A bit of local history and a fond farewell

The Book Ladies say thank you to Peter at The Old Neighborhood Grill

Photo by Carol Roark

In 1965, my then-husband and I moved to Fort Worth because he had a surgical residency at Fort Worth Osteopathic Hospital, on the corner of Montgomery and Camp Bowie. That first year, I worked as secretary to the pathologist at the hospital and, informally, as a pr person. I remember being proud that I started the first in-house newsletter for staff and employees, though I’m sure in those pre-computer days, it was a pretty primitive publication.

I left the hospital when TCU awarded me an NDEA fellowship (those were the days of strong national support for higher education, now sadly gone) to work on a doctorate in English. But the hospital remained a major place in my life until our divorce in 1981 or ’82 (strange I can’t remember the exact year) and even after that. My doctor/brother had an office in the hospital, and I’d go see him occasionally. Good friends like the late Connie and Russ Jenkins kept me on the fringes of the osteopathic world by taking me to various events.

The day officials announced the closing of the hospital, I was in a doctor’s office, and we sat together and had a sad wake. I remember him saying, “I’ve never practiced in any other hospital.”

Last night a thread started on the Fort Worth Memories Facebook page with the question, “Who remembers FWOH?” Answers poured in. You’d be amazed how many people want to tell you what year they were born there and/or when their children were. Many commented on the camaraderie and care at the hospital, but inevitably there were a few people with bad memories. I saw no one else among respondents that I remembered from those days, so I became self-appointed apologist, explaining that when people have suffered the loss of a family member or undergone a severe illness or trauma, their memories are naturally colored by their experience. It’s been an interesting but time-consuming exercise, and the comments have brought back lots of memories, most of them good. In some ways, I long for those days, but then I remind myself I’ve gone on to build such a better life.

This morning, nostalgia of another sort. The Book Ladies, a group I mentioned just the other day, have met regularly at the Old Neighborhood Grill for a monthly breakfast for several years. Now we have word that Peter Schroeder has sold the Grill, new ownership to take effect In January. So this morning, we had a special breakfast to say goodbye, thank you, and God’s speed to Peter. A good turnout, and we presented Peter with a book titled, The Joys of Retirement. It’s a book of blank pages, but each book lady wrote Peter a personal message. Lots of fun.

Topsy-turvy day for me. I started the day with a haircut—my stylist is so kind to come to the cottage until I get back to driving—and was still in pajamas when Carol called to say my presence was required at the Grill. She gave me ten minutes to get out of pajamas and into clothes. So I went, sans makeup but with a cute new haircut, if I do say so. Then, my lunch guest had to cancel at the last minute, so now I’m about to cook that chicken pot pie for my family. Still I got my daily words written, so I’m feeling smug.

Remind me, smug goeth before a fall😊

Gratitude

Deep and grateful thanks to all of you who sent wishes, prayers, and hugs. I am humbled but cheered by your concern. I am still in the hospital, with all signs and symptoms steadily improving, but I will be here another night. The cardiologist told me this morning I could go home only if I took the monitor and IV with me. Guess I’ll stay.

I have been worried about Sophie, who feels abandoned. When a friend went by the cottage to pick up some things for me, she said glared at her as if to say, “You’re not my mother. What have you done with my mother?” She was comforted by having Megan all night, and this evening Jacob took her in the main house for a while. But in the picture above, she still looks a little cautious.

Meanwhile, I’ve been treated to the best of medical care and can’t help thinking back to the fifties when I worked in what was then a state-of-the-art hospital. Yesterday, a technician did a scan of my lungs (no, not an x-ray), and told me it would go to Dallas to be read. Everything is digital and electronic I remember food service when there was one choice for dinner, and every patient was served around five. Now, there’s a menu, and you can order it twelve hours a day.

I had been thinking before all this happened about the goodness of people Some wonderful stories are coming out of Houston and the surrounding area. The owner who opened his furniture stores to evacuees, the marooned bakers who kept making pan dulce for twenty-four hours and used 4400 lbs of flour—the bread went to various shelters; the people who have welcomed evacuated horses—and their owners—to their ranches.

I’ve personally been touched by kindness the last twenty-four hours. When there is so much unfortunate focus on race in this country, I couldn’t help but reflect my caretakers have included two of apparent Arab descent, two of Asian background, and a handful each of Anglo and African American. There was no differentiation—they all work together in harmony and they were uniformly kind and caring to me. I have seen nothing but the best of Texans.

My day didn't go as planned

No chatty blog post. I am in the hospital for observation. Prayers and good wishes appreciated. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Life’s Milestones and Other Matters

A milestone in Jacob’s life tonight: his first Cotillion. I’m not sure he recognized the significance and I hear it was “great” from his mom, but I am waiting for a full report. All week he groused about going but above he looks pretty happy or pleased with his new clothes. His aunt, uncles, and mom went to Cotillion. Colin hated it, used every excuse to sneak out early, etc. There as some problem about making sure Megan was included—I don’t remember what and she did go but it was another instance when I was inept as a mother (when we went to Santa Fe and they wanted to ski, I had no idea how to make that work—the kids had to figure out about renting skis, ,etc.). But if all her friends were going to Cotillion, there was no way Megan was going to miss it. Jamie was in his element at Cotillion and came home one night referring to himself as the “party animal.”

Jacob’s buddies were also all going tonight so I’ll be curious to hear if they banded together or circulated nicely. Do you suppose Jacob will dance with me?

I went to the hospital for pre-op pre-admission today. They have all this down to a science and sometimes ask the most minute questions—very thorough. But it’s a smooth process. We saw an admissions clerk and two nurses and were at the hospital an hour and a half.  So far the personnel we’ve met have all been extremely friendly and helpful. The hospital is new—it was privately built, went into bankruptcy and was bought by Teas Health; if I understand orrectly it is an orthopedic hospital. It’s all open and sleek and thoroughly modern but with clearly Texan touches—one area was partitioned off by a panel of upright untreated tree branches bound together, like fences you see around jacals in South Texas. I’m not anxious to have this surgery, but Clearfork seems a good place for it. I feel I’ll be comfortable and in caring hands.

Tonight an old friend came for supper—my idea of entertaining is sending her to pick up sandwiches at a local upscale bakery. We both had croissants with turkey, goat cheese and vinaigrette. Good and really filling. We topped them off with huge chocolate chip cookies. Nancy and I have known each other over forty-five years although we lost touch for many of those years. Today, the nice thing when we get together is that we don’t dwell on our past lives (both married to physicians) but talk about our lives, our city, and our kids today. We both have rich and full lives, and I much appreciate that we don’t dwell on the past.

A long, lazy weekend stretches ahead of me, after a week that has been filled with doctor and hospital visits. I hope to make real progress on my novel—and to do some pleasure reading. Looking forward to it. My life is neither busy nor hectic, so it strikes me as funny that I am glad for a lazy weekend.