Sheryl Ann Grove

I was born and raised a country girl and have lived and died the same.

spent my last seven years lying in my bed watching deer frolic in the

meadow, birds and butterflies fly by, and squirrels, raccoons, foxes, and

rabbits scamper about my porch.

I am especially grateful to my father for sharing his love of horses literally

from the time I was a baby in his arms atop Jewel. I always found peace

and companionship on horseback, preferably in the mountains.

I am especially grateful to my mother for her love of education, and her

encouragement to use my intelligence to become a self-sufficient woman.

And I am grateful to her for teaching me how to cook so that I could

prepare supper, and skip milking the cows. Thank you!

I am especially grateful to my brother John and my sister Susan for

teaching me how to share, how to form alliances to defeat "the

enemy" whichever one of us that was at the moment, and how to

have a myriad of adventures anywhere on the farm.

Health care was an obvious career choice from watching Father doctoring

his animals, and Mother nursing us through all the childhood illnesses.

So I became a nurse's aide at the county hospital at 16, and saw birth

and death first hand. I learned then that quality of life was most

important, and that prolonging life was cruel. We are kinder to our

animals.

Supporting myself as a nurse's aide, I pursued a Bachelor of Nursing

degree at University of Iowa and completed it at University of Oklahoma

in 1970, after my marriage to James Murtaugh, May 3, 1969. I am

eternally grateful that he taught me how to sail and to ski we could

fly over water and snow. We supported each other through our

respective Master's degrees ..... mine in pediatric nursing and his in

pediatric dentistry, but our marriage could not weather the overwhelming

pain of my being unable to bear our children. I chose to channel my grief

into pursuing a medical degree. Supporting myself as a registered nurse,

I completed my MD in 1978, at University of Arkansas.

I moved to Dallas to pursue the study of Psychiatry at Timberlawn

Psychiatric Hospital, completing in 1982. August 1, 1982, I married Rob

Maurer. He was a consultant in planning healthcare facilities expansion.

He introduced me to dogs as pets and "children", rather than as fellow

farm workers. He shared his phenomenal range of intellectual interests,

and his unique sense of humor. And he shared my love of the mountains

of New Mexico and Colorado. Summer and winter - we could never

spend enough time there. His parents welcomed me as one of their own,

his physician-father happy to have another physician in the family.

But I was not yet done with my education, and indeed never would be.

entered New Orleans Psychoanalytic Institute and commuted there every

other weekend for five years, becoming board certified in 1989. I

practiced psychiatry and psychoanalysis in Dallas for 13 years before

moving once again to the country Lubbock, Texas, where my friends

were cowboys and my patients were doctors, lawyers, and bankers (who

were often also cowboys.) Unfortunately and to our sadness, Rob could

not leave his education and career opportunities in Dallas, and I could no

longer stand to live in such a large and ever-growing city, and we parted

in 1992.

In Lubbock, there were miles of dirt roads to gallop on my palomino

horse Hobo, purchased from my father. The New Mexico and Colorado

mountains were much closer now. I took up hunting and we packed into

the mountains with our horses looking for elk. Hobo was a superior

mountain horse. He was the surest of foot on the narrow mountain trails.

He was a pointer for deer and elk. He would stop and stare at the woods

with ears alert, and if I followed his gaze, I could just barely make them

out. And he saved me several times. Once I left base camp to overnight

near a meadow, hoping to get my buck at dawn. Hobo wasn't a bit happy

with my campsite. He jigged and snorted until I scouted the area and

found a bear cave with fresh scat. We moved that campsite. Of course,

he kept me awake all night chomping the bark off the pine tree I had tied

him to. Another time I asked him to cross a rocky creek, and he kept

refusing, unusual for him. I insisted, so he put one hoof down and then

executed the nicest 180-degree pirouette on his hind legs. When I looked

back, I saw his hoof print in quick sand. Another time we were climbing a

mountain trail that was progressively narrower and rockier the farther we

went. Again, he did another 180-degree pirouette out over the canyon

and headed back down. He had better judgment than I did. I found out

later that only burros could climb that trail.

I also learned to fly a plane. I would wake up on a Sunday morning and

decided to fly to Ruidoso, New Mexico, for a day of quarter horse races.

Or fly to Big Bend State Park to photograph the cactus in bloom and to

raft the Rio Grande. Or I would fly with friends to Abilene to lunch on the

world's best barbecue. My biggest thrill was approaching and landing

simultaneously on a parallel runway with a Southwest Airlines 737 at

Dallas Love Field.

You get my point. I lived a full, rich, adventurous life. Unless I could think

of a really good reason not to, I tried anything. And I am glad I did. And

although I never found lasting love within marriage, I knew the love of four

good men, some of whom are dear friends to this day, and all of whom

shared their interests and adventures with me, adding to the richness of

my life.

