Jew Eat Yet?

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

After a 10-day add-on to his 137 days at Cedars-Sinai, our son Charlie is home again! I was astounded by how fast he recovered from his shunt replacement surgery. When he had the first one last month it took six days just to get him extubated and several more weeks to get him back to speed. But now, less than 48 hours after the surgery, Charlie was being sent home without his oxygen tank, apnea monitor, or any other medical accoutrements. Yippee! On Saturday we were moved from the highly secure PICU to the regular pediatric floor for our last day which is just like regular hospital rooms except all the kids have a lo-jack device on their ankle to prevent any sociopaths from waltzing out of the building with them. There are big signs marking the boundaries of where you can walk around with your child without setting the alarm off. I took Charlie for a little stroll around the floor yesterday morning and as I was heading back to the room I saw a pair of security guards heading our way. “I hope they're not coming for you,” the nurse joked. And yet they were! Somehow I had set Charlie’s lo-jack off and the guards had to examine all of our identification. Oops.

Suddenly, without any of the fanfare or extensive paperwork of the NICU, the nurses came in, snipped off Charlie’s ankle bracelet, took out the PICC line they had put in for the surgery, and said we were free to go. Really? I almost felt like a kidnapper walking out of the building on our own back into the sunlight that Charlie had seen for only six days before landing back in the hospital.

Yesterday was Charlie’s five-month birthday so of course as we left the hospital complex our thoughts were on that scary day last April and our son, Oliver, who never got the chance to feel the warm sun on his skin. It was so great to be home again and though it was only 16 days since our last departure from Cedars, Charlie seemed like a different baby, so much more developed. Our dogs were excited to have us all back and apart from a few enthusiastic licks pretty respectful of the baby. We had a great night. I sang a little bit of the Kol Nidre prayer to Charlie since we were missing our synagogue’s services and also sang a bit of “Let Me Entertain You” in honor of our sacrilegious Yom Kippur Eve performance of “Gypsy” on Broadway last year.

I was on feeding duty last night and today feel an exhaustion I haven’t felt since Leah was a baby back in 1994. But even though I looked forward to complaining about typical new parent stuff like sleep deprivation, I don’t feel like complaining. I can barely keep my eyes open but it is such a happy, grateful exhaustion.

And now, I begin to contemplate my post-hospital life. I MUST get work right away and I have a few writing projects in mind based on our experience over the past five months. What will I write about on this blog now that I no longer (God willing) have complex medical procedures to deal with? I have fantasized about returning to “normal” life for so long and yet it’s a bit unnerving to find myself in the position of having to retool my identity that was so well defined for almost half a year. But I'm thrilled to find myself facing this unknown. Today is the Jewish Day of Atonement but to me it feels much more like Thanksgiving.

If It Walks Like a Duck

Charlie had his VP shunt surgery this morning and is now resting comfortably, still groggy from the anesthesia but extubated again, thank God. It’s funny up here in the PICU (and in the NICU, for that matter). You get so used to your own child’s issues that it’s easy to feel sorry for the other kids facing stuff that you’re less familiar with. You constantly think, “oh, that poor kid and those poor parents, how can they endure that? We are so lucky!” Meanwhile, the other parents are thinking the exact same thing about you.  Isn’t that largely what so-called “strength” is during times of strife? When something is happening to your loved one, you just deal with it, you don’t have any choice. And before you know it, whatever you’re dealing with becomes part of your new “normal.” If I had been contacted by a psychic last December who had given me a list of everything that was ahead for us in 2009, I would have been horrified and terror-stricken and certainly would not have wanted Kendall to get pregnant. Thank God we don’t have the ability to see into the future. As hard as it was, I am so very grateful for everything that has brought this wonderful boy into our lives. But would we have willingly proceeded if we knew we were imminently facing the loss of one child and the life-threatening status of another that included five months in intensive care and six major surgeries?

