Coppa

Yesterday, I announced to the media a big life change for me. My recent departure from Big Brothers Big Sisters of America has created an opportunity to start something new.

My wife, Jessica, and I recently started a small business and are planning to open a coffee, tea, and ice cream shop highlighting local ingredients.  It will be housed in the newly renovated space across from the Federal Building at 917 Glacier Avenue.

the front of the coffee shop in the last days of construction

This really is a dream come true for me.  I've always had the day dream of owning my own food business.  And on dark days in the office, I've fantasized many times about being a barista. But I've often thought the drudgery of work would spoil my passion for making people happy through food and drink.  My recent experience selling homemade rhubarb sherbet though my food truck (rather food bike), changed my mind about that.  I discovered that making something with my hands, making people happy, and making money - all at the same time - was tremendously rewarding.

So, when the chance came to rent a space in the newly renovated building right down the street from my house, the thought of taking my ice cream business to the next level grabbed my imagination.  We took our time as a family to decide to take this next leap, and I am extremely grateful to Jessica for standing by me in this new adventure.

I'd also like to thank Nancy DeCherney, the Juneau Arts and Humanities Council, Rev. Phil Campbell, and the Northern Light United Church for the opportunity to launch my sherbet and ice cream business this summer.  Without their support, I wouldn't have had the courage to take this step.

We're calling the shop “Coppa” (pronounced Cōp-ah), which means “cup” in Italian, playing off the store’s initial offerings of ice cream, coffee, and tea. It also refers to the trophy given in sporting events (e.g., the World Cup), a nod to the store’s quest for excellence.

This is a "coppa dell'amicizia," (friendship cup), used in northern Italy by a group of friends
 to drink coffee and grappa together, a nice symbol for our shop

I love using an Italian word in the store's name; I first developed my love of espresso and cooking when I lived and worked in Italy during college.  I'll never forget the gelato shop down the street from the orphanage where I worked in Naples.  The flavors were so vivid, it tasted like you were eating an actual lemon in your cone.  The kids would make that cone last all the way back to the orphanage, even though it was more than a mile walk.  And I still remember the first time I had an espresso macchiato, at the bar on campus in Bologna.  It was a perfect marriage of espresso and ephemeral milk foam.  When Giorgio taught me how to make a lasagne bolognese from scratch, I knew I was hooked on Italian food forever.

At Coppa, we're going to embrace the Italian spirit of good food, good coffee, and easy hospitality.  We want to make it a place where everyone and all ages feel welcome.  We'll feature my handmade ice creams, including rhubarb sherbet and sorbet, as well as unique varieties made from local ingredients, like my new Alaskan Brewing Company Smoked Porter brownie ice cream and my limited-release nagoonberry sherbet.  We're going to use coffee roasted by Seattle’s Caffe Luca Coffee Roasters, a classic Italian-style espresso roaster founded in Italy more than 20 years ago, and hand-crafted, small batch artisanal teas from Portland’s Steven Smith Teamaker.  I'm excited to source all of my baked goods from Nancy Hemenway and other local bakers.

Paul Voelckers and his partners have done a beautiful job renovating the old Sturm’s Cold Storage building, which now houses Seong’s Sushi Bar. I am thrilled by the opportunity to open a business in a neighborhood I love doing what I love to do – making people happy through food and drinks.

Finally, I'd like to thank all of my friends and family that have helped us get to this point - helping us plan the store layout, helping us buy equipment, helping us move in, helping us vet the store name, and giving us moral support.  Without our incredible network of people in Juneau and beyond, this store would only be a wink of an idea.

Doug and Chuck helping move chairs and equipment

I hope to serve many of you a "cuppa" at Coppa very soon.  We hope to be open by mid-September.

Last Day

Today is my last day at Big Brothers Big Sisters.  This has been a really emotional week for me. I'll write soon about my upcoming plans, but for now it feels like I am stepping into the abyss.  It's hard to leave a movement you've worked in for 12 years to which you've given so much of your mental and emotional life.

Here are a few pics from my tenure at Big Brothers Big Sisters.  Below I have pasted an email I sent to colleagues yesterday.

my first day at BBBS, with Natalie, Jenny, and Amber
November 1, 2001

selling gumbo to help BBBS in New Orleans after Katrina,
with Karen and Valorie

Tisha, a longtime mentor to me at the National office,
here with Ferguson in Seattle recently

my awesome team at BBBSA, Kristin, Salem, Sandra and Carly

***

The week I started at Big Brothers Big Sisters of Juneau, my sister gave me a little box that said "A Little Box of Courage" on it.  It was November, 2001, and I was walking into my first job as a manager into a business I didn't know.  I had been a grassroots organizer for a conservation group.  What did I know about running a social service non-profit for youth?  I walked into the office with Natalie, Amber and Jenny (with Scott running a remote office) and was scared. I was clearly in over my head.

Luckily, I was able to learn from my staff and my predecessor, Tony, and many, many of you at the National office and beyond.  And I had that little box of courage that I would peek at every now and then.

