Sven Has Successful Procedure at Cape Cod Hospital

Anyone who lives on Cape Cod knows the closest ER is in Hyannis where I rushed Sven the Friday of Thanksgiving. His urologist scheduled a “procedure” to deal with enlarged prostate. Fortunately, Cape Cod Hospital has an excellent reputation, but no one likes to go under the knife, so yesterday we were both feeling pretty subdued during the forty-minute drive.

As I reached the Main Street rotary, Sven asked out of the blue, “What would you like for Christmas? How about a new nightgown? Maybe, Victoria’s Secret? Heh, heh, heh!” The exaggerated lascivious laugh broke the tense silence. After a pause, he added, “Or, maybe you’d just like a healthy husband?”

With a quick nod, I offered up a brave little smile.

Sven has been seeing Dr. Hartnett for a dozen years and obviously felt confident of his capability: “This has been hanging over me for years, like a Damocles sword. About time we took care of it.”

I could only admire my husband’s realistic optimism.

Upon our arrival, nurses swept Sven off for pre-op prep, and I settled into the O’Keefe Surgical Pavilion waiting room, where a receptionist, behind the counter, was discharging patients. I removed my coat, then put it back on because the two corner walls were made of glass. Outside pedestrians hurried towards the parking lot, still quite full at 3:15. By the door stood a Christmas tree, decorated with blue and white ornaments. A wheelchair had been abandoned beside the Coke machine, below a flat-screen TV, on full blast. In the far corner, a slim, elegant gray-haired woman, dressed in black and gray, fingered a gold bracelet as if it were a rosary. Several other people sat stiff, holding worn magazines, their eyes on the status board where strips of color jerked up from top to bottom in an electronic minuet.

Stephanie, behind the desk, explained how the board worked: “Pink means operating room. Dark blue, that’s a patient’s ready to receive family.” Seeing my worried expression, she added, “If I can get you any more information before I leave at 6, I will.”

The gray-haired woman stepped up to the counter.

“That goes for you, too, honey,” Stephanie said.

I glanced back up at the board. The stripes had begun to resemble a whacked-out rainbow. Yellow was the predominant color. That meant “home.” I looked forward to Sven’s number turning yellow.

A shot of frigid air rushed in when the glass doors slid to one side and a hospital volunteer pushed a discharged patient in a wheelchair past the Christmas tree. I reached into my purse for a book but impossible to concentrate, so I leafed through a recent issue of People Magazine instead. The gray-haired woman had begun rubbing her palms up and down slowly, as if about to make a decision. I noticed her eyes were red when she turned away to answer a cell phone.

Sven’s operation began at 4:15. From the board I could tell he was Dr. Hartnett’s final patient, the last of seven that day. I was doing my best not to think about the scalpel, carving into my husband’s flesh. Since the wait would be over an hour, I drove downtown and purchased Sven’s favorite bread at Pain d’Avignon.

Upon my return, Family Feud was drawing to a close. Since the room had almost emptied, the receptionists started playing along: “A flying cartoon character? That’s easy. Superman!”

The evening news broadcast was well underway when a middle-aged man in a blue pinstriped shirt joined the anxious lady, now sitting on the edge of the chair across from me. A second son, also dressed in suit with pinstripes but beige this time, rushed in ten minutes later.

From their conversation, I understood the father of this family had a brain tumor and his “procedure” with a neurosurgeon was well into its third hour.

“That it’s taking so long is a very good sign,” the mother told her sons hopefully.

At three minutes to six, Sven’s stripe of color flashed from pink to lavender, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

True to her word, Stephanie hit the phones before departure. A doctor in blue scrubs appeared for the gray-haired lady as Stephanie pointed me, with her head, towards a white phone down a corridor.

“Mrs. Rudstrom? Sven did really well,” Dr. Harnett said. “He had a large prostate, but we knew that already. He should be able to go home tomorrow at 3.”

Unfortunately, the neurosurgeon did not deliver such good news. The tumor, attached to nerves, required shrinkage. Chemo would follow radiation.

A nurse fetched me an hour later. I found Sven reclining in bed, surrounded by two young nurses, both of Scandinavian ancestry.

“I’ve been kidnapped by Swedes!” he said, opening a sandwich. “I had such a sweet dream that I was in Wellfleet!”