The latest surgery went very well, thanks to the expertise of our neurosurgeon, Dr. Danielpour and his associates. Charlie’s other surgeon, Dr. Frykman, found a place lower in his peritoneal cavity to place the end of the shunt’s catheter so it would be clear of scar tissue. It took a little while to get Charlie off the ventilator but he’s off it now and breathing easy. Of course a million things could happen that could make the new shunt malfunction and land us back here but what can we do but live in the moment and hope for the best? Once we leave Cedars I don’t plan on being back any time soon but if we have to eventually return for more revisions, so be it. In addition to my endless gratitude for the surgeons’ and the PICU staff’s medical expertise, I remain in awe of Charlie’s will and spirit. His stamina and strength continue to inspire me as he cheerfully endures more than most people have to face in a lifetime. The above photo was taken just prior to surgery, when Charlie was hugging his duck Linda, a gift from the NICU parent organization. We continue to get visitors from downstairs and have now added the PICU doctors and nurses to our list of heroes.

The best news is that Charlie no longer has any external tubes draining fluid from his brain. This means we can hold him again as soon as the anesthesia wears off. And that is definitely something to be grateful for! 

I Had Four Brain Surgeries and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt

Whoop-de-doo, it looks like Charlie had no infection after all. Today the neurosurgeon tentatively booked an operating room for Friday morning so he can replace Charlie’s VP shunt. If all goes well on that front, and if Charlie recovers as quickly as he did after his surgery last Friday, we could actually be on our way home as early as this weekend. Hooray! The hardest thing about the past five days in the PICU is that we haven’t been able to pick up Charlie and hold him in our arms because of his EVD that is draining his cerebrospinal fluid or “brain juice” as some of the hospital staff calls it.

But Charlie, ever the trooper, is making the most of his confinement. He’s still receiving his former caregivers from the NICU and continually slays them with his heart-melting smile.Charlie’s brain spigot was turned off long enough today for a relaxing bath and he continues to enjoy the eclectic mix of crazy tunes coming out of my nifty new iPod. Here is “A Day in the Life of Charlie Miller.”

Now the countdown begins for hightailing it out of Cedars-Sinai…again. As much as we worship the staff at that hospital, we really hope that we don’t see them again for a good long while. We appreciate all prayers and positive vibes for Friday’s big surgery.

I Got a Right to Sing the Blues

My new iPod has a built-in speaker and I’ve been playing music for Charlie in his crib in our new digs in the Cedars-Sinai Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. One of the first songs I played for him was our friend Carole Cook singing “I Got a Right to Sing the Blues” written by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler. The song has been covered by everyone from Frank Sinatra and Rosemary Clooney to Billie Holliday, Louis Armstrong, and Ella Fitzgerald. Charlie loved it and was moving his arms in beat to Carole’s brassy rendition. And frankly, who has more of a right to sing the blues than our son?

I got a right to sing the blues
I got a right to feel low down
I got a right to hang around
Down around the river

I got a right to sing the blues
I got a right to moan and sigh
I got a right to sit and cry

Say what you choose
I got a right to sing the blues!

Here's our friend Carole letting it rip:

 

We’re still in a holding pattern waiting for the all-clear for yet another surgery in which Charlie will get a new VP shunt. This morning Charlie got a CT scan and he’s due for an ultrasound to check on how the EVD (external ventricular drain) is working and if the fluid in Charlie’s peritoneal cavity has absorbed. Because of all his scar tissue, it’s tricky for the surgeons to find just the right spot to place the catheter on his shunt. If the shunt keeps malfunctioning, the surgeons will have to consider other areas in his body such as the heart or lungs to absorb the cerebrospinal fluid but those carry greater risks so we don’t want to go there. It’s possible if all goes well that the surgery could happen later this week but it’s likely that we’ll have to wait a bit longer. That’s okay—when we leave this time, we want to stay away for more than six days!

The PICU staff couldn’t be nicer. It’s a much different environment than the NICU—eerily quiet much of the time except for the occasional wailing of a child (this unit of only eight beds houses babies to 18 year olds). We have a private room with comfortable chairs and cots and even our own bathroom. One of the unexpected silver linings of being back here so soon is that Charlie is now off oxygen. Since he was connected to all the monitors again, the nurses turned off his low-flow oxygen on Saturday morning to see how he’d do and he’s been off it ever since. The biggest drag of his current status is that he has to spend most of the time on his back in his crib so that his EVD doesn’t fall out or dump too much fluid. The stamina we need is almost harder the second time around even though we know this will be a much shorter stay. At least we still had our September parking passes for Cedars. Maybe Charlie just wanted to be in air conditioning again since it started to heat up significantly in L.A. the day he was re-admitted.