Please accept my sincere thanks for all that you've taught me and shared with me over the last 12 years.  I am who I am for having known and worked with all of you.

I'm sorry, but tomorrow (August 1) is my last day, and this is my swan song, so I am going to list a few of the highlights of my career with Big Brothers Big Sisters and give some parting words.  You can scroll down to the bottom and skip all this to get to my contact information:

With seed money from an earmark from Senator Ted Stevens, we opened offices in Hoonah (Tlingit village of 1000 residents) and Ketchikan in 2002.  These offices are still open and staffed by two of my first hires, Sally and Gretchen, and still serving kids in a meaningful way.

I first got a taste of data and fun with Excel formulas when I helped Mark Taylor develop the original Metrics Workbook.

My mom and sister were able to be with me in Indianapolis in 2006 when I won an award at the BBBSA National Conference. I cried like a baby on stage in front of hundreds.  Hopefully the videotapes have all been destroyed.

We tried to adapt the Amachi model of mentoring children of prisoners in Alaska. It was a great honor to host a visit to Juneau by Rev. Dr. Wilson Goode.  I'll also never forget my first visit to prison to recruit Littles for the program. I met a woman there who had just lost visitation rights for her 6-month old baby.  While we never perfected the model, we served a lot of children of prisoners, and I will always have a place in my heart for these children.

Through Betsy's fine work, we executed a MOA between the US Coast Guard and the Juneau School District and agreed to support the local USCG Partnership in Education program through our Bigs in Schools program in 2007. The partnership continues to generate numbers of quality volunteers for the local program.

I worked with many fine staff as Executive Director, which culminated when my management team was so strong that they organized meetings without me.

Somehow, my peers elected me to the Nationwide Leadership Council, where I first got a taste for helping children across the US.  I was energized by thinking about helping youth across our entire country, in places I knew could really use our programs. When Judy Vredenburgh asked me to be part of a strategic planning committee, I was thrilled.  Working with Bridgespan and members of the national board and staff was incredible. I am now a total believer in data-driven strategic planning.

After many years of hoping and planning, we executed a merger and created BBBS of Alaska in 2007.  We made our share of mistakes, but the organization that Peggy, Taber, Annette and I helped create is still serving youth in many communities across the state, even through some severe fiscal challenges.  I wish the organization had been able to retain all of the talented staff that it started with and I still grieve for all of those that were lost.  Despite our missteps, I look back at the job of VP of Programs as the best job I’ve held during my 12 years of BBBS service.

Thanks to the encouragement of Tisha, I attended the most impactful week of professional development of my career when I attended the Summer Institute of Youth Mentoring.  I never knew there was all this research about youth mentoring.  I met Tom Keller, Tim Cavell, Michael Karcher, Renee Spencer and Carla Herrera and got to ask a million questions about how and why mentoring works.  I encountered the research bug and it bit me.

Through Tom's help, I was awarded a Distinguished Fellowship from the WT Grant Foundation. I got to spend an amazing six months at Portland State University and took PhD classes in Social Work.  I also got to know David DuBois through the Fellowship and began a collaboration with him and Tom that continues to this day.  I was able to help complete a meta-analysis of school-based mentoring RCTs and they even let me be first author of an article that we wrote that got published in a pre-eminent publication (and it only took us 100 drafts to finalize).

In my tenure at BBBS, I had two long-standing aspirations.  One was to be CEO of BBBS of Alaska.  When that job opened up, I applied for it and didn't get it.  The board wisely chose Taber, who has shepherded the organization through some tough times.  The other was to be VP of Programs for BBBS of America.  That job doesn't really exist anymore, but at least I got to work for the national office, starting in 2011.

While these last two years haven't always been easy, it's been an honor to work with some of the finest staff that I've ever worked with, helping youth across this great country.  I've worked on an amazing team with Sandra, Kristin, Salem and Carly and have been part of some thrilling work, including helping develop and test two new community-based models of mentoring, helping author the national report on youth outcomes with infographics, and helping create a tool for agencies to use to create their own infographics with their own outcome data.

I'll never forget when Lisa, then a Match Support Specialist, asked me why we raise money by talking about some of the life-changing matches we create, when the average BBBS match doesn't really look like that.  With Lisa's inspiration and all that I've learned about research, it's been my passion over the last few years to help more of our matches look like the ones we talk about in fundraising and increase the quality of our average match.  I am encouraged that so many of you share that same passion.

If had a magic wand to increase the impact of our programs, I would invest deeply in staff development at our very front lines.  I strongly believe that the quality of our programs and the depth of our impact are directly related to the strength of our Match Support staff.  We need to develop these key staff, pay them well, and encourage them to stick around.  Every office needs a senior Match Support Specialist with a depth of life and BBBS experience to advise the younger and less experienced staff.  I would also encourage a deep investment in parental engagement.  We need a culture shift within BBBS to start thinking about our parents as key partners whose support is crucial for the development of our matches and our Littles.  Too often we discount our parents and view them as obstacles, rather than supports.  Finally, I would invest deeply in our internal evaluation.  We have a wealth of data that can be used to study our matches and improve the outcomes we produce in kids’ lives.  Investment is needed to mine this data and learn from it.  Without such an investment, our large sources of data are an untapped resource.

