When I was twenty I had emergency surgery for a blocked bowel. (I know, I know, too much information).
The surgeon told me that while they were there they took out my appendix for no other reason than they were there and there was some study that showed that after surgery the appendix might get infected and have to come out at a later date.
Ten years ago I was told that I had a spleen, but it wasn't working. No-one seemed overly concerned why
Eighteen months ago I had my gall bladder removed. Don't worry, I was told, you can live without it.
Today, during an ultrasound the technician asked me if I had had my spleen removed because she couldn't find it.
Couldn't find it?
So that's three.
Three organs I was born with, and do not have anymore, and apparently that's ok.
Not sure where the spleen went.
Maybe the aliens took it.
That makes as much, or more, sense than anything I am getting from the medical profession.
Who knew that the creator would make us with all these extraneous parts?
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Migraine 3: Mary-Anne:1
Although it doesn't happen nearly as often as it used to I was hit with a Migraine on Tuesday afternoon. Despite strong coffee, Imitrex, and Tylenol with codeine I am on day three of this headache.
I have been a migraine sufferer since I was 25. The first time I got a migraine I was at work, and I thought I was having a stroke. My migraines are always preceded by a visual aura, and when that happens I lose vision in my right eye. Fortunately for me I was working somewhere where there was a doctor on site and he was able to calm me down and diagnose my issue and (somewhat) allay my fears.
When I was teaching I learned that Hildegard de Bingen, a mystic nun of the 12th century, was likely a sufferer of migraines. Her experiences of religious enlightenment were likely preceded by migraine auras.
Often before a migraine I have amazing feelings of euphoria - (unfortunately Tuesday was not one of those days).
I soldier on when I have a migraine, because lying in bed in the dark just makes me feel worse. I do believe, like Hildegard, that my migraines do have some sort of spiritual or intuitive significance, and that leads me to today's story.
As I have posted before, my sister and I have a very intuitive connection. Even when we are far apart, and haven't been speaking (at least not on the physical plane) we will intuit the other's life situations.
Yesterday, she sent my daughter and I a beautiful poem about mothers and daughters and their connection even though they are far away.
Before I received that poem, via email, I had sent my daughter a long email because I had been thinking about her, (read fretting about her), and I had awoken from an unsettling dream where she had stated I wasn't there for her.
In the car yesterday afternoon my husband asked if we had heard from our daughter because he felt a disturbance in the force. He is connected to our daughter intuitively that way.
Last night, on the phone, I discovered that indeed something was up, she had been experiencing an unsettling and unsettle-able situation at her workplace which had led to her resignation.
And yes, there she is 4000 miles away.
My husband wanted to get in the truck and start driving.
I re-read my sister's poem.
It all made sense.
Even the migraine.
Here is the poem by P.K. Page. She uses Marilyn Bowering's poem as a jumping off point.
On a Far Shore
The night unravels its blue wool:
you stand on a far shore
about to set sail
where are you going?
- Love Poem for my Daughter, Marilyn Bowering
It is summer, early evening
stars beginning
no dogs barking.
The Morning Star
promises daylight,
and the moon is full.
Yet darkness fights for itself.
It has its methods,
is infinitely resourceful.
The night unravels its blue wool
from an endless supply
of old blue sweaters
fronts, backs and sleeves
right, left, the collar –
another sweater,
just one more
and then another
for insatiable night.
And you, obscure.
You stand on a far shore.
I try to see you through a glass.
You are almost invisible
a tottering spindle
alone and fearless
solitary, frail,
in some nameless country.
The next ship is yours.
You board with no luggage.
You lean on the rail
About to set sail
for who knows where?
Some unknown harbour?
I would travel with you
but you won’t ask me.
Nor will you tell me.
The wind is blowing
and you are a leaf
in a springtime gale.
There is no knowing.
Where are you going?
P.K. Page
NB: if you are interested in the form of this poem by sister included the following description -
Glosa: def. the glosa form opens with a quatrain, borrowed from another poet, that is then followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial passage in consecutive order. The sixth and ninth lines rhyme with the borrowed tenth. Glosas were popular in the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries among poets attached to the Spanish court.
I have been a migraine sufferer since I was 25. The first time I got a migraine I was at work, and I thought I was having a stroke. My migraines are always preceded by a visual aura, and when that happens I lose vision in my right eye. Fortunately for me I was working somewhere where there was a doctor on site and he was able to calm me down and diagnose my issue and (somewhat) allay my fears.
When I was teaching I learned that Hildegard de Bingen, a mystic nun of the 12th century, was likely a sufferer of migraines. Her experiences of religious enlightenment were likely preceded by migraine auras.
Often before a migraine I have amazing feelings of euphoria - (unfortunately Tuesday was not one of those days).
I soldier on when I have a migraine, because lying in bed in the dark just makes me feel worse. I do believe, like Hildegard, that my migraines do have some sort of spiritual or intuitive significance, and that leads me to today's story.
As I have posted before, my sister and I have a very intuitive connection. Even when we are far apart, and haven't been speaking (at least not on the physical plane) we will intuit the other's life situations.
Yesterday, she sent my daughter and I a beautiful poem about mothers and daughters and their connection even though they are far away.
Before I received that poem, via email, I had sent my daughter a long email because I had been thinking about her, (read fretting about her), and I had awoken from an unsettling dream where she had stated I wasn't there for her.
In the car yesterday afternoon my husband asked if we had heard from our daughter because he felt a disturbance in the force. He is connected to our daughter intuitively that way.
Last night, on the phone, I discovered that indeed something was up, she had been experiencing an unsettling and unsettle-able situation at her workplace which had led to her resignation.
And yes, there she is 4000 miles away.
My husband wanted to get in the truck and start driving.
I re-read my sister's poem.
It all made sense.
Even the migraine.
Here is the poem by P.K. Page. She uses Marilyn Bowering's poem as a jumping off point.
On a Far Shore
The night unravels its blue wool:
you stand on a far shore
about to set sail
where are you going?
- Love Poem for my Daughter, Marilyn Bowering
It is summer, early evening
stars beginning
no dogs barking.
The Morning Star
promises daylight,
and the moon is full.
Yet darkness fights for itself.
It has its methods,
is infinitely resourceful.
The night unravels its blue wool
from an endless supply
of old blue sweaters
fronts, backs and sleeves
right, left, the collar –
another sweater,
just one more
and then another
for insatiable night.
And you, obscure.
You stand on a far shore.
I try to see you through a glass.
You are almost invisible
a tottering spindle
alone and fearless
solitary, frail,
in some nameless country.
The next ship is yours.
You board with no luggage.
You lean on the rail
About to set sail
for who knows where?
Some unknown harbour?
I would travel with you
but you won’t ask me.
Nor will you tell me.
The wind is blowing
and you are a leaf
in a springtime gale.
There is no knowing.
Where are you going?