If anyone has the right to sing the blues, it’s our 21-week-old son (with a corrected age of six weeks) who is going on Major Surgery #6 and has shown amazing strength in all he has survived and endured. And yet he ain’t singin’ the blues at all. You’d be hard pressed to find a more good-natured little baby who seems to accept all that life gives him without so much as a grimace. What a teacher and role model he is.

Crossover Event

I remember the excitement in my TV-addled childhood when characters from one of the shows I watched would unexpectedly appear on another one of my favorite shows. 

The first time I remember this was when the folks from “Green Acres” landed in Hooterville and appeared on several episodes of “Petticoat Junction.” Another classic was a bizarre storyline that had the space age Jetsons going back in time and interacting with the Flintstones. Remember when an animated Samantha Stevens of “Bewitched” appeared on “The Flintstones?” Too cool. Often this device was used to test the waters of a spin-off such as when Mayberry’s Gomer Pyle joined the marines and became “Gomer Pyle, USMC” or later when Edith Bunker’s liberal cousin Maude got her own show that began on an episode of “All in the Family.” Ditto “The Jeffersons.” And then Maude’s maid Florida moved to a Chicago housing project with her family and “Good Times” was born. Occasionally these crossovers would even jump genres such as when the doctors of “St. Elsewhere” showed up drinking at Sam Malone’s bar on “Cheers.” This phenomenon is very prevalent today with many crime show casts hopscotching from one show to the next. Last year, ABC heralded “a very special crossover event” when a story arc on “Private Practice” sent the cast all the way from their Los Angeles clinic to “Grey’s Anatomy’s” Seattle Grace Hospital for a highly touted sweeps week stunt.

This week feels like Kendall and I are living a crossover event. Being in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) at Cedars, it’s a brand new environment with all new people, procedures, and rituals. But just when we think we’re getting used to all the changes, characters from our previous drama, “Charlie in the NICU,” breeze into view. Oh, look, there’s Rolley, our old respiratory therapist. What’s he doing up here on the sixth floor hooking up those toddlers to oxygen? Hey, check out the cameo appearances today by NICU nurses LaQuel, Jana, and Christine, how odd to see them in this different setting! And there are our familiar surgeons, too. Hey, guys! Wow, get a load of this brand new set. Very glitzy. Oh, but wait, I recognize these old props—they must be recycled from our old show.

So Charlie did have his entire VP shunt taken out today. His third brain surgery lasted over two hours and they discovered that the source of the problem was that the end of the shunt’s catheter was blocked by scar tissue from his two abdominal surgeries. They’re still not certain whether he has an infection but he’s being treated with antibiotics until they know for sure. Charlie now has an external ventricular drain (EVD) that is draining his excess cerebrospinal fluid out of his head and into a bag. The position of the bag to his head is very important so he can’t be moved at all without the nurse’s assistance. They use a leveler to make sure everything is positioned properly. This means we won’t be able to take Charlie out of his crib very much for the next week to ten days which is a major drag. The good news is that he came back from surgery already extubated (yay!!) and already awake. But then he had to be sedated again so a doctor could insert a new central PICC line into his arm. Oy. Been there, done that. But our son is such a trooper. He’s doing well and winning new fans among the PICU staff. After the next surgery to put in a new VP shunt we’ll be moved down to the regular pediatric floor before we’re discharged. Yet another crossover event.

Two people that were important characters in my childhood died this week. Like many people my age, I had the hots for beautiful Mary Travers from Peter, Paul, and Mary. Oh, how I loved her. In her honor, I sang this Bob Dylan song to Charlie after his surgery, remembering Mary’s haunting rendition:.

Actor Henry Gibson also died. Talk about a crossover star! Gibson recited an old poem from the 1920s called “Keep a Goin” on an episode of my all-time favorite sitcom, “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” He performed the same piece several years later on the ground-breaking show “Laugh-In.” Finally, he turned the poem into a country song and sang it in my all-time favorite film, “Nashville.” Way to go, Henry! And though the poem was always a little tongue-in-cheek, I find the words inspirational and extremely applicable to my current life:

If you strike a thorn or rose
Keep a-goin'!

If it hails or if it snows

Keep a-goin'!


'Taint no use to sit an' whine

When the fish ain't on your line
Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin'
Keep a-goin'! 