“Dr. Hartnett said your prostate was really big,” I told him.

“Trying out for the Guiness Book of World Records, are we?” joked the dark-haired nurse, the one whose ancestors were Norwegian. She pointed at a vial and, with a knowing look, said, “Dr. Harnett prescribed morphine, if your husband needs it.”

But for now, Sven was on a roll. The drip might as well have contained ecstasy because his mood had become even more jolly. My husband was chatting with the night nurse about the origin of her French name. I followed them through a maze of corridors into an elevator. Sven had a private room, paid by Medicare. The Mugar building still smelled brand new although it has been open for three years. I turned back to hear the day nurse, about to go off duty, admit she had Swedish ancestry, too.

“Can you say something in Swedish?” Sven asked.

“But I don’t speak it, I’m afraid.”

“Can you at least say skol? I told my wife to bring a small bottle of whiskey, but she forgot.”

When I left a half hour later, having slipped him Swedish snuff, I took the elevator down. The door opened and there was the woman, with her two sons in their pinstripes, startled to see me again. I sent them a hope-everything-will-be-alright look of compassion. I was going home to a warm bed and Sven would soon follow, but their ordeal was far from over…

Wellfleet’s Theater Needs Your Support

My last two posts were devoted to charitable end-of-year giving. Times are tough, and we all need to support each other in this bad economy. I have heard that even some successful musicians have not been paying staff on the usual schedule, if at all, which seems incredible, but such is the reality of life when music can be downloaded for free. Journalists are also in jeopardy. My brother hopes to retire before his newspaper goes under. Freelance writers are scrambling to make sense of writing online, which pays a fraction of what they used to receive from magazines. Some careers that were deemed foolproof are proving less so as we begin the second decade of the 21st century. The same folks, who always had money to spare, can no longer reach into deep pockets. Which brings me to the topic of the day: Wellfleet’s extraordinary theater. How many of you were able to enjoy a show at W.H.A.T. over the past summer? Weren’t you amazed by the caliber of the performances and the energy that emanates from a small group of artists, devoted to their art? WHAT just celebrated its 25th anniversary with shows at three venues: the old harbor stage, the summer tent for children, and the magnificent Julie Harris Stage, named for a great Cape Cod-based actress, star of “Beauty Queen of Leenane,” a show I was fortunate enough to see, and what a performance it was! Have you ever thought about how unusual it is for a small town like Wellfleet to be able to offer real theater, with real actors of Broadway caliber? Guests are always amazed when I show them the playbill and describe the season's plays, especially guests from London, England. Now, WHAT needs our help. The theater must raise $100,000 over the next couple weeks.

I asked Jeff Zinn why and he responded, “Part of the $100,000 – maybe half – is what I would consider normal end-of-year fundraising. We typically get much of our contributed income at the end of the year as people are making tax-related (and holiday giving) decisions. The other half is a more-than-normal shortfall brought on by the bad economy. When times are hard – and they are for many – contributions to non-profits tend to suffer, and we have been hit hard by that phenomenon. 2010 is likely to be even more difficult because we got a one-year reprieve on our big mortgage payment in 2009. It comes roaring back in 2010 so we're looking at budgets now. Hopefully it will be made up by more giving and not so much by cutting production costs. If there's one thing we don’t want to do it's cut the quality of our productions.”

So, please give generously so theater in Wellfleet can continue to thrive in these difficult times.

Can You Help Neighbors in Need?

I was in the village this morning and stopped at town hall to say hello to Nancy and Bob, her assistant, in the Assessor’s office. They told me their phone has been ringing off the hook after recent reevaluations of homes on Lieutenant Island. One owner of a house, assessed at $300,000, paid a $4000 local tax last year. In 2010, this family will owe $4000 + $1836 = $5836. That’s a tremendous increase. Lieutenant Island may be very desirable in summer, but not everyone can afford to own property there. And, most of the houses are second homes ….

One of the peculiarities of this town is the wide range of income. Some retired folks do not have to worry in the least about the economy. Other people have no work and, therefore, no income, or find themselves getting by with the occasional part-time job. Sometimes collecting salary becomes a problem. A friend built an addition at the home of an Outer Cape shop-owner, who went bankrupt. There was no money to collect, so our friend decided to accept payment in artwork. The daughter of another friend sent around an email asking for leads on cars: her mother’s vehicle will not make it through the winter and there’s no money for even second-hand. We don't see many foreclosures here, but from the increase in the number of people exiting Mass Appeal, it's obvious folks are hurting.