P.K. Page
NB: if you are interested in the form of this poem by sister included the following description -
Glosa: def. the glosa form opens with a quatrain, borrowed from another poet, that is then followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial passage in consecutive order. The sixth and ninth lines rhyme with the borrowed tenth. Glosas were popular in the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries among poets attached to the Spanish court.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Your Kitchen - Our Love
The smell of ivory soap
The tiny ice-box
The tidiness of it all
I miss watching you make tea
warming the pot
setting out the mugs
the golden crocheted tea cozy
I miss sitting across from you
talking of this and that
leafing through magazines
doing the jumble puzzle
I miss your laugh
the twinkle in your eyes
the colour of your hair
The way you loved me
I miss it all
and I am glad
I have forgotten
all the things you forgot
and only remember
what you always remembered
That you loved me
and I loved you
written for my Aunt Georgina
1922-2008
although Alzheimer's took her from me far too soon
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Depression - mine and others
Depression is a deceptive liar. Depression convinces you that you are worthless, and your actions, past and present are not what they should have been.
Depression convinces you that you had no good intentions, only selfish ones.
Depression whispers in your ear that the world is against you. Depression convinces you that you are your own worst enemy. And it insists that you are alone.
But it does it subtly.
It does it by taking away the joy in your life. By filling your life with boredom, and hopelessness. It does it by shutting all the doors and windows, pulling down the blinds, shutting the curtains and leaving you in darkness. By leaving you alone.
It doesn't matter that there are many people around you, who profess they love you, who do kind things for you. All that matters is that nothing matters.
Don't tell a depressed person to go for a walk, to eat something, to cheer up, to look at the bright side. I have said all of those things, and I have had all of those things said to me and, at that moment in time, it doesn't help. In fact, it hurts.
It hurts because intellectually you know all of those things will help but you don't have the where-with-all to do any of them.
Sometimes depression will lift on its own, and if you have lived, like I have, for your whole adult life with depression you start to recognized the cycle and trust that the you will cycle out of it. Eventually.
For some people, like myself, medication helps. Not a lot of medication, but a small daily dose. If you know someone like that, like me - don't judge. The judging of SSRIs and other anti-depression medication by those who do not suffer is such a difficult thing.
It makes those of us on medication not want to be honest about our need for it, it makes us try to get off of it (to horrible results), it makes us be less then our authentic selves.
People with depression need to be authentic. Because often those who aren't, those who hide it, those who try to deny it, those who don't talk about it end up making a difficult and devastating decision.
I young man I knew, only a little, killed himself last month. I didn't know he struggled with depression. People who knew him better than I didn't know he struggled with depression. We. Didn't. Know.
Maybe he didn't know.
But if you are reading this, and you feel helpless, joyless, stuck, that life is pointless, then hard as it may be to do, go and talk to someone: a doctor you trust, a friend, a family member, someone.
Someone cares.
Depression will tell you that no-one cares.
Depression lies.
I know.
Depression convinces you that you had no good intentions, only selfish ones.
Depression whispers in your ear that the world is against you. Depression convinces you that you are your own worst enemy. And it insists that you are alone.
But it does it subtly.
It does it by taking away the joy in your life. By filling your life with boredom, and hopelessness. It does it by shutting all the doors and windows, pulling down the blinds, shutting the curtains and leaving you in darkness. By leaving you alone.
It doesn't matter that there are many people around you, who profess they love you, who do kind things for you. All that matters is that nothing matters.
Don't tell a depressed person to go for a walk, to eat something, to cheer up, to look at the bright side. I have said all of those things, and I have had all of those things said to me and, at that moment in time, it doesn't help. In fact, it hurts.
It hurts because intellectually you know all of those things will help but you don't have the where-with-all to do any of them.
Sometimes depression will lift on its own, and if you have lived, like I have, for your whole adult life with depression you start to recognized the cycle and trust that the you will cycle out of it. Eventually.
For some people, like myself, medication helps. Not a lot of medication, but a small daily dose. If you know someone like that, like me - don't judge. The judging of SSRIs and other anti-depression medication by those who do not suffer is such a difficult thing.
It makes those of us on medication not want to be honest about our need for it, it makes us try to get off of it (to horrible results), it makes us be less then our authentic selves.
People with depression need to be authentic. Because often those who aren't, those who hide it, those who try to deny it, those who don't talk about it end up making a difficult and devastating decision.
I young man I knew, only a little, killed himself last month. I didn't know he struggled with depression. People who knew him better than I didn't know he struggled with depression. We. Didn't. Know.
Maybe he didn't know.
But if you are reading this, and you feel helpless, joyless, stuck, that life is pointless, then hard as it may be to do, go and talk to someone: a doctor you trust, a friend, a family member, someone.
Someone cares.
Depression will tell you that no-one cares.
Depression lies.
I know.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
The 'c' word
I went to the hematologist today to discuss my blood work. I have my blood counts done every six months because eleven years ago I was diagnosed with CLL (Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia). At the time of my diagnosis my white counts where three times normal, over the past few years they have been back into the normal range.
Then eighteen months ago a new count was added to my blood work and it was not in the normal range. My GP didn't seem concerned, but I wanted to check in with the specialist anyways. Then in May my lymphocyte count was a little elevated.
I arrived for my appointment and he looked quite bewildered as to why I was there. He said looking at my blood work he would not consider me a CLL patient. He said, "we don't like to use the word cure, but looking at this report there is no indication of the disease."
He also admitted that all my files and tests that he had on me were in storage somewhere. No worries, I brought all my tests with me to the appointment (I am anal that way).
He was noticeably shocked when I told him he had diagnosed me in 2003.
2003, he queried?
2003, I replied.
2003, he asked again?
"Verified by a bone marrow biopsy". I stated.
Well, he said, we don't even consider treatment until your counts are in the 100s. (Mine is, like, seven.)
I asked what would explain my counts going down when the whole modus operandi of the disease is that your white cells never die. He could't explain it. But cautioned me not to look a gift horse in the mouth. (Who? Me?)
And the other count that was a little high? They changed the 'normal' range. It use to be high was over 5, then over 4, now it is over 3.5. (Mine is 3.6).
He also said to ignore the count that was new. "I have been trying to get them to take that off the tests. It means nothing."
Nothing.
Good to know our tax dollars are being spent running tests that doctors don't actually want to see or know about.
And weird they (the ubiquitous they) can change the normal range somewhat arbitrarily like that.
But, still, good news all around.
I am off his patient list. Just as well, he has the bedside manner of a gnat. (not to mention he doesn't know where my files are).
I still should go for blood tests every six months, (because that won't hurt, he said). Hah! He doesn't know my very sad and sordid relationship with needles.
So he doesn't want to see me anymore. Unless something changes.
And he won't use the 'c' word because of the genetic markers I have.
But he never said anything about not using the r word.
So I am.
Out loud.
Remission.
There.
I said it out loud.
It must be true.
Then eighteen months ago a new count was added to my blood work and it was not in the normal range. My GP didn't seem concerned, but I wanted to check in with the specialist anyways. Then in May my lymphocyte count was a little elevated.
I arrived for my appointment and he looked quite bewildered as to why I was there. He said looking at my blood work he would not consider me a CLL patient. He said, "we don't like to use the word cure, but looking at this report there is no indication of the disease."
He also admitted that all my files and tests that he had on me were in storage somewhere. No worries, I brought all my tests with me to the appointment (I am anal that way).
He was noticeably shocked when I told him he had diagnosed me in 2003.