When the weather kills your crop


Keep a-goin'!

Though 'tis work to reach the top

Keep a-goin'!


S'pose you're out o' ev'ry dime

Gittin' broke ain't any crime
Tell the world you're feelin' prime
Keep a-goin'! 

When it looks like all is up


Keep a-goin'!

Drain the sweetness from the cup

Keep a-goin'!


See the wild birds on the wing

Hear the bells that sweetly ring

When you feel like sighin', sing

KEEP A-GOIN'!

Shana Tova, y'all!

Return to Cedars

I can’t tell you how touched we were to receive so many beautiful comments about Charlie’s return home. The past week has been utterly joyful, one of the happiest weeks of my life. It seemed almost impossible that we weren’t going to the hospital every day as we had for so long. But guess what? We’re baaaaaaaaack. Crap.

Starting last weekend, we noticed that Charlie’s VP shunt seemed larger than it had in the NICU. Were we imagining things? Was his head just changing shape a little bit? Was it because we were seeing him in sunlight for the first time instead of the fluorescent hues of Cedars-Sinai? We knew that infections are always a risk with VP shunts but Charlie had none of the signs—no fever, no change in behavior, no trouble eating or sleeping, and no puking. You couldn’t find a more delightful, happy baby. But by Monday morning, even I had to admit that the back of Charlie’s head was starting to resemble the anatomy of a Ferengi from “Star Trek.” I got an appointment with our neurosurgeon this morning so he could take a look. Kendall and I both fully anticipated that he would tell us that everything was cool and to take Charlie home. We were so sure we’d be back by his next feeding that we didn’t even take any extra formula. Instead, after examining him, the doctor sent us to the emergency room where our son had to have x-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, and cerebral spinal fluid taps. Turns out his shunt is not working properly, damn it, and the fluid is leaking into his head, creating that Ferengi effect. Before we knew it, after only five full days with no hospital visits, the familiar wrist bands were slapped on the three of us and Charlie was re-admitted. This time we’re in the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) instead of the NICU. Sigh.

Charlie will have his fifth operation tomorrow morning but we’re not yet quite sure what that will be. It’s possible that they will only have to enter through the abdomen to change the location of the catheter that is depositing the fluid in his peritoneal cavity. If that were to happen we could be home fairly soon. But a more likely scenario is that they’re going to have to remove the entire shunt and replace it with a temporary spigot (I forgot the scientific name) that automatically diverts the fluid out of his head into some kind of external apparatus. Then we’ll have to go through a full round of antibiotics to clear any infection (around 10 days), followed by another surgery to place a new VP shunt. I’ll provide an update when I know more but I just wanted to inform you what was going on so you can keep Charlie on those prayer lists a little while longer.

It’s a major drag, of course, but if we got through 137 days in the NICU, I suppose we can get through a few more weeks in the PICU. Our old social worker and several of our beloved NICU nurses came up to see Charlie, shocked that he was back so soon and delighted by how well he seemed to be doing otherwise. I thought I’d be in our synagogue tomorrow night welcoming in the year 5770, but instead I’ll be waiting for the surgical shofar to blow at our well known stomping grounds. Happy New Year to all of you. I know it will a happy year for us…as soon as we get our boy home again. 

Charlie’s First Weekend

I love this photo I took of Charlie yesterday—one of the first to show actual sunlight on his face, not the fluorescent lighting of Cedars-Sinai. Now that Charlie is home from the NICU and I’m still writing about him I feel like I’ve crossed over into the land of true DaddyBloggers, something I was always very self-conscious about. Oh, I’ll be writing about Nazis and Swedish film stars soon enough, but how can I NOT write about this miracle in our lives? And with feedings every three hours, what else IS there in our lives right now? That is not a complaint, by the way, just a joyful realization. For four and a half months I dreamed of being able to moan about sleep deprivation and I’m thrilled to find myself in that place! And it’s really not so bad—I’m taking a lot of naps during the day which is unheard of for me. One thing that is a concern is that Charlie still has no volume. He cries but there is very little sound. The NICU doctors advised us to wait it out and see if his voice comes back after his vocal chords get a chance to heal after all those intubations. To be honest, there’s this small guilty part of me that doesn’t mind the lack of loud crying—I remember those exhausted moments when I could feel the piercing baby wails entering my veins and wreaking havoc on my entire nervous system. But of course I want Charlie’s voice to be normal and it can be a bit tricky hearing him in his crib, even though it’s right next to our bed. We have to use an alarm clock to wake up for those middle-of-the-night feedings.