For those of you continuing in this work, please take care of each other.  We help youth to build relationships with adults, but we can only do it through authentic, caring relationships with each other.  You will also each find your own little box of courage.  It's right there inside you.

Keep in touch,

Marc

Restoring Goodness

Steve Merli is a healer. I first got to know Steve during an expedition of the Landmark Trees Project. I was with him, Richard Carstensen, John Caouette, and Sam Skaggs on Sam's former boat, the Arcturus.  We were coming back from Upper Hoonah Sound, where we had cataloged one of the last major swaths of large Sitka Spruce forests on the Tongass. Steve watched me as we rounded the southern shores of Admiralty Island and asked me, "Marc, do you get headaches? Do you have one right now?"

I did have a headache, so bad I thought I was going to start crying. And I had been having headaches almost daily since adolescence. As I told Steve about my headaches and the TMJ that caused them, he nodded.  He told me that he had found that people like me that clenched their jaw were storing a lot of energy there for a reason. There was something that needed to be said to ourselves or others that we were holding in. He did bodywork at the time and said he could work on me. But I would need to be in a safe space, because once he started working on me, stuff would start coming out. And I would need to be prepared to deal with it.

I filed that information away and soon forgot about it. Months later, I was totally fed up with grinding my teeth and night and waking up every day with an eye-watering headache. I thought I would try acupuncture. I went to see Suzy Cohen who she deftly needled my jaw and head. I had never had acupuncture but I was intrigued by its potential to relieve my pain. Sure enough, I felt relief afterwards from my tension. But I was also flooded by the blackest of griefs. I would go back to my home (which was coincidentally Sam's sailboat, the Arcturus) and weep. Jessica, who I was then dating, had no idea of what to do with this. And I didn't either. It just came and came and was so raw and elemental I couldn't even name it.

Months later I remembered the conversation with Steve and decided to go see him. He worked on me, giving me massage and working on some of the points in my head and jaw.  And he would let me express my emotions.  I would be there on the table, moaning and weeping, and feeling a bit strange about the whole thing. But in time, the headaches lessened and the emotional ballast gradually fell away.  I still get headaches once in a while, during times of acute stress.  And I wear a  mouthguard at night to stop me from grinding my teeth to dust. But I feel like my body has said what it needed to say and there is much less tension in my jaw.

Recently Steve told me he left doing bodywork and now works with trauma victims. I was intrigued. Steve was such a good masseuse. I knew he must be onto something good if he left his old work for something else. He told me he'd been working with something called Somatic Experience (c). I started to think maybe he could help me again. I ran into him at Costco one day and started telling me about my experience on the Juneau Icefield. He said he'd like to read my story. I sent him my blog. After reading it, he called me and said he thought he might be able to help me.

Steve Merli, in his studio on Seward St.

I've now seen Steve three times. I'm not exactly sure what happens when I see him, but I know it is powerful. I feel like I am coming into myself gradually each time we meet. We've talked a lot about the theory behind his work.  And every session, he lays hands on me, and he helps my body deal with the traumatic response that it is still holding withing itself.

It's only recently occurred to me that I've had several instances of trauma recently, many of which I've written about in this blog. The accident on the icefield, the injury to my shoulder, and my recent surgery are all traumatic experiences. My body did what it was supposed to do in those situations, and triggered my traumatic response.  Now I need to let my body know that it is okay now, and that everything is all right.

Steve loaned me the book of his teacher, Peter Levine, titled "In an Unspoken Voice: 
How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness." I've only just started reading it. But I am fascinated by Levine's theories of how the body naturally responds to trauma and how we can work with our bodies to restore a normal state, or goodness.

Steve has explained to me that it shouldn't be called PTSD, because it's not a disorder.  What happens to us in trauma is natural.  We just need to understand how to unwind the state our body goes into during trauma to unlock the pain and suffering that has been labeled a "disorder" by our medical community.  

Steve has told me it's our brain stem that takes over during traumatic experiences. Our reptilian brain, the stem is responsible for regulating our metabolism, breathing, and kicks in when our lives are threatened. When we go completely out of our comfort zone, like I did on the icefield, our natural response is to freeze, which is exactly what happened to me. It's a good response in a potentially fatal situation, and often works to save our life. But then, if we don't let our body release, it still thinks that it is in danger, and holds this state of freeze for potentially a long, long time.

So I've been working with Steve on talking with my brain stem. He's helping me learn to get back into my body, to connect to my body's relationship with physical objects. He's helping me practice being alert and relaxed at the same time, something that is challenging for me. My body's proclivity is to fall asleep when I'm relaxed. But a few times, working with Steve, I've come into this clarity of experience, where my mind and body feel together in an alert yet restful space.

The human body is an amazing animal. I feel mine changing through this work with Steve. I feel more grounded. more in touch with myself than I've felt in a long time. And just knowing that what happened to me on the icefield was a natural response has been greatly empowering. I had always wondered why my mind and body slowed down so much during the rescue. Understanding that by brain stem did what it was wired to do has brought me comfort.

