on the tenth day of christmas

I went to the gym as planned, and have an appointment this morning with Marcia, the Wonder Trainer. Together we will put together a plan to strengthen and tone my various muscle groups, and improve my cardiovascular function.  Bring it on!

Yesterday I did my 30 minutes on the treadmill and discovered that my feet were dreadfully out of shape. Yes, my feet. In spite of the therapy that they receive (and which has made them better), the muscles in my feet are tight. This is the result of injuries to both feet at different times, compensatory changes to my gait as a result, and the subsequent impairment caused by that compensation. This has been going on for more than ten years. Well, actually it's been going on most of my life, but that's another story.

Last night Pampered Chef held a special meeting to announce the incentive trips for this year. For the first time they've put together a mini trip for underlings like myself. Two nights in New Orleans with all sorts of fun stuff.  The top prize is a Mediterranean cruise. Oh. My. God. does it look fabulous! Sadly, that one is out of reach unless I undergo a radical personality type makeover.

But I'm going to shoot for New Orleans, and if I make that one, then the next level trip, a Caribbean cruise, is within reach.

Two goals (well, three, but I'm happy with two). Better health habits, and better business habits. They are both a challenge. Who wants to be on my cheering squad?

And, you can always help by hosting a show. Catalogs are readily available, and the incentives are always good, if not great.

Updates will be forthcoming.

calling dr. welby

Oh, for the good old days, when you could trust your doctor and feel some assurance that you were in the best possible hands for medical care. These days? Not so much! At least that is the case as I watch people around me receive questionable care.

Who am I to judge? I don't have a medical degree of any kind, but I do pay attention to the world around me. I try to be informed. I listen to the stories of the people in my life and in my care. I consult my father (a retired physician) when I need to, and my son-in-law, fairly fresh out of med school, too. I think I have some common sense, and I wasn't born yesterday.

Last week a parishioner was admitted to the hospital with a fever and a diagnosis of diverticulitis with a tiny perforation in her colon. Mega doses of antibiotics were given to her while the doctor "considered the options." "I don't practice aggressive medicine," he told her. "Let's wait and see what happens." Alarm bells are going off in my head. For one thing, my favorite aunt died from just such a situation, but I have done my best to keep that in perspective. Sunday, day six of "Jane's" hospital stay, I asked her if she was okay with the passive course of treatment. She said yes, she trusted her doctor. But dang it all, her temperature was back and she was still in pain. HELLO!! Anyone paying attention? We learned late yesterday that Tuesday she had surgery. A massive infection had set in in her colon and now in place of a colon she has a colostomy bag. I am beyond upset about this.


A week ago, following a diagnosis of cancer in the left kidney and bladder, "Ron" had a procedure that we understood was going to be to go after the cancer in the bladder. Turns out it was just a biopsy to see how far the cancer had spread in the bladder. Performed by his doctor. There has been no referral to an oncologist. The doctor doesn't think a pet-scan (feel free to correct the spelling, I've only heard the word, never seen it in print) is necessary. Hmm. Ron is 82 years old, and the course of treatment just might be impacted by knowing if there are cancer cells rummaging around elsewhere in his body.  Ken and I are ready to pull our hair out!

I have been very fortunate in my life to have been exposed to high standards of care when it comes to people and animals, so my own expectations for care are likewise high. What I am seeing lately does not come close to quality, and it certainly doesn't look anything like care. Sign me up to join more fervently in the health care debate.

good things come

I've had some pain in my right heel for about a month. It's very painful to put any weight on it, at least initially, but then after I've walked for a bit, grinning and bearing it, the pain goes away (at least until the next time I get up to walk). I've been meaning to make an appointment with my podiatrist, but it's just one of those things I hadn't gotten around to. I've been living with the intermittent pain.

There is another health-related appointment that I needed to make, and since I have to get referrals from my doctor to see anyone else, I finally put a call into his office yesterday morning to ask for the two referrals. I was told that I had to come into the office, that he wouldn't do it over the phone. I began to fume. If I got there before 10:30 they could fit me in as a walk-in patient.

So in I walked. And waited. Two hours. It's not unusual to wait at my doctor's office, something about which I get rather annoyed. Sure, I'm happy to have a chance to read whatever book is in progress, but I really prefer to do my reading according to my own schedule. Everyone's time is valuable. I had things to do, puppies to feed, another person to meet. I mulled over the possibility that finding another doctor might be in order.