We had such a fun first weekend at home, the first time I wasn't waking up and driving to the hospital in 137 days. Charlie had all sorts of visitors starting with his Aunties Campbell and Joy and our friend Helena who brought him a giant blue dog we named Hershek. Yesterday a neighbor brought over hot homemade popovers and Grandma came by along with Aunt Brooke and Uncle Scott who brought more grub which we laid out in a buffet in Charlie’s crib (don’t worry, he wasn’t in it at the time!). Brooke and Scott’s daughters, Hallie and Franny, were thrilled to meet their new first cousin for the first time. Taking a page from “Peter Pan” (which is Leah’s next musical she just started rehearsing), they declared their “fairy talent” to be “babies.”

 

Today Charlie had his first pediatrician appointment and we were shocked to discover that he’s gained a whopping 7 oz. since he left the NICU. He’s now 8 lbs. 5 oz. Does Jenny Craig make a formula for preemies? I rarely post current photos of myself because I'm so neurotic but below is a photo Kendall surreptitiously took of me and Charlie during one of our afternoon naps yesterday. If that doesn't make every moment of terror we've lived through over these past months worth it, I don't know what does. 

HOME!!

We finally have our baby home and we are so incredibly grateful. What an amazing, terrifying, wonderful journey it was to get here. As thrilled as I was to leave the NICU, I was a total wreck yesterday, bursting into sobs every time I saw any one of the dozens and dozens of people who have been involved in keeping Charlie alive all these months. I don’t think I’ve had that many tears since this whole ordeal began. As Charlie got placed in the cute departure pram they use to escort the babies out of the building, our nurse Christine paraded him through all six of the NICU bays. In each one, nurses, respiratory therapists, and doctors came rushing over to see him and say good-bye. There were many hugs, tears, and promises to come back and visit. Some of those nurses are so special to me I still well up every time I think of them (tears flowing right now). We got to see many of the talented doctors who saved Charlie’s life again and again. In addition to the nurses, I came to feel like the neonatologists, surgeons, residents, and hospitalists were members of our family. It was hard saying good-bye to our brilliant occupational therapist Jean and our social worker Alva who was there with us every step of the way and who I practically used as my own therapist throughout this process.

It’s now the next morning and I am still too filled with emotion to adequately write about these fantastic people and what they meant to us over the past four and a half months. As Charlie saw them all leaning over him on his parade out the door, he waved and seemed to be sending his own thanks. While there was plenty of paperwork, medications, and follow-up appointments to go over, I was a little surprised at how easy it was to get out of there. “They’re letting us just walk out with him?” I kept thinking to myself. Charlie enjoyed the ride home, his first exposure to sunlight and fresh air, and he seemed immediately at home in our house, even with our excited dogs trying to lick his face at every turn (can I Purell our dogs’ tongues?). Last night Leah cut off Charlie's hospital bracelet and he was a free man for the first time in 137 days! I just gave him his 6 am feeding and he’s now resting happily between me and Kendall who is sleeping after waking up for the 3 am. Charlie’s screechingly loud apnea monitor went off several times during the night (all false alarms) reminding us of the constant barrage of beeps and alarms in the NICU and how great it is to be in such a calmer, more serene environment. Right now Charlie is hearing the morning birds chirping for the first time ever and stretching out on our bed next to his mom, one hand resting on my computer and his little feet hiked up on my leg. It’s a whole new world over here with many new routines we need to figure out along with countless new joys and challenges. Again, I thank all of you for the life-saving support and concern you’ve shown to our family over these months. I am bursting at the seams with gratitude on all fronts.

Charlie Makes His Move!

After 137 days in the Cedars-Sinai Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, our son Charlie is scheduled to come home the day after tomorrow! Woo-hoo! There are a few things that could delay that departure a bit but today was the first time we were given an actual date. The fact that the date is September 11th freaked me out for about half a second, but I guess that infamous spot on the calendar will now have some added (and quite joyful) meaning for us.

