"Immune compromised"

The photo is from Merwin's birthday lunch, Dec. 25. Counterclockwise, there is granddaughter Rachael, Merwin, me with the Deck behind me, Sandy who did much of the heavy-duty work the whole day through. Harvey was behind the camera. This was the only still photo he took.


Dear Friends and Family,

"Immune compromised" were the words my doctor used over and over to describe my situation. That means that my immune system needs some help to get over the flu. As I mentioned before I think, he wanted me to see him a few days ago before prescribing codeine for the cough, but I just couldn't handle it—too sick to go to the doctor. Today he took a chest x-ray and was pleased that it was completely clear. That did not surprise me, because my lungs aren't what's hurting. Still it was good news that pleased us all. I am to take the antibiotic till Monday, and if I am coughing as much I am to see Dr. Janus, who took care of me when I had pneumonia last year. The trouble is probably in my bronchial system; that is where I hear the crackling noises and get the uncontrollable urge to cough. The coughing fits are truly horrible.

I hated losing these two weeks in the sense that I spoke to no one, saw no one, not even Merwin most of the time. David called today and begged to hear just a word from me.

I did a very little reading. A fine essay by a colleague published many years ago arrived yesterday. I am pleased that Laury and I can add it to our Measure for Measure bibliography. I know how frustrating it is when what you consider good work is ignored by the Shakespeare community; that's happened to me often enough. Still, we write for our own pleasure in doing it—from what we learn as we struggle to get our thoughts down.

My dear granddaughter Michelle (Rachael's twin sister) emailed me this morning to alert me to the obit of Ellen Stewart, La MaMa's founder and guiding light. Over a year ago, Merwin and I had taken Michelle to see a play at La Mama, which we all thought was wonderful, and it was a thrill to see La Mama herself, in a wheelchair but smiling, still bringing so much joy to so many. Live forever, queen of the arts!

David Brooks, not my favorite commentator in the NYT, had a sweet rambling essay in this week's New Yorker (dated 1-17 but written in the innocent days before the terrible events in Tucson). One particular sentence he wrote and a number he quoted resonated for me. It was the statement that meeting once a month with people you care about is more life fulfilling and satisfying than achievements and riches. Truly, that is my feeling abut my once a month writing group sessions (had to cancel this month), the once a month Columbia Shakespeare Seminar (haven't been there for months but stay in touch), the once a month Ladies who Lunch group—and all the regular and irregular meetings with people I love, near and far. I am still relishing with pleasure the NYC meeting with Ralph, Judy and Mary Hill—a rare event but immeasurably sweet.

I am thinking of all of you I love so dearly and need so much for my continued joy-in-the-world.

Hoping to lick this latest imposition on my time and energy,
Love,
Bernice