I'm looking forward to working more with Steve after he gets back from sailing from Hawaii.  I do feel the goodness being restored.  And for that I give thanks.  Thank you, Steve.

The Sherbet Business

On Monday, June 3, I started a business.  A sherbet business.  Rhubarb sherbet, to be precise.

Sherbet brings back childhood memories of innocent summer ramblings, chasing after the ice cream truck, enjoying the surprise of creamy cold goodness emanating from the top of a push-up. For many, rhubarb has similar nostalgic qualities, associated with summer and strawberries and pie.

chopped rhubarb stalks in a pot

Personally, growing up in the South, I have no old ties to Rheum rhubarbarum, though I have enjoyed its puckering pleasure ever since moving to the North. My first house on 12th Street had a rhubarb plant  and every Spring a little old lady would come by to harvest its stalks. She said it was a particularly sweet variety of rhubarb and she'd been picking this plant for years. Honestly I didn't do much with the plant myself, not knowing much about it's qualities.

Gradually, I started experimenting with rhubarb in pies and jams, and grew to love its vibrant color, its surprising tartness, and its gelatinous mouthfeel. When we moved to Portland for six months, I missed the plant and surprised myself by buying it in the farmers market. No self-respecting northern gardener would ever buy rhubarb.   But my rental home didn't have a plant (though it did have several rosemary bushes!) so I was forced to buy rhubarb to celebrate the arrival of Spring.

I met someone yesterday from Iran who told me rhubarb was a required food to include in their New Years celebrations, which happen on the Spring Equinox.  Rhubarb stalks don't emerge in Juneau until May so she had to order some last year through the mail.

A quick visit to wikipedia reveals rhubarb's interesting history. It has been grown in China for thousands of years and came to Europe along the Silk Road. In Ruy Gonzales de Clavijo's report of his trip to Timur in Samarkand in the early 1400's, he wrote "the best of all merchandise coming to Samarkand was from China, especially silks, satins, musk, rubies, diamonds, pearls, and rhubarb..."(Wood, The Silk Road: two thousand years in the heart of Asia, 2002).

For hundreds of years, the plant has grown wild along the banks of the Volga River.  Its name comes from the Ancient Greek rha and barbarum (McGee, On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, 2004). The word rha refers both to the plant and the river, who the Scythians called Rha.  Rhubarb has been used medicinally by the Chinese for thousands of years. Rhubarb contains anthaquinones, such as emodin and rhein, which have cathartic and laxative properties (http://pharmaxchange.info/press/2012/12/pharmacognosy-of-rhubarb/).

For all of its delights, people in Juneau generally have more rhubarb than they know what to do with. The traditional strawberry rhubarb pie is more work than most people are interested in.  But several years ago, I began experimenting with a fruit sherbet recipe from Cooks Illustrated.  I adapted a recipe and came up with an extraordinary product, rhubarb sherbet.  When Juneau started a "Farmers Market" a few years ago, I thought it would be a fun project to sell sherbet cones with my daughter Celia.  We sold raspberry, blueberry, and rhubarb sherbet sporadically over two summers.  I expected the raspberry to be the big hit.  But I sold out of rhubarb every time.

ingredients: rhubarb, cream, sugar
(water & salt not pictured)

Customers have reported the sherbet is "exquisite,""bloody good," and "divine." I think it highlights the essence of rhubarb, in a refreshing and creamy experience. Last year, I toyed with the idea of opening a food truck to sell rhubarb sherbet to tourists.  Once I had been discovered, I imagined tourists (especially northern ones) coming by in droves to purchase something uniquely Juneau - where else can you buy rhubarb sherbet?  But I saw my summer vacation days evaporating before my eyes and felt that was a dream better left in my mind's eye.

rhubarb sherbet in the ice cream maker insert

Then this year, I heard our local arts council was starting a Food Truck Fridays.  They decided to move a weekly summer concert series to our arts center and have food trucks out front.  I thought this could be my chance to feed my food truck desires but keep them manageable.  It could also be a fun experience for my kids to learn about customer service and on-the-job addition and subtraction.  I talked to someone else about partnering in the operation, but that seemed too complicated for the task at hand, so I decided to go it alone.  So last Monday, I went to the State of Alaska and got a business license for a sole proprietorship, the Casey-Shattuck Sherbet Company.

my first attempt at a logo

My neighborhood is officially called the Casey-Shattuck Addition.  Because many of my neighbors are allowing me to harvest their excess rhubarb, and my neighborhood church is letting me use its DEC-approved kitchen, I thought the name fit my enterprise well. Much of the land of my neighborhood was owned by William Casey, who operated a small dairy farm here around the turn of the century.  Henry Shattuck was an insurance broker and real estate developer.  Together, they developed the Case-Shattuck subdivision, the first addition to the original Juneau Townsite (http://www.juneau.org/history/ casey.php).