The reason the doctors were reluctant to commit to a date until today is that we’ve been playing around with Charlie’s oxygen for weeks. As you can see in the above photo, he’s been off oxygen completely (except during feeds) and they were trying to see if he could go home without any oxygen at all. He’s just on the border of needing it but even though he barely gets a whisper (his flow is 1/16th of a liter for those of you who know what that means) it makes a big difference in his saturation levels. So, finally, minutes after making the decision to try to wean off all oxygen for two more days to see what will happen, the neonatologist said fuck it, she'll just send him home on oxygen for a while so that we can leave this week. (Okay, she didn’t actually say “fuck it” but that was the idea!) The photos here are the last ones you’ll see of Charlie’s unadorned face for a while—he went back on nasal cannulas just after I took them. I’m fine having him stay on oxygen for as long as it takes his lungs to fully develop. It just means that wherever we go we’ll have to shlep along his portable oxygen tank and the apnea monitor that will be connected to leads held in place by a large Velcro belt across his upper chest.

I am so full of excitement and emotion that I can barely speak...or write—I’m headed back to the NICU for our final 48-hour stint. It seems hard to believe that Charlie is finally about to head out into the world after arriving 16 weeks early last April. I will miss so many people in the NICU and am bursting with gratitude for all of the incredible individuals who kept our son alive all this time through their medical expertise, care, compassion, prayer, and positive thoughts. And the journey will continue with Charlie—we already have appointments for a whole new slate of medical professionals outside the confines of the NICU. Kendall and I both had to work through some feelings about leaving the place where our other son died (inches from where Charlie currently resides) but I know deep in my heart that Oliver is not stuck there in that hospital, he will be coming home with his brother in his own way. 

Five-Oh!

Today is my 50^th birthday. Dear God, I am a half century old, how the hell did that happen? Needless to say, the only present I want this year is our son coming home with us and I feel so incredibly grateful that this is finally happening. As of this morning, the plan is for Charlie to be discharged from the NICU in a week to ten days. We’ll have a lot of doctors’ meetings next week to discuss follow-up medications and procedures and we’ll have to learn how to administer the oxygen that he’ll be coming home with for a while. He had his circumcision today which went very well and was performed by the fantastic surgeon who did three of his four surgeries. I said some prayers and sang a bunch of Hebrew songs. Our rabbi is coming by tomorrow morning to do some blessings. I once swore that I’d never bring up circumcision again on this blog because of the attacks I’ve received from Google-crazy anti-circ extremists (note to all members of that group: please do NOT comment on this post!) but I wanted to mark this moment. We didn’t expect it to happen today but the surgeon suddenly had an opening. The crazy thing is that Kendall and I already had a reservation for a birthday dinner tonight at a restaurant we’ve been dying to go to at the Beverly Wilshire hotel. Guess what it’s called? Cut! Oy. Braised foreskin, anyone?

While I’m having a hard time comprehending that I’m 50 years old, I must say that the events of the past four months have made me drop of a lot of my self-consciousness about having a baby in my geezer years. The NICU is the great levelizer—differences in age, religion, race, or economic status don’t seem to matter much when you have a child in jeopardy. Did I already mention one of my favorite NICU moments? It was back when we were in a different bay several weeks ago. Across from us were new triplets, born to an Orthodox Jewish couple from Israel. Next to us was the premature son of two very devout Catholics. One late night found the 50-ish Orthodox father going from incubator to incubator with his siddur chanting prayers in Hebrew. At the same time, the very young father next to us was reciting Hail Marys over and over again. Me? I was holding Charlie and singing…you guessed it…showtunes! It was a great bonding moment for the three of us dads because we realized that we were all doing the exact same thing even though it took a different form for each of us.

For the past five years on my birthday, I’ve been observing the odd tradition of looking at my life through the lens of the Best Picture Oscar winner from the “year “of my age. So, when I turned 46, I contemplated the 1946 winner, “The Best Years of Our Lives.” In 2006, I prepared for 47 by examining the 1947 film about anti-Semitism, “Gentleman’s Agreement.” When I hit 48, I analyzed my connection to a range of dark performances from 1948, from Laurence Olivier’s tortured prince in “Hamlet” to Olivia de Havilland’s descent into mental illness in “The Snake Pit.” Last year, as my 49th birthday coincided with the furor of the presidential election, I looked for personal connections with 1949’s “All the King’s Men,” a story of political corruption and betrayal.