When I finally saw the doctor he was quick to point out to me that the need to see him for a referral was not his rule, but that of the insurance company. He's a gentle man, and he broke this to me in a nice way. My hostility level dropped by half. So. my foot? He found a tender spot and noted that it could be a number of things. The other matter? Ahhh, this is where it gets good.

I made reference to a matter about which we had spoken during our first appointment, was it last fall? Female stuff. He nodded. He probed a little, and then asked the bulls-eye question. I answered him. He then shared with me some information that I had heard before, but not in this context. It made sense, and I began to connect some dots. He shared some other things that I had not heard before. A light was beginning to dawn. He encouraged me on several fronts, affirmed some things, and in his gentle manner essentially handed me a road map toward some long-delayed healing.

I'm still not crazy about waiting, but I like this doctor because he knows what he's talking about. Takes time to talk. Asks and answers questions. Listens. I never get the sense that he's in a hurry. He never checks his watch. He sits down for conversation. He's the kind of doctor I think my father was, given his reputation with his patients (they loved him!). Time in the waiting room isn't the most fun thing, but the trade-off is so worth it. I appreciate having a doctor who can pierce the veil of medical stereotypes, but even more, what comes from his manner of care. My wounds, literal and figurative, are treated and healed. To be on the receiving end of that kind of care is worth the wait.

hmmmmm

Health * Home * Happiness * Hope * Hearts * Hydrangeas * Hugs * Hilarity * Heritage * Habits * Horses * Heaven * Hospitality * Harmony * Humor * Hostas * Hash browns * Hues * Hope * Hair * Harbors * History * Hobbies * Harvest * Holidays * Humility * Hammocks * Healing *

My thoughts these days are very much focused on my mother, and what her life has suddenly become as a person displaced from her home. Ten days ago a fire in the wing of the retirement community where she lives forced her and 45 others from their apartments. Most of the units escaped damage from the fire itself (which erupted in the roof of the pool area), but all of them were affected by water and some by smoke damage. Mom was lucky that only a few of her belongings were lost, and it is hoped that her antique dining table will be restored.

Gratitude for what was spared is abundant. In the meantime, however, the reconstruction phase of "what happens next" means that she is homeless for the next six months while the apartments affected by efforts to put out the fire have carpets torn out, drywall replaced and repainted, and who knows what else to restore them to liveability. She is fortunate that one of her very best friends lives in this same community and has an apartment with not only an extra bedroom, but a den and storage area. Mom and Sally can manage sharing space and being of assistance to one another. This is wonderful for the present time but it is not a long term solution.

Some have suggested that she head to Melrose, our tree farm in South Carolina. Although there is a furnished cottage there where one could certainly take refuge for a time, it is not the solution either. For one thing there is no insulation. The cottage began as two rooms with adjoining fireplaces, built sometime in the 19th century. Other rooms were added on over time. There is no HVAC system. Though cool temperatures can be countered by the fireplaces and adjunct space heaters there is no relief from the heat and humidity. Ken and I just experienced that firsthand last weekend while we were there. Perhaps more importantly, however, is that my mother's life is in Connecticut, more than 1000 miles away. That life includes regular visits to New York with a subscription to a theater group, and visits with cousins and former colleagues while she is there. It includes her book club, Friends Meeting and responsibilities she has there. It includes her consulting capacity as a retired social work executive, and the multiple committees on which she serves at Seabury, the community where she lives. It includes relationships and interaction with friends she has known most of her life, weekend trips to various places, and the semi-annual visit to Melrose in the spring and fall (to which she drives by herself). Oh, and my brothers are there! This is not your typical 81-year old.

What keeps her local most at the moment is that she had rotator cuff surgery two weeks ago. She is not yet driving and depends on others for transportation to physical therapy and follow-up appointments with the doctor.

In light of all of this, I am abundantly grateful on this "H" day for my home and my health. Home isn't just a roof over my head. It is a refuge and sanctuary where "I" live. It contains furnishings and posessions that reflect who I am, where I've been, and in some regards, where I am going. It is a place that contains my grounding, through my husband, my dogs, talismans of faith, beloved friends and family, and yes, fabric. It is a haven in which I am free to explore, discover, express and be renewed. Norman Rockwell's "Four Freedoms" includes an image of a child being tucked into his bed by his parents, the title of which is Freedom from Fear. Home is that for me, all encompassing. It is also the place where I find strength to hope for what can and may be. Restoration, transformation, healing, peace...