Friday, June 7 was my sales debut.  I had made about four gallons of sherbet and sold it in cups and cones.  There was a man waiting for me at 4 pm, though my booth wasn't open until 4:30.  He bought six cups.   From there, it was non-stop sherbet selling, and I sold out by 6 pm!

Joe, my first customer

I'm making more next week and starting to tinker with rhubarb sorbet and rhubarb fruit leather.  We'll see where this food truck adventure leads!

Under the Knife, Part 3

It was Wednesday, the day of my surgery. I woke up hungry.  All that eating the day before must have expanded my stomach.  I hadn't had anything to eat since midnight.  But I was going to cook my sister- in-law some beignets.

I had made the batter the night before.  As my stomach growled, the doughnuts crackled in the hot grease.  They came out nicely browned and enlarged like puffer fish.  I was grateful to Jona and her family for hosting me.  I always enjoy feeding people.  I try to put my love and care into the food with my hands and hope that my guests feel it when they bite and chew and swallow.  As they smiled and laughed eating the doughnuts, my hunger dissipated.

My niece, Lindsay, enjoying a beignet

Jona drove me to the hospital.  I had to be there by 7 am, even though my surgery wasn't scheduled until 9:45 am.  She dropped me off and headed back to Vancouver for work.  As I walked into the lobby, I suddenly felt completely alone.

The friendly OHSU staff told me to wait in the lobby to be admitted.  I broke out the ipad and distracted myself on Facebook in front of the fireplace.  The flames comforted me as I'm sure they had done for many others.  And as I looked at Facebook, I read my friends posting their well wishes for me for my upcoming surgery, giving me more courage as the minutes ticked onward

After being admitted, I left for the surgical wing.  They led me to a bay with a bed and a curtain and a nice view of the hills.  I changed into my gown and waited while they took my vitals.  They gave me a little baggie for my valuables and I put my wallet and wedding ring there for safekeeping.  I clung to my cellphone and ipad.  They were my lifelines to my family and friends, my support system.  Jessica called me.  The voice of Celia, Ferguson, and her were a balm.  I checked Facebook obsessively, right until they wheeled me away.  The love of my friends and family expressed online was a true comfort.  Amazingly, the cold, dead internet had brought me the loving support I needed right when I needed it, from all parts of the world.

before they wheeled me off to surgery

I had tremendous care from the moment I set foot in the hospital.  The warmth and professionalism of the OHSU staff made the whole experience seamless and as comforting as possible.  I enjoyed getting to know the staff personally, and talked with my pre-op nurse, Bryan (now Facebook friend) about rearing kids and chickens, skiing, and outdoor adventures.  His willingness to connect with me on a personal level made those pre-surgical moments a little less anxious.

Bryan, my pre-op nurse

In the operating ward, I met a series of friendly and professional specialists, including a Belgian anesthetist who explained the beauty of Belgian beer and a nurse in a camo surgical cap who showed me his trophy mule deer and elk on his smart phone.  An earnest young intern questioned me about my refusal of the nerve block.  After some spirited debate, we agreed that I would have a temporary nerve block in my arm, which they would inject into me with a needle.  It would work through the surgery and then about 12 hours after the operation.  I was fascinated as they showed me my veins and nerves on the ultrasound screen.  When the needle entered screen, having punctured my skin and moving towards the nerve, I had to stop watching.

Again, the friendliness of the staff helped keep my fears at bay.  But as they wheeled me into the naked fluorescent light of the operating room, I was suddenly aware of how alone I was.  They moved me to the operating table and I felt the cold steel against my flesh.  Then they started strapping me down to the table so I wouldn't move during the procedure.  Finally they brought the mask down to my face.  I asked them if I would be out soon.  When they said yes, I started praying frantically. Before I knew it I was unconscious.

I woke up in the post-op bay with a raging hunger and an intense fogginess in my brain.  My arm hurt some, but it was mostly numb from the nerve block.  I was able to call my wife, mom, and sister pretty soon, and let them know that it all went ok.  I remember fumbling for the arnica pills my sister had recommended.  When I asked the nurse to give me five pills, the nurse anesthetist said I only needed one. She was a homeopath.

Soon I was moved to a holding room for short-term patients.  There I had another crew of friendly nurses.  Russell was my CNA and took great care of me.  We talked about youth mentoring and he related his experience working with troubled youth in the wilderness of Wyoming.  He recommended that our Bigs play tennis with their Littles. He found tennis with youth to be very therapeutic.  I tried to recruit him as a Big Brother.

Russell, the CNA who helped me after surgery

The main nurse in charge of my unit was Charmaine.  She responded with friendliness to each time I barked out requests to her at her nurses' station.  I couldn't figure out how to reach the nurse call button so I resorted to asking for what I needed across the room.  We talked a lot about skiing.  She was learning to ski as an adult to spend time with her boyfriend who liked to ski.  We talked about adult learning styles and how hard it is to learn to ski when you are an adult. Both Charmaine and Russell were kind to let me photograph them with my ipad.