1950 was a banner year for movies. The nominees for Best Picture include three of my all-time favorites: “All About Eve,” “Born Yesterday,” and “Sunset Boulevard.” I also loved “Father of the Bride” starring Spencer Tracy and Elizabeth Taylor but I’m not sure how “King Solomon’s Mines” made the list. Not that it’s horrible and but as far as films shot in Africa go, I much prefer “The African Queen” which came out the following year. I might have given that last spot to “The Third Man” or possibly “The Asphalt Jungle.”

All About Eve” won the Oscar that year. It’s hard to argue with that choice—even though “Sunset Boulevard” probably would have won any other year. I wrote about “All About Eve” following Kendall’s birthday last year. After finding out that Bette Davis was her age when she made the film, Kendall morphed into Margo Channing for several weeks. 

Who am I most like from that film? I'm embarrassed to admit that I can relate to Margo’s paranoia and fears of intimacy but I also understand Bill Simpson’s desire to make everything simpler than Margo allows. Am I more like playwright Lloyd Richards who is so obsessed with his own words that he can’t even see the emotional tailspins happening all around him? Maybe I resemble Celeste Holm’s Karen Richards, too trusting, a bit passive aggressive, never feeling totally part of the group, and bending her natural inclinations to survive the whims of those around her. I’m sure I have a few dabs of George Sanders’ vicious Addison DeWitt coursing through my veins, using my poison pen to eviscerate others (hello Henry Jaglom, Jennifer Aniston, and Ashton Kutcher to name a few just from my previous post!). I don’t feel like I have that much in common with Anne Baxter’s conniving Eve Harrington but part of me wishes I did. I could use a healthy dose of Eve’s unbridled ambition and her uncanny ability to get where she wants to go, at least in terms of career goals.  Maybe my only true soul mate in that film is Thelma Ritter’s Birdy with her world-weary outlook and her use of sarcasm and humor to mask the pain and frustration of her own life. Physically, I’m starting to bear a striking resemblance to producer Max Fabian, played by Russian Jewish actor Gregory Ratoff. I remember thinking how ancient Max was when I watched the film, but when he made “All About Eve,” Ratoff was only two years older than I am now. Yikes! I’m now five years older than Birdy, six years older than Addison DeWitt, eight years older than Margo Channing, 11 years older than Lloyd Richards, 15 years older than Bill Simpson, 17 years older than Karen Richards, and 23 years older than Eve Harrington. Fasten your seat belt, kid, it’s going to be a bumpy decade!

Speaking of my decrepitude, Gloria Swanson, who so brilliantly portrayed the sad, aging, completely delusional former silent film star Norma Desmond in “Sunset Boulevard,” was exactly my age when she shot the film. Help, I AM Norma Desmond! This realization will bring new meaning to the words I always shout from my car window as I pass the spot in front of Paramount every morning where Swanson delivered her famous line: “Tell them without me there wouldn’t BE any Paramount Studios!”

“Born Yesterday” was one of the most sparkling films of 1950 or any other year. What would you expect from a film directed by George Cukor, written by Garson Kanin,  and starring one of the most endearing casts ever to meet on a soundstage? Judy Holliday (age 28!) achieved the impossible and snatched 1950’s Best Actress Oscar out of the hands of Bette Davis and Gloria Swanson for her role as Billie Dawn. It was a surprising upset but who could deny the radiant Holliday any accolade? I'd like to think that I have some of Billie Dawn's innocence and goodness but I know I'm much closer to 31-year-old William Holden's character with all his hopes and disappointments. And remember Holliday’s over-the-hill sugar daddy—corrupt businessman Harry Brock played by Broderick Crawford? Crawford was only 48 when he made this film. Egads, I am older than Harry Brock! Make it stop! Let's not even get into the fact that silver-haired Spencer Tracy was also exactly my current age when he made "Father of the Bride." Where was HIS new baby? 

But again, who cares about age? In many ways, I feel more alive now than I ever did and certainly young at heart. I’m so very grateful for the love of my family and friends and I’m awestruck by the support I’ve received from the blogging community. Thank you all for making the hellish parts of this past year seem more bearable and for for continuing to help me celebrate all the joyful parts. I’ll never forget it.