2003, he queried?
2003, I replied.
2003, he asked again?
"Verified by a bone marrow biopsy". I stated.
Well, he said, we don't even consider treatment until your counts are in the 100s. (Mine is, like, seven.)
I asked what would explain my counts going down when the whole modus operandi of the disease is that your white cells never die. He could't explain it. But cautioned me not to look a gift horse in the mouth. (Who? Me?)
And the other count that was a little high? They changed the 'normal' range. It use to be high was over 5, then over 4, now it is over 3.5. (Mine is 3.6).
He also said to ignore the count that was new. "I have been trying to get them to take that off the tests. It means nothing."
Nothing.
Good to know our tax dollars are being spent running tests that doctors don't actually want to see or know about.
And weird they (the ubiquitous they) can change the normal range somewhat arbitrarily like that.
But, still, good news all around.
I am off his patient list. Just as well, he has the bedside manner of a gnat. (not to mention he doesn't know where my files are).
I still should go for blood tests every six months, (because that won't hurt, he said). Hah! He doesn't know my very sad and sordid relationship with needles.
So he doesn't want to see me anymore. Unless something changes.
And he won't use the 'c' word because of the genetic markers I have.
But he never said anything about not using the r word.
So I am.
Out loud.
Remission.
There.
I said it out loud.
It must be true.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
New traditions
Thanksgiving Weekend is upon us. This will be the first Thanksgiving in years and years and years that there won't be a big noisy family dinner.
Instead I have bought all the ingredients to make my Auntie Georgie's mustard pickles on either the Friday or the Monday, and my husband and I have booked a waterfront campsite for saturday and sunday night.
We might bake a salmon for our Thanksgiving dinner, or we might just roast chorizo over the fire.
I am looking forward to the simplicity of it. I am taking my knitting and a couple of good books. I just checked the weather report and it calls for rain, but I like camping in the rain.
As I have said before in this blog, when I was diagnosed with chronic leukemia my husband asked me what I wanted to do.
"I want to camp in our camper, hearing the rain on the roof."
That was 11 years ago. There have been lots of camping trips, and many with rain on the roof.
It never gets old.
There have been many changes in the last few years. My nest is truly empty, and for the first time in a long time I feel like it is going to be ok.
I can learn things still, and enjoy the company of new and old friends. I can take the time to take care of myself, and I am beginning to say what I want, and not feel I have to do things because others want me to.
My 59th birthday is fast approaching. I will be in my 60th year.
I think it is going to be just fine.
This is what 59 looks like. New traditions and all.
Instead I have bought all the ingredients to make my Auntie Georgie's mustard pickles on either the Friday or the Monday, and my husband and I have booked a waterfront campsite for saturday and sunday night.
We might bake a salmon for our Thanksgiving dinner, or we might just roast chorizo over the fire.
I am looking forward to the simplicity of it. I am taking my knitting and a couple of good books. I just checked the weather report and it calls for rain, but I like camping in the rain.
As I have said before in this blog, when I was diagnosed with chronic leukemia my husband asked me what I wanted to do.
"I want to camp in our camper, hearing the rain on the roof."
That was 11 years ago. There have been lots of camping trips, and many with rain on the roof.
It never gets old.
There have been many changes in the last few years. My nest is truly empty, and for the first time in a long time I feel like it is going to be ok.
I can learn things still, and enjoy the company of new and old friends. I can take the time to take care of myself, and I am beginning to say what I want, and not feel I have to do things because others want me to.
My 59th birthday is fast approaching. I will be in my 60th year.
I think it is going to be just fine.
This is what 59 looks like. New traditions and all.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Fixing things
I know you knitters have all been there.
It is late, and you are almost finished a project.....but you continue past your best before date.
Then disaster strikes.
This would be a good time to put it down and just go to bed....
But noooooo.......
I can fix this.
And then, there it is - many rows of frogging, and a tangle of curly yarn.
It is ruined. It looks hopeless to fix. Argh!
But then in the light of day, after a semi good night sleep (ok, ok, and a nap) the task begins of straightening out the mess.
And it does get straigtened out.
Oh sure, there are a few twisted stiches, but all in all order is restored.
Just like life.
Sometimes life kicks you in the ass. And you try to fix it in the moment and it seems hopeless and just all too much.
And then, as my uncle would say, calmer heads prevail.
Maybe not the next day, maybe not for a long while, but in time, if there is a hopefulness, things can be fixed.
Maybe not fixed to the point of never having had happened, but fixed enough to go on.
This post isn't really about knitting at all, is it?
It started out that way, but now it is really about how we carry on in the face of bad news, broken hearts, ill health, and the myriad of crap life can throw at us.
We need to take time to cry, and wail, and gnash our teeth about the injustice of it all, but in the end we need to turn the light up a little brighter, put our glasses on, pick up the mess and start to work it through.
Oh yes, there will be twisted stitched along the way. But we should leave them in the finished product.
Because that is what makes us human.
Just don't give up.
Because giving up is giving into the lie that things can't be fixed. That things can't get better
And they can.
Maybe not in the way we want them to be, and maybe they can't be made flawless again.
But we can carry on.
And it is worth it.
Because life is worth it
It is late, and you are almost finished a project.....but you continue past your best before date.
Then disaster strikes.
This would be a good time to put it down and just go to bed....
But noooooo.......
I can fix this.
And then, there it is - many rows of frogging, and a tangle of curly yarn.
It is ruined. It looks hopeless to fix. Argh!
But then in the light of day, after a semi good night sleep (ok, ok, and a nap) the task begins of straightening out the mess.
And it does get straigtened out.
Oh sure, there are a few twisted stiches, but all in all order is restored.
Just like life.
Sometimes life kicks you in the ass. And you try to fix it in the moment and it seems hopeless and just all too much.
And then, as my uncle would say, calmer heads prevail.
Maybe not the next day, maybe not for a long while, but in time, if there is a hopefulness, things can be fixed.
Maybe not fixed to the point of never having had happened, but fixed enough to go on.
This post isn't really about knitting at all, is it?
It started out that way, but now it is really about how we carry on in the face of bad news, broken hearts, ill health, and the myriad of crap life can throw at us.
We need to take time to cry, and wail, and gnash our teeth about the injustice of it all, but in the end we need to turn the light up a little brighter, put our glasses on, pick up the mess and start to work it through.
Oh yes, there will be twisted stitched along the way. But we should leave them in the finished product.
Because that is what makes us human.
Just don't give up.
Because giving up is giving into the lie that things can't be fixed. That things can't get better
And they can.
Maybe not in the way we want them to be, and maybe they can't be made flawless again.
But we can carry on.
And it is worth it.
Because life is worth it
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Alcohol
A question was posted on facebook today. "If you could rid the world of one thing what would it be?" Before I looked at any of the comments I said to myself - alcohol. As I read the comments there were responses like: hate, war, cancer, abuse, racism, sin, pedophiles. I was feeling chagrined by my answer. It seemed so selfish. Then the last comment from someone else said - alcohol. I pressed like. Then I typed my answer.
Alcohol.
So many people I love, and others I know, struggle, or have struggled with alcohol. My mother was an alcoholic, probably too was my father and grandfather. My husband drinks wine almost daily. Both of my children have had their struggles with alcohol.
