I’ve been having hot flashes non stop lately. I haven’t slept a full night in months. One moment I feel fine, the next it’s like my bones are radiators in a prewar walk up in NYC.
For those who don’t know what that means, radiators in those buildings have only two settings. Off when the outside temperature is below, I think, 50 degrees Fahrenheit. If below 50, say 49, radiators on full force as if it’s well below zero.
It’s like 101 degrees or above and you often have to open windows to let arctic air in for relief.
Some of my friends are having hot flashes and their medical professionals don’t listen or take what they’re saying seriously.
My NP, thankfully a woman around my age, heard me. Really heard me. She explained in detail and quickly, thank God because I was in the middle of a busy work day, exactly what was going on.
Apparently, I’m in peri menopause. It lasts until your final period, then resets if you have your period randomly again.
Symptoms, hot flashes, exaggerated emotions including rage, sadness, anxiety as well as tiredness, changes in skin, hair and fingernails and inability to lose weight regardless of dieting and exercise.
I have all of that although you wouldn’t know the emotional part as I’m a woman and am used to suppressing how I feel to appear capable. Those who know me would be able to tell by the constant smile on my face.
I remember doing that as a pre teen when I first started my period.
She immediately told me the various treatments available, hormone replacement therapy in the form of a patch, a pill if that’s not enough, and a low dose anti depressant.
She immediately called that into the pharmacy across the street and I was so excited to put that shit on right away.
Of course, my insurance doesn’t cover it, so I became silently enraged and anxious but I thanked the pharmacist as we do and stewed about it on my way back to the office.
My mission and I have to accept it, put a ticket in to my benefits team for a new prescription plan.
It will cost me and I’m fucking livid but there’s no other way.
I recently went on a company team building ice skating outing at the iconic Bryant Park in New York City.
It was a beautiful thought and was much needed since we’re all gearing up for our busy season.
I talked a good game to my co workers. I used to skate every weekend! I could even do pirouettes and arabesque’s on the ice!
It’s true, way back when.
Close to 40 years after, turns out I couldn’t. It wasn’t like “riding a bike” like was mentioned when we were swapping past winter sports stories.
I struggled to even walk in those skates seconds after lacing them up.
I held a brave face and went out on the rink with them and quite a few others.
The minute I hit the ice, fear was flowing through me.
I had to fight sheer panic in these rented shoes with deadly blades on the bottom of them.
I held onto the rail with both hands and slowly moved myself along.
Along the way, I met these two women who were speaking Spanish under duress. I could understand a few words.
One was clutching that rail with one hand while the other who had locked elbows with her friend encouraged her but was clearly as terrified as she struggled to stay upright.
After a lap around the rink, I decided I could take one hand off and balance as I glided forward.
They stopped and gave me an apologetic “you can go ahead of us” gesture.
They clearly thought I was a more confident skater then I was, but no. I definitely wasn’t.
They gestured a second time and both pressed themselves up against the rail.
I tapped the rail holder on the shoulder and offered my elbow.
She looked at her friend and shrugged “why not?”
I held the rail and we all linked arms.
We were to be three scared women on the ice but with unconditional support. Holding each other up.
We moved slowly , but just a bit faster than before and we actually enjoyed ourselves because we knew we probably wouldn’t fall.
And if we did one of us would be close enough to the rail to grip it and there was an unspoken understanding that we’d help each other up before some wild human animal ran over our fingers cutting them off with those aforementioned deadly blades.
Didn’t get your names but thank you my ice skating Queens! Thank you for being as afraid as I was, recognizing it, acknowledging it and taking my arm!
When my twin died, I felt it. We had just turned 19.
I was driving and stuck in stand still traffic.
I felt the wind get knocked out of me from behind.
In a moment, I felt everything then nothing. But the nothing lasted only a second.
The nothing became everything. It was warm. It felt safe.
I made my way home in this state and lay down in my bed.
A few hours later the phone rang, I knew why, and some time after that there was a knock on the door, I knew why. I hid in my bedroom.
I heard my father scream as he did in his sleep when he had that recurring dream that his childhood home was being invaded and it was life or death.
My twin had climbed up onto a subway car and stood up. He was hit from behind and didn’t survive.
The police showed us a picture post mortem and he had a smile on his face. He was at peace. He wasn’t for a few years before that. This wasn’t comforting to my parents of course. But I knew he was truly at peace because I had felt what he felt.
Years later, in this time, my dad has passed. I can’t say out loud “died”. I can only write it. If I say it, I may feel sadness that I can’t overcome.
After my twin died, I felt something monumental, a shift in the tectonic plates that governed my existence, sad, but not devastated. This is why I never cried for him, or for my loss of him. And why I could be there for my parents in my 19 year old way.