Yesterday I wrote about contributing to local non-profits. I would be remiss if I did not mention the possibility of giving food or money for less fortunate community members. The Wellfleet Food Pantry served 2,366 people over the past year, a figure that is up 110%. (24,000 pounds of food was picked up at the Boston Food Bank; $120,000 worth of food was handed out.) The Pantry, located at Grace Chapel in South Wellfleet and part of the Lower Cape Outreach Council, provided 402 people with turkeys, hams or whole chickens at three holiday giveaways last month. Organizers leave cardboard boxes at certain locations throughout town to facilitate drop-off. Wellfleet Public Library is one of the main collection centers. In fact, our library is organizing a Food for Thought Food Drive from November 23 to December 31. Not only canned goods, pasta, and cereals are requested but toilet paper, soap, and tooth paste, whatever can be spared. Peanut butter, dried beans, and chili are just three of a dozen requested protein foods. The poster to the left reads, “Let’s see if we can collect as many items and dollars as the number of books checked out during this time period last year: 3761 books!” If you live far away and would like to offer monetary support instead, call (508) 349 3685. The Methodist Church also runs a food pantry. And, then Wellfleet has the Mustard Seed Kitchen, my mother's favorite local charity,(508-349-2049).

Have you noticed evidence of the recession where you live? What is your town doing to assist citizens in need?

Charitable Giving with Wellfleet in Mind

A reader requested a photo of the welcome rowboat earlier this year, but flowers over the summer lacked pizazz. Someone did plant chrysanthemums for fall, which looked quite nice, but every time I drove past, I was camera-less. Then yesterday I noticed a new arrangement of red-berried branches for winter and fortunately had the camera with me, on my way back from photographing Santa, in his boat, on Route 6.

December is a tough month for innkeepers. Money is flowing out for the holidays, with little or no incoming flow to match. First off, no one wants to travel right after Thanksgiving. “Dead week” is deemed so un-inviting to tourists that innkeeping associations even suggest spectacular promotions. Here at Chez Sven, we might as well call it “dead month.” Things have been very quiet, although reservations for early summer are picking up. I was hoping for guests for Deck This Hall, but not one booking did we make. Today I finished my Christmas shopping and, after the credit card bill arrived, mentally turned my coin purse inside out, finding it empty. How fortunate that Chez Sven supports non-profits and charities at other, more flush, times of the year! I have tried to donate as locally as possible in 2009. If you still have a budget available for this type of thing and feel a connection to Wellfleet, consider a donation to one or more of the following organizations:

Wellfleet Preservation Hall, Wellfleet’s future community center, still needs our support, so give generously.

Cape Cod Modern House Trust is not only seeking funds. The Trust hopes for donations of art and furnishings connected to mid 20th century modernism on the Outer Cape, which would allow recreation of environments in the renovated houses that give context to the architecture.

Outer Cape Health Services: Have a special friend who lives here? Consider “a tribute gift” which will demonstrate your caring and recognize “the importance of quality, compassionate health care.”

The Association to Preserve Cape Cod boasts four decades of environmental excellence.

Castle Hill Center for the Arts in Truro. Besides monetary support, Castle Hill accepts artwork for its annual auction.

Provincetown Fine Arts Center in Provincetown, a great way to help writers and artists.

The Importance of Thank-you Notes (1)

Some innkeepers write thank-you notes to every guest following a visit. I try to send an annual generic greeting instead, since I do not have the time in season. Still the occasional hand-written note from a former guest has made me reconsider the value of personalized thank-you notes, especially in tough economic times. Take this note, for example, received after an October weekend:

“Thank you for your gracious hosting at your home in Wellfleet. Ernst, Gustav and I really cherished our time and have fond memories. I recently made the organic granola with dried cranberries, and it is the best. We hope to see you again. Warmest Regards, Toinette”

Such notes are quite rare, which is perhaps why it made such an impression. Should Toinette, Ernst and their son want to return in the new year, you can bet I'll remember them and give their request priority.

I was taught to write thank-you notes as a child. Now I have to feel enthusiastic about something or exceptionally touched to get out pen and paper in order to send a tangible token of appreciation. It's so much easier to whip off an email.