I have a visceral reaction when I hear the cork come out of a bottle, or the sound of liquor being poured over ice. Some of the meanest things my mother ever said to me were when she was drinking. Some of the worst fights I heard my mother and father have were while they were drunk. All of my most shameful moments were while I was drunk.
I can't bear being around people when they are obviously under the influence. It is my cue to leave the party, the pub, the 'action', when words are slurred, voices are raised, or stumbling begins.
This is not to say that I do not enjoy a glass of wine from time to time. I do. Although as I age I enjoy it less and usually one glass is enough to give me a headache the next day. I have become intolerant to alcohol - literally.
So this seems all about me, and not about the world at all. However, still and all, I think the world would be a better place without alcohol, or any of its substitutes.
I woke up this morning to the news talking about the legalisation of pot in Washington state. Just what we need, I thought, another legal substance that will take people. t
Take them away from themselves, their loved ones, the world.
Everyone medicates themselves I have heard it said. Drugs, food, alcohol, running, swimming, meditating, yoga, anti-depressants. Everyone medicates themselves is true. But not every medication causes violence, estrangement, abuse, broken families and heartbreak. I suppose most do if taken to extremes. Alcoholics, yogaholics, foodaholics, zenaholics....I suppose they do.
But this post is about alcohol.
I know it is a disease. I understand that, I really do. And it is just as frustrating for me that someone with a physical ailment won't go to the doctor as it is that a person abusing alcohol won't seek help.
I know it is their choice, not mine. I know it is about free-will, not my will. I know it is often none of my f#@$king business.
I know that.
But how I feel? That is something else entirely.
I once said to a very close friend, one of the few I talk to about this, is that I wished that just once someone would choose me over alcohol.
I talk to myself about this a lot. Is this what my life lesson is this time around? Am I atoning for a past life when the shoe was on the other foot, the bottle in my hand?
I can only surmise. I can only practise seeing God in the other. I can only do what I can do.
So I set my boundaries. I remove myself from situations I find uncomfortable and delight in situations where I find alcohol is consumed lightly or not at all.
This is such a personal thing to write.
But today is that day.
Alcohol.
So many people I love, and others I know, struggle, or have struggled with alcohol. My mother was an alcoholic, probably too was my father and grandfather. My husband drinks wine almost daily. Both of my children have had their struggles with alcohol.
I have a visceral reaction when I hear the cork come out of a bottle, or the sound of liquor being poured over ice. Some of the meanest things my mother ever said to me were when she was drinking. Some of the worst fights I heard my mother and father have were while they were drunk. All of my most shameful moments were while I was drunk.
I can't bear being around people when they are obviously under the influence. It is my cue to leave the party, the pub, the 'action', when words are slurred, voices are raised, or stumbling begins.
This is not to say that I do not enjoy a glass of wine from time to time. I do. Although as I age I enjoy it less and usually one glass is enough to give me a headache the next day. I have become intolerant to alcohol - literally.
So this seems all about me, and not about the world at all. However, still and all, I think the world would be a better place without alcohol, or any of its substitutes.
I woke up this morning to the news talking about the legalisation of pot in Washington state. Just what we need, I thought, another legal substance that will take people. t
Take them away from themselves, their loved ones, the world.
Everyone medicates themselves I have heard it said. Drugs, food, alcohol, running, swimming, meditating, yoga, anti-depressants. Everyone medicates themselves is true. But not every medication causes violence, estrangement, abuse, broken families and heartbreak. I suppose most do if taken to extremes. Alcoholics, yogaholics, foodaholics, zenaholics....I suppose they do.
But this post is about alcohol.
I know it is a disease. I understand that, I really do. And it is just as frustrating for me that someone with a physical ailment won't go to the doctor as it is that a person abusing alcohol won't seek help.
I know it is their choice, not mine. I know it is about free-will, not my will. I know it is often none of my f#@$king business.
I know that.
But how I feel? That is something else entirely.
I once said to a very close friend, one of the few I talk to about this, is that I wished that just once someone would choose me over alcohol.
I talk to myself about this a lot. Is this what my life lesson is this time around? Am I atoning for a past life when the shoe was on the other foot, the bottle in my hand?
I can only surmise. I can only practise seeing God in the other. I can only do what I can do.
So I set my boundaries. I remove myself from situations I find uncomfortable and delight in situations where I find alcohol is consumed lightly or not at all.
This is such a personal thing to write.
But today is that day.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Getting hit by the truck
It was so weird. For about a week I kept feeling like I should be extra careful while in a car because I kept seeing myself being t-boned in an intersection.
I was hit by a truck on Sunday. Proverbially, but a truck none-the-less.
So here I sit, uncomfortably, after having emergency surgery on Monday afternoon for an infected gall bladder. I went to the doctor today because one of the incisions is still bleeding, and I was fretting.
I feel like I should feel better. He tells me to be gentler with myself. "Not only surgery, but you have had an infection inside of you for some time as well."
Be gentle with myself.
That would be easier if I felt better.
The doctors, and nurses were so great. So great. We are lucky to live in a place with this kind of medical care.
So, here I sit (did I mention the discomfort). I know I have much to be thankful for. But geez, this has been a sucky year on the health front. I now wonder how much of my unwellness this summer was related to this little organ that no longer resides inside of me.
So, pay attention to those intuitions. You never know what shape that truck may take.
I was hit by a truck on Sunday. Proverbially, but a truck none-the-less.
So here I sit, uncomfortably, after having emergency surgery on Monday afternoon for an infected gall bladder. I went to the doctor today because one of the incisions is still bleeding, and I was fretting.
I feel like I should feel better. He tells me to be gentler with myself. "Not only surgery, but you have had an infection inside of you for some time as well."
Be gentle with myself.
That would be easier if I felt better.
The doctors, and nurses were so great. So great. We are lucky to live in a place with this kind of medical care.
So, here I sit (did I mention the discomfort). I know I have much to be thankful for. But geez, this has been a sucky year on the health front. I now wonder how much of my unwellness this summer was related to this little organ that no longer resides inside of me.
So, pay attention to those intuitions. You never know what shape that truck may take.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Waiting for the phone to ring
Waiting for the phone to ring. One is hunting, and one is awaiting test results. But the phone doesn't ring. It just seems so quiet around here. The quiet is very noisy.
And it is raining. And I don't want to be 'that' person that keeps phoning, and asking.
So I am 'this' person that putters with her knitting, sweeps the floor, takes long baths, and tosses and turns.
I remember years and years ago when I got very sick and needed emergency surgery my sister sent my mother a card called 'The Watcher'.
It is hard being 'the watcher', because you can't do anything. Not really.
So today as I listen to my husband chatter with his young six year old friend I try to busy myself with this and that.
But really?
Really I am just waiting for the phone to ring.
And it is raining. And I don't want to be 'that' person that keeps phoning, and asking.
So I am 'this' person that putters with her knitting, sweeps the floor, takes long baths, and tosses and turns.
I remember years and years ago when I got very sick and needed emergency surgery my sister sent my mother a card called 'The Watcher'.