Among the things I have come to understand in life is that we all face challenges, are underminded by disappointments and brokenness, and seek a heart that is content and a life that comes close to resembling something whole. In light of that understanding it is my prayer this day for all of us that hope will undergird what we live this day, and that come what may, our hearts will be lead home.

release, part 2

A further word on the "holding on" stuff from the other day.

My eye has been twitching. At lunch after bible study last week I asked two of my companions, both with medical training, if they knew of anything I could do to relieve the twitching of my eye. I attributed its origin to stress. My medical intuitive friend stopped what she was doing and focused her concentration on my energy. Her read was that I was holding on to something that had to do with someone else's concerns, and her counsel was that I detach myself from the outcome of the scenario in question.

I've known about medical intuition for several years. I learned of it through the work of Carolyn Myss (pronounced mace, for those of you that wonder) while I was in seminary and became fascinated by the notion of reading intuitively a person's energy to discern something of their health and physical well being. According to Myss our biography becomes our biology: what happens to us is stored in our bodies at a cellular level and affects our physiology. The examples she uses to illustrate this are fascinating, and the art/science of this make sense to me. When I learned that one of my bible study participants was a medical intuitive I felt like I had received a double blessing from God. I now had the opportunity to look at life through this different lens.

There are multiple things at work here. When Medical Intuitive friend told me that at issue was someone else's difficultly, I immediately thought of a family situation that reared its head recently. The matter affects Ken very directly, but since what affects him also affects me there is complexity in this. I also have relationships through him, so I am affected by this on several levels: one is my concern for how this impacts and plays out for Ken, one is how the effect of this on him affects our relationship, and one is how my relationship with the person(s) in question is affected.

In terms of the former, I can advise and counsel, but the action is up to Ken. Although I understand the idea of detaching myself from the outcome, especially since it is not "my" outcome, this is truly a challenge, since the outcome will have considerable consequences on our life one way or the other. Yet Medical Intuitive friend suggested that though this matter was involved in what I was "holding" physically, there were other things, too. Things that are not mine. And trust is involved.

This is where it gets dicey for me. The idea of holding someone else's stuff makes sense, and yet is unconscious. I get it, intuitively, but the specifics are not available to me at present. Accessing those specifics is the critical first part. Doing the work of releasing them will involve some intense work of changing my behavior, and in so doing, impacting Ken's behavior. I was totally unaware that I was holding his stuff, but simultaneously it makes sense that this is true. Without betraying the tangled wounds that are Ken's story, my compassion for him and what he has experienced is bound up in the unspoken contract of my commitment to him. And the trust part? The foundation of my relationship with him is my experience of his trustworthiness.

So I have stuff to unpack in the "let's isolate the parts and deal with each one" sense, as well as the shedding of what I have been holding--someone else's baggage--sense. It's intricate and tender and in need of healing. But this is the journey before me, before us. Prayers are coveted, and support desired. It's going to be an interesting road to travel.

release

I have a friend who is a medical intuitive, and she has opened the door to new life for me. In response to a passing comment I made about mid-life, menopause and weight gain, she quickly shook her head and told me that none of these was the cause: I was. As a fellow intuitive I knew what she meant in the broad sense, but needed clarification.

She explained to me that I was holding on to things, storing them, if you will, in my body. I was literally adding to the increased pounds because my body was getting the message that I "should" hold on. Except that the things to which I am holding aren't mine.

Again, I knew what she meant. To aid my health, I need to let go.

So I have been thinking about release. It's one thing to understand the idea of releasing or letting go of something. And sometimes it is clear what needs to be done to release things to which we've been holding. But I had been unaware that what I was holding wasn't mine in the first place.

This will take some thought and reflection to sort out, but in my mind a process is emerging to assist that effort. In typical "J" fashion I will make a list! I can summon up a few ideas about some of the things that I have volunteered to take on as baggage. I can symbolically set them down, an act that will aid in releasing some of their weight. But more importantly I need to take stock of why I am taking them on in the first place. It is not a conscious decision to do so, and there has been no contract drawn up that indicates this is part of a job description. I have some ideas about that, too, and need to spend some dedicated time reflecting on this and understanding what is going on.

The good news is that I am not afraid of such work, or of facing whatever I learn. And I am fortunate to have my friend as support, guide, and translator as I take on consciously the effort of identifying and shedding baggage. And eventually, body weight. It is a new journey. Time to strap on the necessary footgear for the path that lies ahead and take a deep breath.

I never did buy into the idea that the weight that has piled on was simply a matter of hormones and that diet and exercise would resolve the issue.

Breathe. Take a step. Breathe. Take a step. Breathe...