I became ill in November, 1993, at age 45. It would be 18 months before

I found a doctor who could help me, and five years before I received a

diagnosis and appropriate treatment from Vanderbilt University

Autonomic Nervous System Research Center. I displayed a standing

blood pressure of 45 over 30 before I fainted. Of course, by then I was

medically retired from psychiatry.

The name of this very, very rare disease is Primary Idiopathic Autonomic

Nervous System Degeneration. Primary means that it is not secondary to

some other disease, such as diabetes. Idiopathic means the doctors

have no idea of the cause. I suspect the influenza I had that winter

activated my immune system which then began to attack my nervous

system. The Autonomic Nervous System controls all the non-voluntary

functions: blood pressure, heart rate, breathing, digestion. Fortunately,

this disease left my brain and voluntary muscles intact, allowing me to

have a much better, more independent, and longer life than most

neurological diseases.

With many medications and powerful elastic stockings and girdles, I could

be up a few hours a day from 1998 to 2001. I moved to Sun City where I

used those hours to visit friends, perfect my Texas Two Step and

Jitterbug, and ride my new horse Jazz, who was much calmer and

much shorter than Hobo. I could only ride around the pasture

occasionally, but it was so fine to do so. As my breathing muscles began

to fail, I gave him to a 9-year-old girl and taught her to care for and to ride

him, stopping when I no longer had breath to finish sentences.

I went on oxygen November, 2001, and have remained in the house on a

25 foot tether ever since. But fortunately, I loved to read, study history

and science, watch favorite films again and again, keep up with my soap

opera families, and email friends. I simply thought of every day as a lazy

Sunday afternoon. It worked for me.

My proudest legacy is preparing the genealogy of the Grove and Payne

family trees back to the Vikings, which was further documented with

maternal and paternal DNA. On the Grove side, we are descended from

Swiss Mennonites who came to America about 1700 with Bishop Hans

Herr and settled in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, soon after William

Penn founded the Colony for Quakers and Mennonites. The Payne

ancestors arrived in 1630 and our multi-great grandfathers John Winthrop

and Thomas Dudley were the founders and first Governors of

Massachusetts Bay Colony. Thomas Dudley was descended from the

illegitimate son of King John of England, the king who was so

incompetent and decadent that his Earls united to write the Magna Carta

in 1215, and forced him to sign it. John was the great-great grandson of

King William I, better known as William the Conqueror the Duke of

Normandy who conquered England in 1066. William I was the direct

descendent of Rollo, the Norwegian Viking who took Normandy from the

King of France in 911, his heirs keeping it in the family until ineffectual

King John lost it back to France in 1204. I still laugh that we are

descended from the bastard son of the worst King of England.

Now I want to express my gratitude to Norma Coleman, Josie Brummett,

Sue and John Spahr, Shirley Durrenberger, Beulah Anderson, Steve

Phillips, Bob Thompson, Michael Jenike, Lorrie Hegstad, and Rob Maurer

for visits, letters, gifts, immediate aid at any time, and efforts to foster any

pleasures I could still indulge, like chocolate and peaches. And a very

special thanks to Gus Trevino who carried me to Vanderbilt Medical

Center for treatment, to the Colorado mountains and Cap Rock Canyon

for my last horseback rides in my favorite spots, and to my last Santa Fe

ski trip.

I particularly I want to thank Nancy Strayer, a fellow mid-western country

girl and my horseback buddy when we both could still ride, for being able

to listen to anything I needed to say over these past years. Her unending

support and understanding, and her admiration of my coping skills and

inventive medical management of my symptoms helped me keep trying.

Also, my gratitude that she adopted my little dog Mandy and brought her

by often to give me much-needed dog kisses.

And now for you, sister Susie. Words cannot express all you have meant

to me throughout my life. You celebrated my successes, nursed my

broken hearts, and attended to me throughout the 15 years of this illness.

You are the best sister and best friend I could ever imagine. You have

done all you could for me. Tell that 'Survivor Guilt' to take a hike any time

it creeps in, please. Remember ..... this is my dying wish. Take care of

her, Jay. You are the best thing that ever happened to her. And thank

you both from the bottom of my heart for spending all those Christmases

with me and allowing me the pleasures of online shopping and watching

you open the gifts.

I will close with a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there. I do not sleep.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there. I did not die.

Know that I am where I want to be. Know that I used every creative

medical combination I could to last as long as I found pleasure in

living and then to last until you all came to say goodbye. Know that I

am happy to 'flyaway' now.

Isn't it lovely that the amaryllis bulbs I potted in November for Christmas

blooming waited until I was so very ill to slowly emerge from the soil one

by one to give me the pleasure of their color for my last birthday.

My love to you all,

Sheryl