It’s because I had closure. It was so clear. I had recurring dreams for as long as I can remember that a train would come and be the last thing I heard. Somehow I knew it wasn’t me, but a part of me. It was Bobby, my twin, a part of me.
My brother took his last breath on top of a subway. He was knocked of it.
There was no guess work. No my imagination running away with me.
Same with my dad. It wasn’t sudden like my brother, but I saw his transformation. He was scared but he knew mom and I were there.
It happened over three days. Mom and I were able to be there for all of it.
I think this is the reason I feel closure.
I think we are energy and I think I was there for the transition of energy.
My twin and I always had an energy connection, even from far away, and I think that’s why I could feel his closure. And why I could be there in a big way for my parents when he died.
See? I’m saying “died” for my brother Because I have distance. I still know he lives in my heart and honestly, I still feel my brothers energy as if he’s right next to me.
I think he is.
My dad, I’m not there yet, but I will get there. I will always feel his energy because I believe he knows I need to.
I’m watching a show I know we’d talk about. I feel natural talking to him about it.
My twin brother and I couldn’t sleep that night. We knew there was an event happening.
The event was our 5th birthday.
For whatever reason, we thought we wouldn’t make it to 10.
We thought 10 was “old age”.
I slipped into my brothers bed. He was great full. Although he initially feigned annoyance.
We tried to sleep. But we talked instead. The jist was, he thought we’d turn 5 then immediately 10. I don’t know why he thought that, but I told him he was wrong. He didn’t believe me. I wrapped my arms around him anyway and we did fall asleep eventually.
We fought everyday but at night we were there for each other.
There was some shit going down. Some shit that neither of us could understand.
But we had each other. We always had each other.
We woke up the next day.
And our parents had arranged a party.
It was a great party.
There was a cake with candles.
We were to blow the candles out.
I looked at my brother, he looked sad. I knew why. He knew he wouldn’t live to an older age.
I knew that too.
I thought he thought it would be 10,but I knew it would be more.
I made a “blowing it out” face. He did too.
We blew our candles out.
It was a great day!
We had so many great days!
But at night, we would talk.
He couldn’t see his future as an adult.
I could.
I could see our future as a family.
I would take care of our parents because I thought after 20, he would be doing bigger things.
Turns out I was right. He left this plain at age 19. To put it bluntly, he died.
For those who didn’t know him, he was like my mom and dad.
Charitable. He wanted to be a social worker in the end.
He wanted to give back.
I believe he’s doing that now. I know he came to our dad during his transition.
I was with him when he transitioned. It was traumatic for me and I don’t want to even imagine how traumatic it was for him.
He was is in so much excruciating pain. All the time. It was excruciating to watch.
I’m not a cryer. Nor was he but there were tears. In the end. But he couldn’t communicate at that point. It fills me with sadness knowing that he was so afraid that he cried without the capability of communicating. There were tears falling. I kissed them away.
This was a man raised in the 1940’s. Boys were not allowed to feel at that time. He was conditioned to hold his emotions back. Yet faced with so much sadness…
I tend to compartmentalize things. Like him.
As I’ve compartmentalized his passing.
As he would’ve done.
I fear the tears that are coming. I will shed them with my mom, his wife if 52 years.
I’m so grateful that my mom and I still have each other. Grief is so specific. We get to know it more and more as we age.
I’m great full for the ppl in my life as I live it!
If I love you, I will end every conversation with an “I love you”, from now on. We don’t have tomorrow promised.
My human. And a thing that makes noise. It’s making noises I don’t appreciate. It’s small but it sounds really overwhelming…
Sammy
I can hear! I literally jumped to a different place! Your human looks like it’s ignoring you.
Belle
It is, but that’s okay for now. It picked me up a while back and that’s not okay. Anyhoo, I called about something else.
Sammy
Go on….
Belle
This appeared. It has toys but they’re in this annoying vessel. My human says it’s a “bag”.
Sammy
That’s not a bag, it’s an impediment. Are there toys in there?
Belle
Yes! And they’re attached to something! I keep trying to pull them out with my mouth, they smell DELICIOUS, but I can’t!
Sammy
WHAT!!?? That’s just WRONG! Try to get one out and then use your feet.
Belle
At 16, I shouldn’t have to! I’m sitting near my human in protest but as you can see, it’s just touching my head! I mean….
Sammy
Have you tried hissing?
Belle
I have. Multiple times. Not working. Wait! My human is getting them off whatever that is but it’s putting them in something.
Sammy
OMG! I’ve been through this. Wait until it gets bored and moves away. Then investigate…
Belle
I will. I’m pretending I’m resting. Then I’ll jump down.