Charmaine, the nurse in charge of the
short-term recovery room

I passed the time posting on Facebook and eating what I could before I was to be picked up later that evening.  I got up and walked to the bathroom a few times and got a little less wobbly each time.  The meals were fabulous, full of locally produced food (Portlandia!).  I ordered lunch and then dinner.  The hamburger for lunch was a bit scratchy on the way down.  The breathing tube had left  some dry soreness after they removed it.  But I ate with gusto anyway.  For dinner, I had fresh salmon and a very nice Northwest salad.  It was the best hospital food I've ever had.

fresh salmon, cheese plate, Northwest salad

At around 6, Jona arrived to take me back to her home.  I was pretty solid on my feet by that time and gingerly got into the minivan for the trip home.  I spent the next three days convalescing in their loving home (including a few trips to Portland to do phyiscal therapy, see friends, and eat!) and flew back to Juneau on Saturday.

Since being home, I'm grown stronger each day and have been diligently done my physical therapy exercises.  I got back to work the following Monday and can obviously type.  The only exercise I can get is walking while my arm is in a sling for the next six weeks.  After that, I will need to do strengthening exercises for six more weeks, to retrain my muscles.  Six months after the surgery, I will be able to do a push up.

click here to see a picture of my surgical wound

I know it will be a long road to recovery, but I know my friends and family will support me along the way.  It has been a blessing to receive the gift of food from friends each night since I returned home to Juneau.  As I am the family cook, feeding the family would have been a challenge these last few days.  I am grateful for all the care I received from the excellent staff at OHSU.  It was definitely the right choice to travel to Portland to get the best care I could.  The only thing I would have done differently was to make sure there was someone I loved holding my hand at the last minute.  I will never again be put to sleep without someone I love nearby.  It is simply too scary to go to sleep alone, not knowing if you will ever wake up.

Under the Knife, Part 2

Becca told me that Rosie lit up when she heard her dad's name read as my inspiration over the intercom.  The crowd was waiting for me to arrive at the bottom of the Slush Cup run and the announcers were filling time.  When I signed up for the event, I had to answer a list of questions, including naming something I love (Juneau) and something I really don't like at all (Dallas, TX).  One of the questions asked what my inspiration was.  Instinctively I wrote John Caouette.  While I hadn't thought of John when I decided to run the Slush Cup, John has been an enduring influence on me ever since his passing in 2010.

John Caouette
Jan 17, 1964 - October 12, 2010

John died in a freak running accident, leaping over a guard rail on a running trail he once knew in his home town of Minneapolis, MN.  Construction had altered the trail and John thought that the other side of the rail was grass and not the 20 foot drop to pavement it really was.  Ever since John died, I have been inspired by his zest for life and his wide and sundried passions.  Instead of shrinking from life and its inherent risks, since John died, I have sought out new experiences, and tried to learn from whatever they have to teach me.

I really didn't think the Slush Cup was that risky.  I had seen it several times and it looked like a lot of fun.  I've snow skied since childhood, and grew up waterskiing in southern Louisiana.

As I waited my turn on the top of lower Hilary, I started to wonder how best to cross the pond.  Not many people were making it.  For some reason, I thought the ones that went cautiously down the hill were foolish. Surely I needed to get as much speed as possible before hitting the jump.  That was the only way I was going to make it across.

So I swooshed down the mountain, no ski poles in hand (prohibited since they might puncture the pond's plastic lining), holding my wide-brimmed hat in place as it tried to sail off of my helmet.  By the time I reached the bottom, the scene was a blur, and as I left the jump, I prayed for the best.  Unfortunately, I leaned back too far on my skis, and my cartwheeling left hand caught the water's edge and my arm ripped straight back.

It's been five weeks since the accident now and I have an eight inch scar up my upper arm and eleven weeks of arduous physical therapy in front of me.  But I don't regret entering the Slush Cup.  Sure, I wish I hadn't hurt myself.  But I still would have wanted to experience the event.

I am fortunate that I have good health insurance, thanks to my wife's employment at the State of Alaska.  And I am thankful to have the skills to be a discerning consumer of medicine, willing to read research articles to come to my own informed conclusion of the necessity of a medical intervention.  And I have a slew of Alaska Air miles, thanks to my current and past jobs that have flown me all over.  And to top it off, I am lucky to have family and friends in the Portland area, making it a great destination for some necessary medical tourism.

I had my doctor appointment on Tuesday.  So I flew into Portland on Monday evening and spent the night with my sister-in-law's family in Battle Ground, WA. On the drive north out of Portland, I took it as an auspicious sign when a meteorite streaked across the crepuscular sky.  It was so bright it left a trail like a firework, even though it was still twilight out. That night I reported the fireball on this cool fireball reporting website.

It was comforting to see my wife's sister, Jona, her husband, Jeff and my two nieces, Lynday and Nicole.  I also got to meet Jeff's mom, Fern, who was now living with them.  When I married Jessica, she warned me that her family would become mine once we wed.  It felt like coming home to family to be with the Tompkins.  Their home in the woods would be a welcome place to heal over the coming days.

breakfast at Imperial

The next day, I had an early start. I was to meet my mentor, Tom Keller, at a research committee meeting of Oregon Mentors in downtown Portland. I had a full day planned, with breakfast, lunch, and dinner mapped out, sandwiched between my doctors appointments.  Over an invigorating discussion of youth mentoring research, Tom and I had a tasty breakfast at Imperial.  I had coddled eggs in a spicy tomato sauce with fry bread, and some beignets and honey for a starter.

