friday afternoon I was tearing across the city trying to get Maggie's wheelchair fixed and it all worked out. I could not believe everything fell into place like that. I relaxed too soon. When I returned #1 son called from an emergency room in Ashland Oregon needing the insurance information. That's always good for the blood pressure.The conversation went something like this:

M Oh Hi Ed, how's Oregon.
E: pretty good, I guess, except I'm in the emergency room.
Me: (screeching) WHAT!?! What happened now?
 [note he is a downhill mountain bike racer, so these visits, while not frequent, are regular)
E: I crashed and went over the bars and landed really hard. I thought I smashed my hip but it's okay and I needed stitches in my arm.Now I need the insurance info.
Me: OK,(digging for card that I have sent him 500 times before) how many stitches?
E: I dunno, I didn't ask.
Me: (growling) ROUGHLY how many, Eddie? 5 stitches says one thing and 200 stitches indicates an entirely different type of injury.
E: Oh, no more than 10.
M: OK (gives insurance info) so you're out for the race tomorrow?
E: No Way! Doc says I can race. I mean I'm stiff and my knee and hip hurt, but that won't stop me.
Me: (begging) PLEASE be careful.
E: No worries mom.

Right. Hakuna Matata. No worries at all. He's fine, this is not a serious injury, but it freaks me out anyway.

Now if the phone would only ring giving me a happy ending to this Friday, I would be very pleased. There are twelve minutes left. Hakuna Matata

have a great weekend.

Twenty Years

Today is my son Tim’s 20th birthday. It is hard to believe he is 20, standing on the threshold of his life. It is an age where everything is possible.

Twenty years ago, June 17th was on Father’s Day. I was 41 weeks pregnant and I had a two year old. I bought two father’s day presents for my husband, one from Eddie, the two year old, and one from the new baby that I expected to be about 10 days old at that point. On the morning of Fathers Day I gave both presents to my husband and said if this baby doesn’t come today, you have to give one back. Tim did not let either of us down, but arrived in time for the 10:00 news that night. He was a hilarious kid right from the get go. He used to entertain himself by banging his head against the hardwood floor and then grinning at us when we stopped him.

After Maggie arrived, it seemed there was always a health crisis for her on Tim’s birthday. She had to be rushed to the hospital and into surgery on his 4th birthday, (she was just 3 months old). Tim was oblivious. I told him in an upbeat voice that he and Eddie were invited to his cousin’s house because Auntie Ellen was having a birthday party for him. He was happy as a clam. I was not. I sat in the surgical waiting room feeling miserable. I can still remember that day as if it was yesterday. It was the day OJ Simpson made his “slow speed” getaway in the Ford Bronco. I sat there watching this bizarre story unfolding on television and worried about one child while I felt I was disappointing another.

When Maggie was not sick, we had some excellent birthday parties for Tim over the years. We were never the type to throw lavish parties and one up the other parents. No. With my boys and my husband, the parties were creative and entertaining. One year Tim had a track meet for several friends at Kezar stadium, another year Steve turned the back yard into an obstacle course and a dozen or so boys were put through their paces. (That might have been for Eddie, I can’t remember). The kids always had a huge amount of fun and went home tired and happy.

Many birthdays were spent together with his cousin Matt. That's the two of them in the picture a couple of years ago. They are just two days apart in age. Matt grew up in San Diego, and the June birthdays fell, just after school was out so several times we were in San Diego or they were up here. Ironically, now Matt lives and attends school in San Francisco and Tim is away at school. I invited Matt to dinner on his birthday but he had plans to watch the NBA playoffs with his buddies. We decided to make it tonight so I could fix a birthday dinner for someone even tough Tim is not home. Of course tonight is game 7 and Matt is a Lakers fan (which means he still has something to learn about being a San Franciscan.) I left him a message that we can reschedule if he wants – we shall see.

Now that he is 20 and living elsewhere, I am not as involved in his birthday. Of course, I will call him, and I sent gifts etc, but if there is a party, and I am willing to bet there is, I am not invited. That’s ok. He is a grown up now.

I just don’t know how that can be when I haven’t aged at all.

All the News that's fit to print

Today is a new day. A substitute nurse was found for the one who is sick and Maggie went to school on the bus. I am finally enjoying a little bit of time to myself. I have a thousand and one things to do today before she gets home, but I am sitting around catching up on news a bit before we get started.  My husband laughed at me when he came in and saw this.

I told him I'm a little bit country and a little bit of rock 'n roll.

Lazy Days of Summer

Summer school starts today. After three weeks at home, Maggie is chomping at the bit to get back to school. She got sick the week before Memorial Day, and spent four days in the ICU. She recovered at home for a week or so, finally returning to fighting form maybe five days ago. By then, school was out for the summer. She and I went out together every day, but that is not the same as hanging with her friends and spending the entire day engaged in activities.


Mom, too, is ready for school again. I am exhausted. Maggie requires care every second and the care is physically exhausting. It is a lot of lifting, standing, and multi tasking. My recently repaired shoulder is killing me and I need a break.

 While awake, Maggie is really a two-person job - or she is for everyone but me. When I am on duty there is generally no second person to help (unless Steve is home), but when the nurses are here I am the second person. While the nurses take the lead I can do all the other stuff that Maggie requires, like order supplies, make my (almost daily) trip to the pharmacy, take her to appointments, schedule, juggle, and pay the nurses, and do all the paperwork so I can be reimbursed for that. We have nurses in the house 16 hours a day, including over night. The days Maggie is in school, I can get some of that ancillary work done and maybe find an hour or so for me. So, yeah, I am ready.