Harry
Hi Belle! Sammy heard a noise and went to see what it was. I understand you’re going to investigate? Did I hear something about toys?
Belle
Doing it now. Stay tuned.
Harry
Belle
Harry
Belle
It was just as I thought! They were in fact toys! My human set them free and placed them in some kind of prison!
Harry
Of course it did… Sammy’s coming back. I’ll let her know.
Belle
First there’s all these strange things with toys on them but I’m “not supposed to touch them”, then, the disturbing thing right on my relaxing point, then toys in a bag, then THIS!?
Sammy
I hear you Belle. Harry filled me in. Humans can be so selfish! I would remove myself if I were you. Go somewhere small like a closet, or under something.
Belle
Oh I definitely will! I’ll play with this toy and then, NO HUMAN WILL FIND ME FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE!! Thanks girl.
Sammy
I got you. Real quick, notice how mature Harry is? He turned 10.
The last picture of Benny Rodriguez 3/21/1940 to 12/8/2023
I lost my dad this past Friday 12:57am December 8, 2023.
That’s when our hospice nurse declared his passing.
They didn’t use the word death and now I see why. It’s so negative and final.
It implies the person is extinguished like a flame.
Gone from history.
I don’t believe that people are ever gone from history, they live on through their loved ones.
My dad entered into hospice at 7pm on a Wednesday and passed at 12:57am that Friday but so much happened in between.
He had pancreatic cancer which couldn’t be treated due to his life threatening heart condition. A Fib. He was 83.
He went into the hospital on the cardiac ward about a month prior to his passing.
Before being admitted he turned to my mom, his wife of 52 years, she who moved households 3 times, shared many ups and downs including the loss of their son, and said “I don’t have long to live.”
In the hospital, he was in excruciating pain. They couldn’t give him pain killers because it would affect his heart function and lower his already dangerously low blood pressure.
It was eventually recognized that his cancer was so aggressive that it could not be treated without killing him so he was given the option of signing a DNR. “Do not resuscitate.”
After he signed that we had a family meeting with a palliative care specialist.
My dad stated that if he could take a pill to end his life he would.
Unfortunately that’s not legal in New York State so he had to endure the pain until he reached hospice.
It was a couple more days of excruciating pain until they found a bed at Regional Hospice in Danbury Connecticut. 45 minutes away from mom’s house but worth every mile and the $600.00 a day room and board.
Not so fun fact, most insurances do not cover full hospice care. It would appear that dying in the United States of America with out pain is a luxury.
He was given morphine that Wednesday morning and it put him to sleep. I believe this was the start of his transition.
He was mildly responsive according to the EMT’s who transported him.
When he got to hospice, he was still asleep but had his eyes open. They were unfocused and to me, looked pain ridden. I could also see permanent tears in the corner of each eye.
This broke my heart in to a million pieces. He could still move his arms and legs enough to push his hospital gown and sheets off.
He could still communicate enough to relay his distress.
His breathing was labored that first night in hospice. He would stop breathing at 3 or 4 second intervals. That’s called “apnea” and is a symptom of the first stages of transition to passing.
By early morning his apnea had increased to 5 or 6 seconds.
He would moan or breath out with a sigh that sounded like crying.
Our hospice nurse said it could be a coping mechanism and he’d seen it before.
My dad had a recurring nightmare since childhood where someone would break into his apartment and he couldn’t scream, only moan. This was the sound he was making.
A little background on him, he was the oldest child of 5 to his parents who came directly to the Bronx New York from a poor area of Puerto Rico. His dad was not always present as he was an alcoholic. He felt responsible for his family’s safety and well being from an early age. This nightmare he had was every fear he had in the world.
I would hold his hand in these moments and ask if he was afraid.
As if answering me he would grip my hand in short spurts like an irregular beating heart or a manual distress signal. His eyes wide as they could be in shear terror.
We’d call for the nurse and they’d give him more morphine.
By day break, he’d appear to be in more pain but when the nurse came, he’d say in a labored whisper, “I am not in any pain.”
His pain at this stage was emotional. Shear terror. I could feel it like it was mine.
He’d had a violent cough for a few years before this that no doctor could find the cause of. In his last years, he avoided going out because of this cough and it made it impossible to sing. Singing was his passion.
In hospice, his cough got worse producing phlegm that couldn’t be suctioned out. They tried but it was too deep in his lungs.
I got the feeling he felt he was drowning in it. He’d call.. Help!…Help!!! Throughout the day.
The nurse asked us if it was okay if they gave him more meds to make him unaware. The nurse said “he deserves to be comfortable.” We couldn’t agree more and we knew he would agree.
This began the last stage of transition.