After breakfast, of course I had to pay homage to Powell's Books.  And there was time to visit one of my Portland faves, Cacao, for world-class drinking chocolate.  A shot of the spicy dark chocolate gave me a nice buzz to carry me to my first doctor's visit of the day.

at the top of the OHSU tramway

I drove my rental car to OHSU, with assistance from Jona's handy GPS unit.  It took me to the top of the hill, where the OHSU hospitals overlook Portland and the waterfront.  I learned my pre-op appointment was at the bottom of the hill, and got to take a ride on the aerial tram down to my visit.  Ferguson would have loved to be there with me.

I checked into my visit, had my vitals taken by a nurse and waited for the nurse practitioner.  This was my pre-operation meeting, to clear me for surgery the following day if my doctor called for surgery later that afternoon.  Before she arrived, I had to click through several screens on a computer to learn about a nerve block pump, which they would imbed in my shoulder to reduce the pain following surgery.  The screen said I had to have someone accompany me to the bathroom while I had the pump on.  I was going to be staying alone while my inlaws worked.  So there would be no nerve block for me.

The nurse practitioner came in and discussed the possibility of surgery in a very professional and direct manner.  I really liked her bedside manner and had been quite impressed so far with all of my interactions with OHSU staff.  She started talking about the process after surgery and how long I would have to wait before changing my bandage.  I'm not sure what triggered it, but I was suddenly overcome by a mountain of sadness.  I burst into sobs and couldn't control myself.  All the stress that had been mounting over the last few weeks came out in one big gusher.  I was scared and stressed out.  And I didn't know how I was going to help take care of my family when I got home.  All of that came out on this poor woman.  I felt terrible for unleashing her in this seemingly businesslike appointment.  She told me it happens all the time (maybe she just said that to comfort me).

Then, when she broke out the Hibiclens antibacterial cleanser and told me I had to shower with it twice before the surgery, I broke down again. All the memories surrounding Celia and Ferguson's childbirth flooded me associated with the acrid smell of Hibiclens.  I remembered standing guard at the doorway, armed with a bottle of it to douse anyone who had any thought of touching my newborn daughter.  The nurse comforted me again and I gathered myself together to make a discrete exit.

looking up one of the Hawthorne Bridge's
draw towers

The rest of the day went uphill from there.  I took a lovely stroll down the Willamette Riverfront, and crossed the familiar Hawthorne Bridge on my way to lunch with my dear college friend, Maureen.  Walking down the waterfront made me appreciate how wonderful a job of city planning Portland has done over the years.  As a symbol of Portland, its bridges grace the Willamette, but the riverfront preservation tells a great story of careful urban planning.  When we lived in Portland in 2010, I loved crossing the Hawthorne Bridge on my bike ride to school each day.  I would arrive at the bridge with sometimes scores of other bikers funneled together at this one crossing point and I felt like I was in China.

Lunch with Maureen was a refuge.  We caught up on our families, our careers, and our personal lives over handmade ramen noodles at Boke Bowl.  She had a chronic shoulder injury from years before and we commiserated about the shortcomings of our injured bodies.  Maureen and I had attended Rice University together in the early 90s.  We had stayed in touch over the years and got to live in the same city in Portland for a few months during 2010.  I always feel like my authentic self talking to Mo, the way you only feel when you are with someone who has known you for so long.

Maureen

ramen with carmelized fennel,
pork belly and fried chicken

Next up was my visit with Dr. Mirarchi at an OHSU clinic in Beaverton.  When he came in the room, I immediately felt relief. Here was a doctor that exuded confidence.  It only took him a minute or two to read my MRI, touch my underarm gently, and diagnose me with a partial tear of my pectoral tendon.  Obviously, I was with a pro.  He told me he only did 3-4 of these surgeries a year, but a half dozen shoulder surgeries a week, and the trickiest part was getting into the shoulder itself.  He also said that a partial tear was easier to fix, since my pectoral muscle hadn't sloshed back into my sternum, unfettered. And if I didn't get it fixed, it was only a matter of time before the tendon snapped completely.  I was only hanging by a thread.  Clearly, I had made the right decision to come to Portland for the procedure.