At 2:00PM on Friday afternoon, Maggie and I were at home and I heard a “pop” from her wheelchair. That is never a good noise. I looked over and she had sheared the bolts off her headrest. Maggie constantly moves and she extends through her spine pushing hard against the headrest. It is ironic, though, because despite all this power, her trunk and neck are very weak and she needs the full support of that headrest. Without it, she cannot use the chair.

Without the chair, she cannot leave the house. Without leaving the house, she cannot attend school. It had to be fixed. Steve can often cobble something together, but he was gone for the weekend. My “cobbling” skills involve duct tape and bungee cords, neither of which was going to work in this case.

I called the Wheelchairs of Berkeley, the place that fixes her chair. The office is in Berkeley, but there is a repair shop in the City too. You have to go through the office to schedule anything. They did not answer. I have the SF shop on my cell phone (there is lots of maintenance for Maggie’s chair.) Wonder of wonder, Chris answered. He knows us very well. I asked if he by any chance had any time immediately. He said he did but he would only be there until 4. The shop is downtown, I was alone with Maggie, and I could not transport her in the broken chair. The nurse was supposed to arrive at 2:30. If everything went absolutely perfectly, this could actually happen.

I took all of the stuff off Maggie’s chair – the talker bag, the suction machine, the ambu bag, the emergency trach etc. It was ready to roll if the nurse showed up on time. She did!! I took off like a shot. As I drove downtown weaving through Friday afternoon traffic, I felt elated. Things never fall into place like that for me. Chris had it fixed in an hour. Maggie and I went out several times over the weekend.

Last night I told her Maggie she was going to school today. She was delighted. So was I. We went through the prep in an exaggerated manner, programming her communication device and getting all the supplies. She is so happy to be returning.

I got up at 6 and hopped in the shower. Her bus comes at 7:30 and the out the door ritual takes a good hour. While I was in the shower, the phone rang waking Steve out of a dead sleep.

It was the school nurse, the one who cares for Maggie while at school. (She has a different nurse for this week; her regular nurse will be back next week). The person whose presence allows me the first break I have had in three weeks.

She is sick. And apparently, there is no replacement. (None that I’ve heard, yet) That means Maggie cannot go to school. Or, she can go if I go with her and act as her nurse; but of course, she cannot take the bus without the nurse, so I also have to act as bus driver.

I have to go pack my lunch.

Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em

San Francisco is a very politically correct place and I was just busted by one of the PC police. This particular PC'er is a member of a PP (politically powerful) organization, the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition and felt quite comfortable putting me in my place.

Before I continue I want you to know that I too am politically correct. I'm not rude about it, but I really do try to consider everybody before I speak or act.

It is a fantastic day here. Maggie and I went out this morning but just ran boring errands. The nurse isnt' coming until 3:00PM and we decided to take a little walk with the dog to a nearby store. We weren't going to the supermarket, mind you, just a little corner store to get some cream for the coffee. It's the type of place you run into for no more than five minutes. Mostly it was an excuse to get out again on this beautiful day and stroll through the neighborhood.

We went out the garage door, put away the compost and recycle bins (ok and the garbage too, but that's not pc) started our walk. I have both a wheelchair and a dog with me - two things that are very PC here. The dog was actually leashed for once, and I was obeying all laws.

When we arrived at the store I lashed Brisco the wonder dog to one of two poles outside the store, exchanging hellos with the guys who work there. (We are regulars) As I finished  tying the dog, a young man with  a bicycle wearing a San Francisco Bicycle Coalition T-shirt,says  "Ma'am those poles are not for dogs, they are for bikes."

Fair enough. But there was another pole three feet away.Neither had a bike on it. I looked at the pole and then at him and said, "and you want to put your bike on THIS one instead of THAT one."

"Yes," he says defiantly.   A woman was sitting at the table outside the store eating a sandwich. She was staring at the guy with her mouth hanging open. .  

My first thought was to say "call a cop", but I did not. He was technically right, but really ridiculous. One of the workers was sweeping and he started to say something but I just shook my head at him. It wasn't worth it. This 25 year old guy was going to show the middle aged lady pushing the wheelchair who was boss.

He looked like an idiot.

I simply untied the leash ignoring his suggestions I use the tree to secure the dog (also un-PC). I did not respond at all, but simply untied the dog, unlocked Maggie's brakes, turned her chair around, backed it up three feet, put the brakes on and tied the dog to the OTHER bike pole. (There was another full sized bike rack at the establishment next door and that too was completely empty.)

He was smoking (very UN-PC) and put his cigarette out on the ground. (AACK!) I was soooo tempted, but said nothing. I just looked at the cigarette on the ground and glanced at him. He was as proud as a peacock. Yeah, congratulations, buddy, you should be proud of yourself.

As we walked by him silently, Maggie said on her talker, "Mom I am happy." That is apropos of nothing, but it cracked me up.

For the record, my son Eddie is a very committed bike rider and I am very very conscious of the rights and safety of bike riders. However, there is a difference between my son and the twerp I encountered today.My son's mother taught him manners. Those are always politically correct.