The day before my surgery, I was emailing back and forth with my friend, Elyse. We discussed gallstones and bilirubin counts. One thing lead to another and suddenly Elyse was admonishing “Billy Rubin” and telling him to “go take a hike.” So when I came out of the recovery room and Don handed me this little fellow, there was only one choice for his name. Meet Billy Rubin. He was a source of comfort to me as I battled the fog of anesthesia and pain. He has brown eyebrows just like our beloved dog, Winston.

It has been a tough week. Thank goodness, the pain has lessened, but the first 2 days were very, very hard, indeed. I can only sleep in one position and last night I woke up at 2 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep. Normally, I would change positions to search for that elusive sleep but I couldn’t. I ended up going back to sleep this morning in one of the living room chairs. An impatient Scout woke me up with a short, sharp bark at noon. My eyes opened on her little outraged face – it was well past breakfast time. She’d had enough with patiently waiting.

This summer has been so strange and un-summerlike. I was away for the first part of the summer, finally got to come back home and promptly became very ill. Two hospitalizations, a procedure and a surgery later, here I sit. I think I’ve mowed the lawn once. I haven’t spent much time outdoors in the garden, though I long to. I feel disconnected to summer and the garden and the lawn and all the things I normally am immersed in this time of year. We’ve had our share of financial stress and have been scraping by. Now I have medical bills to pay – thank goodness we pay for health insurance every month or they would be astronomical. Dad called to say that Mom seemed “to be giving up.” Though I think she’s been doing that for a long time, the fact that he finally said it to me says something. Don started working a new job this week – nothing to do with acting or singing. It’s a big change for him and carries its own stress. My dear friend Brenda has been going through a simply terrible time. We talk on the phone a great deal and my heart breaks for her. All of this is very unsettling, leaving me in a strange state of tired-sad-weak-resigned-worried-angry-exhausted.

My mom’s birthday is Sunday. She will be 84.

I know this feeling will pass, but right now life just seems very hard.