Dr. Adam Mirarchi

Relieved and hopeful about the surgery, I left for my last stop of the day, dinner with a Juneau friend at Le Pigeon.  It's one of Portland's best and a place I had fondly remembered from my earlier time in Portland.  The head chef recently won a James Beard award for best chef in the Pacific Northwest. You can sit around the bar and watch the chefs cook your meal.  And these guys are totally relaxed and will talk to you about the food and their technique while you eat.   We had the seven course tasting menu.  It was one of my top five meals of all time.  The highlight was probably the first dish, an appetizer of trout lox, trout roe, creme fraiche, and Oregon strawberries.  Six courses later, I left the restaurant buzzed, even though I hadn't taken a sip of wine (no alcohol allowed within 24 hours of the surgery).

the chefs at work at Le Pigeon

amazing appetizer

On the way back to the Tompkins, I stopped for some supplies to make beignets the next day.  Jona had requested them and it was likely my last chance to cook with two somewhat functional arms for a long time.  As I mixed up the batter for the next morning, I reflected on the day.  It had been a roller coaster, with many more ups than downs.  Yes, I was still scared for the surgery tomorrow.  But I had lived life that day, filled with some of my favorite people, and my favorite pastime, eating.  I felt John would have been proud.

Under the Knife, Part 1

I remember the mask closing down over my face.  I asked, "How much longer?"  I needed to know when I would go unconscious.  I wanted to be present during those last few moments.  I wanted to remember to pray to God during those last few seconds.  Please let me wake up from this. Please let everything be all right.

before the Slush Cup with my friend Cheryl,
who encouraged me to enter

I had traveled to Portland, Oregon, by myself to get reconstructive surgery on my shoulder.  A month ago, I had been injured in a skiing accident. Snow skiing, you ask?  Water skiing?  No, well, both.  I had entered a Slush Cup competition at my local ski hill.  On the last day of the ski season, I was going to celebrate the end with a triumphant ski across a pond of freezing water on snow skis.  In a dress and a wig.  With pearls and a fancy hat (they say the peals really made the ensemble).

Last year, too many skiers had made it across the pond on their modern fat skis.  So this year, the staff at Eaglecrest Ski Area put a three foot jump in front of the pond.  I didn't know how to play it.  And how does one practices for such an event?  So I got maximum speed, thinking I needed all I could get to make it across the pond.   But my speed was too much, and my gravity shifted back in the air, my hands cartwheeling to bring my body forward.  I didn't exactly "stick" the landing, and heard (like you hear something downstairs by the vibrations in the walls) a ripping sound in my shoulder.  My hand had caught the top of the pond and the tensile strength of the water made my hand stationary while my chest and the rest of my body sailed forward.

my Slush Cup run in slow motion

Clearly something was wrong.  I had no strength in my left shoulder.  I couldn't lift myself out of the pool and the lifeguards had to hoist me from my underarms to pull me out.  The ski area manager asked if I wanted a ride down to the First Aid station on his snowmachine and I whispered, "Please."  Down in First Aid ,the pain came in waves.  A cold compress on my shoulder combined with my recent plunge in 32 degree water gave me hypothermia.  I couldn't get warm.  And as the pain crescendoed, I felt like I was going to vomit and pass out.  With some warm blankets and time, the cold went away and the pain came under control.  It was clear I needed to go to the emergency room, though.  I might have a broken or dislocated shoulder.

The xrays came back negative so I made an appointment to see a local orthopedic doctor. He checked me out and scheduled me for an MRI to see what was wrong.  I got a sling for my shoulder, came back for an MRI the next day, and then spent the weekend in Seattle at a research conference.  Over the next few days, the pain subsided even more and I got some of my upper arm strength back.  I was feeling good, and increasingly sure that I had torn my rotator cuff slightly and that it would heal without needing surgery.

my shoulder in an MRI image

I was scheduled to go back to the doctor on Tuesday and review my MRI results.  On Monday, I was driving with the kids to Costco when the phone rang.  It was the doctor.  He had bad news for me.  I had torn my pectoral muscle and I needed to have surgery.  He could get me in on Wednesday if I wanted to get it done soon.

I was crushed.  Surgery.  Just when I was feeling strong I was knocked back down. Surgery meant a long recovery, with rehab, physical therapy, and a restrictions from physical activity.  It was Spring, though.  And I had plans.  Hiking, biking, swimming, maybe even an odd ride in the kayak.  I like to stay active, especially in the summer.  Plus I wouldn't be much use around the house, creating more stressors on the home front.

Demoralized, I got home and figured I might as well do a little research.  It seemed there were different types of pectoral tears and maybe I could get a second opinion.  I was supposed to go to Nova Scotia in a week  - maybe I could see a specialist there and find a non-surgical alternative.  But the next day came and I went in to the doctor to review the MRI results.  He showed me where my pectoral tendon had detached from my humerus.  Tendon is slow to heal, he said, and if I wanted to return to normal function, I needed surgery.

I was slowly starting to resign myself to the necessity of surgical reconstruction.  When I posted my diagnosis on Facebook, my college friend Zeke (now a successful spine orthopedist) told me I needed surgery.  I asked him for a recommendation of a good surgeon.  He came back with a person in Seattle, who unfortunately wasn't on the insurance company's preferred provider list.  But I had found another doc on list of doctors who had done the procedure and come well recommended (www.pectear.com).  Turns out Zeke knew the fellow and said he was great.  Thankfully, after a few phone calls, I was able to get an appointment with Dr. Mirarchi at Oregon Health and Sciences University on May 14 in Portland.

To be continued.