It is hard being 'the watcher', because you can't do anything. Not really.
So today as I listen to my husband chatter with his young six year old friend I try to busy myself with this and that.
But really?
Really I am just waiting for the phone to ring.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
I would do it if I could
A death, an illness (or three), a family struggle and here I sit in the sun on the back porch unable to do anything.
"Can I do anything?", I ask. "You could take the treatment for me, and I would be the one to get better", he replied.
I would, if I could.
A few years ago my younger brother put together a dvd of family photographs - a slide show - with the soundtrack of ColdPlay's 'Fix You' playing in the background.
I sobbed uncontrollably the first time I watched it. Pictures of my mother and father and siblings from a time long ago. A time when, in my mind, we were the quintessential happy family.
I still weep when I see it - I weep out of poignancy, out of regret, out of feelings of missing my father so profoundly, out of realizing that in those photos there was still possibility.
The possibility that cancer wouldn't strike, a virus wouldn't strike, estrangement wouldn't strike.
I think, as the proverbial middle child, I have just wanted to fix everything for everyone. I think in the process I broke things, especially myself.
Lately the phrase "Depression is anger turned inward" has been rattling around inside my brain. I don't like this phrase; I never had. The first time I heard it a fourteen year old boy I know was struggling with anxiety and sadness. I blamed myself for not being able to fix it. I blamed myself for perhaps being the cause.
Recently I remarked to my husband that I was trying to protect him from something that brings him frustration. The content doesn't matter. What he told me does. "You are not responsible for my issues around this. You don't have to fix it for me."
I don't have to fix it. Now, there's a thought.
Last night I remember feeling 'Why won't anyone let me help them?" Because, dear one, it is not your job to fix everything. Sometimes in the midst of family struggles and health issues, and angst it is your job to be there, to listen, to help if asked, to not burden them with your anxiety, to let go and let god.
And sometimes, as a stanger told be yesterday, you have to give it time. Time for wounds to heal, and memories to fade.
And, dear one, that time is not a day, or a week, but perhaps months or years.
So listen up - you don't have to fix everything. You have to remember "It will be alright in the end. If it is not alright, it is not the end".
I have to trust that if someone needs my help they will ask. If someone wants to see me they will call. If someone has something to say they will say it.
Meanwhile I have prayer, compassion, and a shoulder to cry on. I thank god for that shoulder, that companionship, that often silent support.
So I am praying the chemo will work, the move will unfold smoothly, and that time will, in fact, heal all wounds. I am not sure about the last one - for some wounds to heal there has to be forgiveness, and I know I am not there yet.
I don't know if I believe there can be forgiveness without an apology, or explanation having been given. I am told there can be, but I don't know if that is true for me.
As I said at the beginning: I would if I could.
"Can I do anything?", I ask. "You could take the treatment for me, and I would be the one to get better", he replied.
I would, if I could.
A few years ago my younger brother put together a dvd of family photographs - a slide show - with the soundtrack of ColdPlay's 'Fix You' playing in the background.
I sobbed uncontrollably the first time I watched it. Pictures of my mother and father and siblings from a time long ago. A time when, in my mind, we were the quintessential happy family.
I still weep when I see it - I weep out of poignancy, out of regret, out of feelings of missing my father so profoundly, out of realizing that in those photos there was still possibility.
The possibility that cancer wouldn't strike, a virus wouldn't strike, estrangement wouldn't strike.
I think, as the proverbial middle child, I have just wanted to fix everything for everyone. I think in the process I broke things, especially myself.
Lately the phrase "Depression is anger turned inward" has been rattling around inside my brain. I don't like this phrase; I never had. The first time I heard it a fourteen year old boy I know was struggling with anxiety and sadness. I blamed myself for not being able to fix it. I blamed myself for perhaps being the cause.
Recently I remarked to my husband that I was trying to protect him from something that brings him frustration. The content doesn't matter. What he told me does. "You are not responsible for my issues around this. You don't have to fix it for me."
I don't have to fix it. Now, there's a thought.
Last night I remember feeling 'Why won't anyone let me help them?" Because, dear one, it is not your job to fix everything. Sometimes in the midst of family struggles and health issues, and angst it is your job to be there, to listen, to help if asked, to not burden them with your anxiety, to let go and let god.
And sometimes, as a stanger told be yesterday, you have to give it time. Time for wounds to heal, and memories to fade.
And, dear one, that time is not a day, or a week, but perhaps months or years.
So listen up - you don't have to fix everything. You have to remember "It will be alright in the end. If it is not alright, it is not the end".
I have to trust that if someone needs my help they will ask. If someone wants to see me they will call. If someone has something to say they will say it.
Meanwhile I have prayer, compassion, and a shoulder to cry on. I thank god for that shoulder, that companionship, that often silent support.
So I am praying the chemo will work, the move will unfold smoothly, and that time will, in fact, heal all wounds. I am not sure about the last one - for some wounds to heal there has to be forgiveness, and I know I am not there yet.
I don't know if I believe there can be forgiveness without an apology, or explanation having been given. I am told there can be, but I don't know if that is true for me.
As I said at the beginning: I would if I could.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Knitting and Reading, Reading and Knitting
This is how I spend my days, with the occasional crossword puzzle thrown in. If I was just on 'summer holidays', this would be perfect. I would be content. The weird thing is that since I am technically not on 'summer holidays', but in fact 'retired', I feel like I should be 'doing' something more meaningful.
I remember when my husband retired over two years ago a retired friend of his told me that he would spend much of the next six months sleeping. He also told me not to worry it would sort itself out. I didn't, and it did.
For me, I am not sleeping that much. Maybe seven hours a night, with the odd nap thrown in for good measure.
I think much of the 'problem' is that the plantar fasciitis I suffered from ten years ago is back. With a vengence. It is in both feet, and so things like walking are out of the question. Even walking from the back deck to the kitchen is very, very painful.
Interesting that I am forced to slow down, get off my feet and relax against my will. I even tried gardening yesterday using a stool, but within 20 minutes I was in tears and back on the porch reading. Frustrating.
Even so, I don't know if I would feel any different if my feet were good to go. I have been investigating the Camino, checking out new patterns on Ravelry, running short errands using my husband as the delivery person, and playing on facebook.
My new orthotics will be ready next Wednesday, so I am hoping that will give me some relief. I really want to get walking again. Of course, I realized that I could be swimming......hmmmmm, I have to get on that.
Maybe really this is all a way to avoid the looming questions: to stay in this house, or to sell, to stay in this area, or move to the island, where to go on holidays? Most days when my husband asks me what I want for dinner I panic, which for me looks like an ostrich putting her head in the sand, or under the covers. I don't care. Don't ask me. Don't make me make a decision. Just feed me!
Perhaps this is a result of making decisions and being in charge as a teacher, as a mother for so many years. One of the things I hate the most about this foot thing is having to ask my husband to do things for me. I am not used to asking for help, and I hate it. He is more than willing to help, but I am less than willing to ask.
I guess I am in transition. So, don't talk about me. I am figuring it out.
Knitting and Reading. Reading and Knitting.
I remember when my husband retired over two years ago a retired friend of his told me that he would spend much of the next six months sleeping. He also told me not to worry it would sort itself out. I didn't, and it did.
