Hurricane Katrina: New Orleans Ain't a 3rd World Country

Today marks the 5th anniversary of the havoc wreaked on New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina. There have been recent retrospects on TV, radio, and in print, and any number of commentaries put out on about how the area's recovering well from that devastation.

Indeed, it is recovering. The people of New Orleans are no strangers to hardships and particularly those brought on by weather conditions. Hurricanes have come and gone there since being founded in 1718 … and almost definitely even before that. The people of all nationalities and colors who settled that area, and ever since, have come to know their weather and geography in all its intimacy, figuring out how best to survive amidst the concerns created by living in an area below sea level.



So why is it that for well over 200 years, a location prone to such weather conditions has survived and thrived, despite what nature would repeatedly throw her way?

Then, suddenly, in a fit of fury, in an age where humankind had made leaps and bounds in technology and better living conditions … that same major American city is nearly annihilated by one powerful hurricane. How could this have happened? Homes that had stood for generations disappeared in seconds, never to be seen again. Entire neighborhoods were washed away. Many of the people in those neighborhoods had absolutely no chance from the first whisper of danger.



I’m not writing this to go into all the various reasons why this happened. Let it suffice to say that history has fairly well proven it wasn’t really Mother Nature which nailed The Big Easy. It was a man-facilitated disaster and, as such, must be a man-facilitated recovery. It's a recovery which, to this day, is still in process—slowly inching upward. And while, as many of those retrospects have indicated, New Orleans is coming alive again, there is so much more still to do.

I challenge anyone who cares deeply about others on this planet to look in their own backyard when they want to help. If you haven’t seen the Katrina-ravaged area with your own eyes, you cannot imagine how much work there is still yet to do. You cannot possibly imagine how drastically like a Third World country much of the New Orleans area still appears. You have no way of understanding, without seeing it yourself, the continuing blight being fought every day, still, in a city that has survived, and thrived, for well over 200 years, despite all that Mother Nature has sent her way.

The photos in this album are of the area in and around the Lower Ninth ward of New Orleans, taken about two-and-a-half years ago. Even then, it was over three years later. Just think about it—New Orleans, Louisiana is not part of a Third World Country … this is part of your country.

What's The Name of That Port?

I’m getting a port this week. There are many sorts of ports … ships dock at a port; one can drink a port wine; computers have ports to connect to other devices; a port is the left side of a ship—and who-knows-what-else. But none of these will be the sort of port I will acquire.

There's this port--ooooh, it's Monaco:



Or this port--as in computer:



Or even this port--as in wine:





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But, noooo, Linda has to be different. I am getting what is more technically called a portacath … or, as mentioned—yep, a port.

Now, what does one do with a port, you ask? I know you asked because I could hear you. Well, in the last few weeks I’ve been dealt some challenging news, as I’ve indicated in a few other blog posts. My port will facilitate the solution to these challenges--my battle to rid the ol' bod of lymphoma.



A port is a device implanted in the upper chest, just below the left collar bone, which then connects to the veins. This system is now more-often-than-not used in place of repeated sticks in the veins to administer chemotherapy. As it was explained to me, that continual use of the veins can compromise them, even cause a blow-out of sorts if the veins aren’t strong enough for repeated use. This creates its own set of issues, not even considering the problems which would arise in relation to the chemotherapy and the chemo’s planned course of action to rid the body of the bad cells.

But Frederick Memorial Hospital--right here in my own backyard, I might add, the same hospital where I am having my port put in place--explains it so much better than I have. The port description is at the bottom of the page, and an entire description of the chemo process is given for anyone who really wants to know.

So … I get my very own port in my very own body on Thursday. It’ll be in-and-out surgery at the hospital, done by my now-trusted general surgeon who removed for biopsy the biggest and baddest nasty lymph node to-date. I also want to add that my now-much-trusted oncologist is at the helm of all these processes. These are words and processes and types of doctors I never would've expected to be a part of my natural conversation ... but life's an ongoing adventure, isn't it?

I'm told that some folks name their ports, since they do for a time become a part of their body, and the overall process to good health. After all, something like that should be considered, and treated like, a real friend, don’t you think? And most of us are close to, and even intimate with, our friends. We don’t usually call our friends, “Hey, you,” or, in this case, “That port in me.”

No, I do think I should name my port. What do you think? How about a Name-A-Port contest ... just cuz? Got any good ideas? Many of you know me well enough to be aware of my quirky, off-beat sense of humor. Any thoughts on good port names?

Only one major qualifier here from my end on this naming thing … MY port will be a girl. End of discussion….

Our Shared Heart of Human Nature

The news says everyone’s out to get us; not a soul thinks outside their world. I’m here to say that’s not true. When you face difficulties, people show their true colors. There’s a vein of compassion and kindness which moves to the forefront, coming alive without volition. It can’t be stopped. This mindset has its own will arising from the heart of human nature, a heart we all share.