It was at that point that he looked past me, as if to someone, eyes focused that he said, “No, I don’t want to be with you now..”
A few hours later, mom and I had gone to sleep. Well, mom did, I was half asleep listening to his now even longer apnea.
I know he was talking to his son. My twin, Bobby. I could feel him there. He didn’t have fear in his his eyes and he said this in the matter of fact way he spoke to Bobby when he was alive.
He was moaning. Mom and I got up and put our hands on him and he stopped. The tech came in and called for the nurse. I knew it was the end.
I could hear what they call the “death rattle”. It sounds like snoring but the mouth is closed.
When I put my hand in his, he didn’t grip it.
Mom and I went back to our beds.
Within the hour, I heard my dad talking to someone with conviction.
As if answering two final questions he responded…
“Yeah…..Yeah”
About 20 minutes later, the nurse came in and declared his passing.
I didn’t believe it at first.
I kept seeing his chest move but I think it was an optical illusion.
She declared the time.
I whispered that I would like to climb into bed with my mom and tell her.
I did.
I’m glad I could be the one to tell her.
It pains me to say she’s a widow.
And unfortunately has bills to pay.
The hospice was instrumental in calling the undertaker for the funeral home we’d unfortunately used before.
Mom and I went home together.
This is a sad holiday season but we’re glad he’s not in pain anymore.
That’s all we can ask.
I know we’re not the only ones to go through this.
When Ida discovered that she could hear the voices of the dead speaking to her when she tuned into a certain radio station, she decided to live.
She had been planning on killing herself for the better part of a month and felt a sense of relief for the first time in years.
She’d been taking care of her mother most of her adult life and now she was gone. She’d lost all purpose.
She was going to lock herself in her bedroom, down a bottle of her mother’s painkillers, lay in bed and drift away.
She’d hung Christmas lights on the ceiling. She thought they’d make a beautiful kaleidoscope as she lost consciousness.
It was a perfect plan until Rosalyn, a woman who died 103 years ago told her to reconsider.
Rosalyn, who was 25 when she passed, had jumped off a bridge in upstate New York. She was sure she’d contracted the Spanish flu. All three of her children had died from it, and her husband was, in her words, “a brute“.
She told Ida that she couldn’t remember landing in the Hudson river and that she couldn’t shake the feeling of falling and falling and falling…
Rosalyn couldn’t say how long she’d felt that way and she’d sometimes go off on unintelligible tangents until it sounded like she was moving further and further away. Eventually Ida would only hear static. She thought that might’ve been water.
She decided that Rosalyn was in some level of suspense. Purgatory perhaps. Or, and this is what really made her change her mind, Hell.
Ida wasn’t religious but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She told herself she’d die of natural causes when it was time.
Her mother would be waiting for her.
Until then, she’d look into investing her inheritance and throw herself into research.
Ida decided it would be her life’s purpose to help Rosalyn move on or at least find some kind of relief. If not Rosalyn, someone else. There were a few others she’d spoken to briefly.
She closed her eyes and listened to a bird singing its sweet little heart out.
“It’s going to be okay.” She told herself. She’d have to do that every day.
Ida reached for the radio dial excited to tell Rosalyn the good news.
He was in turmoil, on trial, looking at a prison sentence.
He was also loved.
We had a barbecue the day before and I now know, he said goodbye.
To our little cousins, to me, to the world.
I went to bed, in a state of calmness because of this.
The next day, Memorial Day, everything changed.
He was gone.
Energy had shifted in real time.
It was the worst day I’ve ever known. The worst I hope to know.
On Memorial Day, so many years ago, the news was broken.
My parents were broken.
I was broken.
Officers came to my door, they showed a picture of my brothers dead face to my mom and dad.
They recognized him. My dad screamed. My mom felt unspeakable things.
But, that evening, there was a mocking bird. Singing a beautiful song. As we sat in our living room. Holding hands.
Nothing could’ve changed our devastation but that birds song helped.
It was as if he was there. In a different form. Comforting us.
It was mesmerizing. Uplifting.
I believe it was him.
Letting us know, “I’m okay now”. “Don’t worry”.
That night I had a dream.
He was in our house.
He came to me and said, “let mom know her chicken was the best. Be there for her.”
He turned to go back downstairs,where his room was.
He stopped and looked at me.
As a twin, he didn’t need to put anything into words.
I knew what he meant.
He’d be there for the next few weeks.
He’d be there to watch over us.
He’d be there when any of us crossed over.
Memorial Day is to remember those who’ve been in service of the greater good.
In our little family, we remember him. All the times he made us laugh. All the times we celebrated his accomplishments. All the times we spent with him.
I don’t fear death, only dying. But I believe in that moment he will be the one to take me to wherever we’re going.