For me, I am not sleeping that much. Maybe seven hours a night, with the odd nap thrown in for good measure.
I think much of the 'problem' is that the plantar fasciitis I suffered from ten years ago is back. With a vengence. It is in both feet, and so things like walking are out of the question. Even walking from the back deck to the kitchen is very, very painful.
Interesting that I am forced to slow down, get off my feet and relax against my will. I even tried gardening yesterday using a stool, but within 20 minutes I was in tears and back on the porch reading. Frustrating.
Even so, I don't know if I would feel any different if my feet were good to go. I have been investigating the Camino, checking out new patterns on Ravelry, running short errands using my husband as the delivery person, and playing on facebook.
My new orthotics will be ready next Wednesday, so I am hoping that will give me some relief. I really want to get walking again. Of course, I realized that I could be swimming......hmmmmm, I have to get on that.
Maybe really this is all a way to avoid the looming questions: to stay in this house, or to sell, to stay in this area, or move to the island, where to go on holidays? Most days when my husband asks me what I want for dinner I panic, which for me looks like an ostrich putting her head in the sand, or under the covers. I don't care. Don't ask me. Don't make me make a decision. Just feed me!
Perhaps this is a result of making decisions and being in charge as a teacher, as a mother for so many years. One of the things I hate the most about this foot thing is having to ask my husband to do things for me. I am not used to asking for help, and I hate it. He is more than willing to help, but I am less than willing to ask.
I guess I am in transition. So, don't talk about me. I am figuring it out.
Knitting and Reading. Reading and Knitting.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
A week in a life
Alot has happened. Some of it tangible, like a finished play. Some intangible, like a shift in the cosmos. A week ago I was sad, alone, lonely and wondering how to get through the next few hours, let alone a whole week, and today, although I am very tired, I am more centered, more at peace. That peace comes from grace and faith, friendship, family and prayer.
My class performed last Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Each performance was two hours. They were stellar. They were brave. They were humourous, dedicated and musical. As they often do, they stole my heart away. Each one of them so shining in their individual moments, but even more so at the last scene when they were all on stage. All 13 of them. So beautiful, so proud, so accomplished.
But, this was also a week of great pain and reflection. Past hurts, long past, once again surfaced and the scab pulled off to reveal the abcess of a wound unhealed and the realization that it will never be healed. It is like living with a chronic illness. But harder. A chronic illness I do live with, every day, although it is less in my mind as it seems I am in some kind of remission. This situation is not like that. It is not a diagnosis you can look up on the internet, or discuss with others who have experienced a similar medical situation. This feels, as Jaques says in As You Like It, "like a melancholy of mine own." Tolstoy said "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way".
A friend of mine said to me last Monday - "Our families bring us the greatest joy and the deepest pain". Last Monday I was in deep pain. The kind where you can't eat, can't swallow, can't sleep, can't imagine when the pain in your stomach will stop."
As I have written before, my relationship with my mother is complicated. That complication makes other family relationships complicated. Even when you are one of six siblings, even though you think that each of you are being raised by the same parents, you really aren't. Every parent/child relationship is unique. And some are easier than others. I have written in the past that I, at times, didn't like my mother very much, and even came to the place where I realized I didn't love her. Saying those words does not mean that I don't have familial love for the woman that raised me, that there weren't loving moments in our relationship. There are fond memories of her within the painful ones. Especially summer memories, talking in the garden, drinking coffee before anyone else was awake.
But this is not where the pain lies today. The pain is for the impossibility of unity, of reconciliation. The pain is for the realization that the stories are too far apart. A teacher friend of mine said recently that in any disagreement there are three truths. Their truth, your truth, and God's truth.
Perhaps, for this lifetime, I have to let the truth lie with God. There is nothing to gain in trying to give my side of the story, because the other can refute it, deny it, not recognize it, argue it.
It is not enough that there is pain in different perceptions. That, perhaps, I could live with. I could have learned to live with my mother's anger. I have been angry. We have all been angry. It is the meanness that lay behind, or sometimes in front of, the anger that I find hard to accept.
It is an anger I again recognize in another. That is where the pain lies. In the realization that it exists for another generation. And perhaps another after that.
Generational anger and hurt. That is where the true pain lies.
I used to believe that I could bring reason and rationality to the situation. I couldn't then. I can't now. I think at 56 it is time I accept that. It is over. My part in it is over. There is no percentage in hanging on to false hope.
So I will focus on the love and respect I have for those close to me. Some are family that I would choose to be friends. Some are friends that I consider family. I am loved by many, and I in turn love many. That is what took my pain away one week ago, and that is what will heal this wound once and for all.
My class performed last Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Each performance was two hours. They were stellar. They were brave. They were humourous, dedicated and musical. As they often do, they stole my heart away. Each one of them so shining in their individual moments, but even more so at the last scene when they were all on stage. All 13 of them. So beautiful, so proud, so accomplished.
But, this was also a week of great pain and reflection. Past hurts, long past, once again surfaced and the scab pulled off to reveal the abcess of a wound unhealed and the realization that it will never be healed. It is like living with a chronic illness. But harder. A chronic illness I do live with, every day, although it is less in my mind as it seems I am in some kind of remission. This situation is not like that. It is not a diagnosis you can look up on the internet, or discuss with others who have experienced a similar medical situation. This feels, as Jaques says in As You Like It, "like a melancholy of mine own." Tolstoy said "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way".
A friend of mine said to me last Monday - "Our families bring us the greatest joy and the deepest pain". Last Monday I was in deep pain. The kind where you can't eat, can't swallow, can't sleep, can't imagine when the pain in your stomach will stop."
As I have written before, my relationship with my mother is complicated. That complication makes other family relationships complicated. Even when you are one of six siblings, even though you think that each of you are being raised by the same parents, you really aren't. Every parent/child relationship is unique. And some are easier than others. I have written in the past that I, at times, didn't like my mother very much, and even came to the place where I realized I didn't love her. Saying those words does not mean that I don't have familial love for the woman that raised me, that there weren't loving moments in our relationship. There are fond memories of her within the painful ones. Especially summer memories, talking in the garden, drinking coffee before anyone else was awake.
But this is not where the pain lies today. The pain is for the impossibility of unity, of reconciliation. The pain is for the realization that the stories are too far apart. A teacher friend of mine said recently that in any disagreement there are three truths. Their truth, your truth, and God's truth.
Perhaps, for this lifetime, I have to let the truth lie with God. There is nothing to gain in trying to give my side of the story, because the other can refute it, deny it, not recognize it, argue it.
It is not enough that there is pain in different perceptions. That, perhaps, I could live with. I could have learned to live with my mother's anger. I have been angry. We have all been angry. It is the meanness that lay behind, or sometimes in front of, the anger that I find hard to accept.
It is an anger I again recognize in another. That is where the pain lies. In the realization that it exists for another generation. And perhaps another after that.
Generational anger and hurt. That is where the true pain lies.
I used to believe that I could bring reason and rationality to the situation. I couldn't then. I can't now. I think at 56 it is time I accept that. It is over. My part in it is over. There is no percentage in hanging on to false hope.