To illustrate, I ask you to visit my
Facebook page. Folks I know intimately, know casually in person, and folks I know only through the Internet … all give hope, compassion, and freely offer prayers of good will and hearty health because they care. Maybe they realize that what’s ongoing in my life could happen to anyone and that speaks to that universal human heart … making the depth of how wonderful these people are no less real and awe-inspiring.



My husband and I visited a son, Kevin, daughter-in-law, Elise, and granddaughter, Brooklynne in California two days after receiving my initial medical news. We considered cancelling but doctors assured us we should go. Neither of us shared our news ‘til a few days before we left to return home. I told Elise and she spoke with Kevin that evening. The next day, we went to a wonderful spot in the California mountains—petting zoo, pony rides, lunch overlooking scenery only God could create—picture-perfect.

Going home, driving down the mountain, we passed a museum in an estate-like setting. Kevin was curious and pulled in. He urged me inside with him; Brooklynne wanted to come along. Turned out, this was the Edward-Dean Museum & Gardens.

He didn’t know I collect glass and love antiquities, so we were surprised to find the museum housed art glass and antiques. As we prepared for a tour through rooms brimming with antiques, he and I admired a beautiful dark blue crystal-cut decanter set with four glasses. Kevin casually asked its price and upon discovering it was a steal, just-as-casually asked the caretaker to wrap it as we toured. I assumed he was buying Elise a present, and we went on our way. Included was a collection of art glass paperweights.



Before we left, Kevin paid for the decanter set, and we returned into the bright California sunshine. I asked, “Is Elise getting a lovely surprise?” but he didn’t answer. While climbing into the backseat, I went to close the door and he handed me the packages … he’d bought them for me.

Another example—I met Sue Ketcham via the 'net and now call her a friend. She and I’ve engaged through, "A Maverick Life: The Jack Kelly Story," the biography I’m writing on actor, Jack Kelly. When I learned I faced a challenging health issue, I didn’t want to leave the Jack Kelly group without direction for any time. Right now, a publication date will be different than prior to this news, and I asked Sue if she’d co-anchor the group.



As soon as she knew my situation, she asked, “What’s your favorite color?” I didn’t answer; with so much coming my way, it didn’t really register. Today, I opened my mailbox to find a package from her. Inside was a beautiful piece of knit work in a lovely shade of turquoise. Included was a legend telling me it was a prayer shawl, created “with love,” every stitch “knitted with prayer” by Cutchogue United Methodist Church.

These instances did for me what the medical news has not yet accomplished—I cried. A lot. And while there’s fear and frustration, there’s so much gratitude for God’s giving heart, that beautiful heart of human nature through which He shines for each of us. If I didn’t cry, I wouldn’t be human, and if I weren’t human, I would be unable to share in those lovely instances of God’s love.

Thank you to everyone. Everyone!

Step Out In Faith--Then Remove Your Bra

Lord, when that thought came into my brain years ago about becoming famous—at 54—this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. While there isn’t anything necessarily famous about my sit-chee-a-shun … I’ll make it so by virtue of how I handle it. And you’ll be there with me, every step of the way. I really, really believe that.

I’ve been diagnosed with diffuse large cell lymphoma, and that’s the last time I’ll use that word here. I won’t mention the “C” word. Wallowing, moaning & groaning will get me no-where. NOwhere. It’s 2010; advances in medicine are vast. Cures are common and in most cases, expected. I’ve had a week full of tests, and I stand to have a week or so more before that other “C” word—chemotherapy—becomes a regular part of my world.

I prefer to put my brain power and energy into the positive. Life continues. I’m gonna grow a set of cohones the likes of which many have never seen … not a pretty picture, but picture it, anywho. Give yourself a good giggle.

Here’s what I’ve learned. Take serious notes. YOU may need this advice.

1. All who keeping saying you need to stop and smell the roses—fercryinoutloud, stop talking. Do it.

2. If you’ve wanted to do something for a long time but say you don’t have time … trust me, you have time. If you continue with that useless litany, shame on you. It wasn’t that important after all.

3. Everything has a shelf life. Deal with it.



4. The idea that we should tell those we love how we feel ain’t just words. Go for it, every chance you get.

5. Laugh, laugh, laugh. Laugh you’re a** off, at everything. How can this be a bad idea?

6. Have faith. Believe. You are what you think. My God told me that, and God’s right. Always.



7. Life changes in an instant—in small ways or humongous ways. Be prepared and be flexible.

8. Learn from everything. Everything.

9. Prepare to be famous. For something. It’s coming your way.



10. Take your bra off as soon as you get in the house … an important “feel-good” moment.


I will not entertain negativity. I’ve no misconceptions of a walk in the park … but I’ll act as if I’m not only walking in the park, but stopping to smell those loverly flowers along the way. I’m enjoying the sunshine, and the Sonshine, and thankful for every blessed God-given moment. I am what I believe.

YOU are what you believe. Let’s be famous together … and tell the world about it. Find the highest mountain, have faith, start laughing—and make sure you always take your bra off ASAP for comfort.