Do you ever write real thank-you notes?

“Come Warm Yourself by the …Woodstove ….”

How inviting is an open fire, burning gaily in a fireplace, below a mantle decorated with Christmas cards and holiday greenery? Imagine taking a walk through Wellfleet – not long, because it’s much too cold these days – crossing Uncle Tim’s Bridge and returning to sit by the fire with a cup of hot cocoa. Seagull Cottage guests enjoy this experience since there's a working fireplace in our cottage. Did you know my parents could make fires in the main house, too? I loved the rare occasions when I was able to visit in fall because they always had a roaring fire going. Then a chimney sweep warned the ancient mortar needed repair, and the chimney should not be used until this task was accomplished. So, for a dozen years our glorious corbelled chimney has served mainly as a conversation piece when folks climb the blue stairs and run their hands along the bricks with admiration, as if touching history itself.

After Sven and I moved to Wellfleet in 1998, we inquired about a process called Supaflu that brings new life to old chimneys. Let’s have Scott Gibson at OldHouseWeb.com explain how it works: “A flexible bladder is fed into the chimney and inflated. Grout is poured in around it. In about a day, the mixture cures and the bladder can be deflated and removed.” I’m afraid the $10,000 plus price tag put an end to that idea. But, what we really wanted was the warmth and the comfort a fire brings. After some thought we decided on second best. A woodstove!

This fall a friend had recommended Mike Travers, Highland Chimney Sweep, for the fireplace in the cottage. After Mike had swept the chimney, we asked about a metal insert that would allow us to install a woodstove in the main house. He checked out the old chimney and pronounced the feat doable. Mike is a charming man who works with his son and a mason. It took two months to get everything together. First the top of the chimney was removed. Three rounds of bricks needed replacement. Here’s the coiled insert before being unwrapped and the metal crown that was custom-made for this particular chimney. For several weeks there has been scaffolding on the side of the house to allow access. The job was finished last week. We chose a clean burning Jotul and are quite amazed with how efficient it is in heating the house. Now we can invite people in over the holiday and say, “Come warm yourself by the woodstove ….”

Where’s Stephen Colbert When We Need Him?

How depressing is this quote from another great NYT article, published Monday, by Charles Duhigg? (Hat tip to Paul, who brought "Millions in US Drink Dirty Water" to my attention.): “The same people who told us to ignore Safe Drinking Water Act violations are still running the divisions,” said one mid-level E.P.A. official. “There’s no accountability, and so nothing’s going to change.”

Last Monday I wrote about Nicholas Kristof’s op-ed in the Sunday Times. Judy’s comments attracted my attention, and I would like to reprint them here, for your consideration: “We have allowed corporations to dictate to us what is safe and what is not safe for human consumption, exactly as Mr. Kristof reports. 

What I don't get - Why do we still trust companies and corporations? Do we really think they care more about the public good than their profits? I think NOT.”

I totally agree. Over the past few months, how often have I thought of Marlo Thomas and Friends’ “Free to Be, You and Me,” and especially Carol Channing, shining her hi-beam on all the happy folks in commercials: “The lady, who smiles as she scours or washes or mops or cleans, is smiling because she’s an actress, and she’s earning mo-ney for learning those speeches …”

The company promoting detergent that contains harsh chemicals or shampoo with parabens, or the industry allowing tin cans to be lined with BPA, is not putting the welfare of consumers first. The motivation of company executives is only the bottom line. Their philosophy? If a product contains chemicals that are bad for the environment or the process of making the product involves toxic chemicals that somehow get into drinking water, so what?

In the case of NStar, the utility company’s executives obviously don’t care. The plan to spray herbicides June 1, 2010 has not been deterred by public outcry on the Outer Cape. Those toxic chemicals will filter through our sandy soil into the sole source aquifer, and be pumped into private wells like the one here at Chez Sven, ending up in water guests at this green bed & breakfast drink. So what if future generations of Cape Cod residents get cancer?

Yes, Judy. Corporations have become too powerful. The EPA intends to evaluate 104 chemical contaminants or groups and 12 microbes, which were never regulated, that is, if chemical industry lobbyists don’t find a way to sidetrack the investigators. Nation, wake up! Where’s Stephen Colbert when we need him?