So I will focus on the love and respect I have for those close to me. Some are family that I would choose to be friends. Some are friends that I consider family. I am loved by many, and I in turn love many. That is what took my pain away one week ago, and that is what will heal this wound once and for all.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
It is what it is
And I am what I am. No, this is not a cutesy quote from Popeye.
Ironically enough I think of myself as a healthy person. The irony in this is that if you were to look at my medical history - clearly I am not. Ill health kind of sneaks up on you. Or, at least, it did to me.
I recently went to an acupuncturist and had to give them my medical history. It was shocking to see it in black and white, and I didn't even include everything - only those things that I felt were relevant to my migraines.
However, last week I had to see a specialist about a nagging bladder problem (I know, I know, too much information), and they wanted a total history of surgeries, and medications, and the whole she-bang.
Wow. It was weird to see it all listed out there like that. I don't think there is any point listing it here - but it was daunting to see it all in black and white.
I have tried to live a healthy life. Over the past 30 some years I have been a runner, a vegetarian, a yoga practitioner, a swimmer, a walker.....well, again I don't have to list it all.
I do have chronic depression and a chronic blood disease. I guess I don't count chronic illness, cause I just have to live with that, day in and day out. I guess I always think of ill health as those more acute things - like colds, flu, pneumonia, appendicitis, etc. I don't suffer those things much at all. So, I think of myself as healthy.
I have had chronic back problems since breaking my back in the late 70s, but oddly enought that has been quite stable in the last year or so.
Hey, I did The Chief last year at the age of 55! And until recently, although I have been a migraine sufferer, it was only a few times a year. I could deal with that.
But now it seems to be snow balling down on me. Two to three migraines a week. I have been waiting to see a neurologist for six months - that appointment is coming towards the end of April.
I don't want to go to these specialists and be put on more medications or sent for more tests. It seems hopeless. I have been to three doctor appointments in the last few months and noticed something very odd.
No one ever touches me. They don't look in my eyes, or ears, or listen to my heart or take my blood pressure. They stare at a computer screen and ask me questions, and while I answer they type into their computer. It is odd. Then they send me to a specialist (6-12 months later), and they ask me questions and send me for tests and don't touch me. Or look at me. It is weird. Is it because I am 'old' and becoming invisible? Is ill health a way to get someone to notice me?
I feel 'old' and I hate it. My elbow hurts, my upper arm is stiff, I don't sleep well. Blah. blah. blah.
I have taken health for granted. Not been as diligent as I should be about my physical and mental health.
I have to stop whining. It pisses me off - both my whining and my lack of wellness.
I am going out into the sun.
Ironically enough I think of myself as a healthy person. The irony in this is that if you were to look at my medical history - clearly I am not. Ill health kind of sneaks up on you. Or, at least, it did to me.
I recently went to an acupuncturist and had to give them my medical history. It was shocking to see it in black and white, and I didn't even include everything - only those things that I felt were relevant to my migraines.
However, last week I had to see a specialist about a nagging bladder problem (I know, I know, too much information), and they wanted a total history of surgeries, and medications, and the whole she-bang.
Wow. It was weird to see it all listed out there like that. I don't think there is any point listing it here - but it was daunting to see it all in black and white.
I have tried to live a healthy life. Over the past 30 some years I have been a runner, a vegetarian, a yoga practitioner, a swimmer, a walker.....well, again I don't have to list it all.
I do have chronic depression and a chronic blood disease. I guess I don't count chronic illness, cause I just have to live with that, day in and day out. I guess I always think of ill health as those more acute things - like colds, flu, pneumonia, appendicitis, etc. I don't suffer those things much at all. So, I think of myself as healthy.
I have had chronic back problems since breaking my back in the late 70s, but oddly enought that has been quite stable in the last year or so.
Hey, I did The Chief last year at the age of 55! And until recently, although I have been a migraine sufferer, it was only a few times a year. I could deal with that.
But now it seems to be snow balling down on me. Two to three migraines a week. I have been waiting to see a neurologist for six months - that appointment is coming towards the end of April.
I don't want to go to these specialists and be put on more medications or sent for more tests. It seems hopeless. I have been to three doctor appointments in the last few months and noticed something very odd.
No one ever touches me. They don't look in my eyes, or ears, or listen to my heart or take my blood pressure. They stare at a computer screen and ask me questions, and while I answer they type into their computer. It is odd. Then they send me to a specialist (6-12 months later), and they ask me questions and send me for tests and don't touch me. Or look at me. It is weird. Is it because I am 'old' and becoming invisible? Is ill health a way to get someone to notice me?
I feel 'old' and I hate it. My elbow hurts, my upper arm is stiff, I don't sleep well. Blah. blah. blah.
I have taken health for granted. Not been as diligent as I should be about my physical and mental health.
I have to stop whining. It pisses me off - both my whining and my lack of wellness.
I am going out into the sun.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Writer's block
I cancelled two acupuncture appointments this week. I felt like I was rushing and stressing about trying to get to appointments, and that didn't make sense to me. I got a migraine on Monday. It seems like they are coming about 2 weeks apart. This is better than 2-3 per week. I had a bad headache yesterday, but no visual migraine, so I don't know if it was a migraine, or just a headache. Anyways, enough about that.
I had a busy, yet relaxing weekend. I went to see the University of the Fraser Valley's version of As You Like It on Friday night and it was wonderful! My class and I are performing this same play at the end of April, so I was mentally taking notes as I watched.
On Saturday I went to a Fibers trade show, and bought a book on knitting knee high fairisle socks. Something else for my list of things to do when I retire. I have lots of knitting to do these days as I have 3 colleagues expecting babies. Knit. Knit. Knit.
On Saturday my man and I went to see our son perform with his band. It was a great two hour show. I sang along with all the songs, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Happy Saint Patrick's Day.
Today was a lazy day which included two, count em, two naps. I drew a cloud chart on the board for school tomorrow, and had tea with my son. So, I can knit all evening, guilt free, because my prep is all done for the week. And then on Friday at noon my spring break starts.
Whew! Can't wait for two weeks of r e l a x i n g! Of course before the break my grade 4/5 choir, and my grade 8s are performing at Centennial Theatre - so there is a small amount of stress still left to go.
By the way, I don't really have writer's block. What I really want to write about is too hard right now. So this blog should really be called writer's procrastination.
I had a busy, yet relaxing weekend. I went to see the University of the Fraser Valley's version of As You Like It on Friday night and it was wonderful! My class and I are performing this same play at the end of April, so I was mentally taking notes as I watched.
On Saturday I went to a Fibers trade show, and bought a book on knitting knee high fairisle socks. Something else for my list of things to do when I retire. I have lots of knitting to do these days as I have 3 colleagues expecting babies. Knit. Knit. Knit.
On Saturday my man and I went to see our son perform with his band. It was a great two hour show. I sang along with all the songs, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Happy Saint Patrick's Day.
Today was a lazy day which included two, count em, two naps. I drew a cloud chart on the board for school tomorrow, and had tea with my son. So, I can knit all evening, guilt free, because my prep is all done for the week. And then on Friday at noon my spring break starts.
Whew! Can't wait for two weeks of r e l a x i n g! Of course before the break my grade 4/5 choir, and my grade 8s are performing at Centennial Theatre - so there is a small amount of stress still left to go.
By the way, I don't really have writer's block. What I really want to write about is too hard right now. So this blog should really be called writer's procrastination.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
pins and needles
I have been going for acupuncture. It has been suggested to me for a couple of years by a good friend, but I was too chicken. I mean, really? Won't that hurt?
But, having 2 migraines a week will make one take desperate measures. So, off I went.
I have had four treatments so far. It is actually quite relaxing. Sometimes, certain needles cause me to twitch when they first go in, or are adjusted, but then I lie in a quiet room, listening to soft music, and just, well, relax. It is funny to say the word 'relax' because the practitioner keeps telling me to relax, and I know I am holding lots of tension in my body as I lie there, but still and all I do feel relaxed.
I always have the greatest naps after my sessions. Deep sleeps. And the night immediately after a treatment I sleep right through. No waking up for anything. That is an odd occurence for me.
They have also given me these awful, awful tasting herbs to take twice a day. I mean, these are disgusting. I have to hold my nose to drink them, and will them to stay down. They tell me many of their clients can't actually take them. But, I do. I am stubborn that way.
So, four acupunture sessions, five days of awful tasting chinese herbs, and......I haven't had a migraine in 9 days. 9 Days! That is something.
I also feel like I have more energy, my mood is lighter, the restless legs not as bad.
So, progress, no? I think so.
As I have said before I am not a 'watch and wait' kind of girl. My naturapath is out of town until the middle of March, and my appointments with two specialists are also March and April. That doesn't seem so far away now, but last December it felt like eons.
So, matters into my own hands - acupuncture.
And knitting. I have organized all my needles and patterns and wool, and I have lots of ideas for projects. There are two babies coming into my life - so projects need to be started, and I made a new year's resolution to make everyone's Christmas gifts for next December. So far I have made a birthday present for someone, and a pair of socks for me out of wool my son gave me for Christmas. I have started the next present - and I have lots of ideas. Lots.
Good thing too, because retirement is just a few months away.
So you see, that is where I am right now. On needles and pins. Or, more accurately the needles and pins are on me.
Nine days. It is a miracle.
But, having 2 migraines a week will make one take desperate measures. So, off I went.
I have had four treatments so far. It is actually quite relaxing. Sometimes, certain needles cause me to twitch when they first go in, or are adjusted, but then I lie in a quiet room, listening to soft music, and just, well, relax. It is funny to say the word 'relax' because the practitioner keeps telling me to relax, and I know I am holding lots of tension in my body as I lie there, but still and all I do feel relaxed.
I always have the greatest naps after my sessions. Deep sleeps. And the night immediately after a treatment I sleep right through. No waking up for anything. That is an odd occurence for me.
They have also given me these awful, awful tasting herbs to take twice a day. I mean, these are disgusting. I have to hold my nose to drink them, and will them to stay down. They tell me many of their clients can't actually take them. But, I do. I am stubborn that way.
So, four acupunture sessions, five days of awful tasting chinese herbs, and......I haven't had a migraine in 9 days. 9 Days! That is something.
I also feel like I have more energy, my mood is lighter, the restless legs not as bad.
So, progress, no? I think so.
As I have said before I am not a 'watch and wait' kind of girl. My naturapath is out of town until the middle of March, and my appointments with two specialists are also March and April. That doesn't seem so far away now, but last December it felt like eons.
So, matters into my own hands - acupuncture.
And knitting. I have organized all my needles and patterns and wool, and I have lots of ideas for projects. There are two babies coming into my life - so projects need to be started, and I made a new year's resolution to make everyone's Christmas gifts for next December. So far I have made a birthday present for someone, and a pair of socks for me out of wool my son gave me for Christmas. I have started the next present - and I have lots of ideas. Lots.
Good thing too, because retirement is just a few months away.
So you see, that is where I am right now. On needles and pins. Or, more accurately the needles and pins are on me.
Nine days. It is a miracle.
Monday, January 30, 2012
what would you trade for better health?
Would I trade gaining ten pounds to be rid of these awful migraines? Would I trade fifteen to get rid of these restless legs? Would I put up with them indefinitely if it meant I was 25 pounds lighter? These are the questions that have been plaguing me since my last post. My migraines are getting worse and more frequent. On saturday night the light sensitivity was so bad I was lying in a dark room, with a blanket over my head and still complaining to my husband that it was too bright. The brightness was clearly in my mind's eye, and it was real. And it hurt.
Sometimes I just hurt everywhere. Mostly though I just feel fragile. Usually I feel strong, but lately fragile is the word. I feel like I am always waiting for the shoe to drop, for the lights to arrive blinking and wavering and freaking me out! And then they do, and then I just feel sad.
So what does this have to do with blogging about body image. Well, when I feel good and healthy then my weight is not so much an issue. My body gets me where I want to go - it works. But, when I feel sick like this I blame myself. Maybe I am not eating enough fruit, or drinking enough water, or walking enough. Maybe my headaches are all my fault and doctors would take me more seriously if I was the 'right' weight for my height.
I am scheduled for two specialists. One in March (booked in September), and the other for May (booked in December). So I guess I am suppose to have 3 or 4 migraines a week until then. Sigh.
But no! I am going to go for acupuncture, and massage, and whatever else I can think of. At least that is what I need to do, but when locked up in this vice of feeling like I do, it affects my mood and then the vicious cycle repeats.
It has been hard taking this blogging challenge. Too much self reflection (no pun intended cause I haven't been doing the mirror thing), and I am looking forward to blogging about my class and my teaching.
So, dear women who have been blogging along with my daughter and the DWC, I have enjoyed reading your stories, and they have inspired me in many ways. We are all wonderful. We are struggling, but we are together in the struggle. We are in good company. I am in good company. It is good to not feel so alone. Even with blinding headaches, I know I am not alone.
Sometimes I just hurt everywhere. Mostly though I just feel fragile. Usually I feel strong, but lately fragile is the word. I feel like I am always waiting for the shoe to drop, for the lights to arrive blinking and wavering and freaking me out! And then they do, and then I just feel sad.
So what does this have to do with blogging about body image. Well, when I feel good and healthy then my weight is not so much an issue. My body gets me where I want to go - it works. But, when I feel sick like this I blame myself. Maybe I am not eating enough fruit, or drinking enough water, or walking enough. Maybe my headaches are all my fault and doctors would take me more seriously if I was the 'right' weight for my height.
I am scheduled for two specialists. One in March (booked in September), and the other for May (booked in December). So I guess I am suppose to have 3 or 4 migraines a week until then. Sigh.
But no! I am going to go for acupuncture, and massage, and whatever else I can think of. At least that is what I need to do, but when locked up in this vice of feeling like I do, it affects my mood and then the vicious cycle repeats.
It has been hard taking this blogging challenge. Too much self reflection (no pun intended cause I haven't been doing the mirror thing), and I am looking forward to blogging about my class and my teaching.
So, dear women who have been blogging along with my daughter and the DWC, I have enjoyed reading your stories, and they have inspired me in many ways. We are all wonderful. We are struggling, but we are together in the struggle. We are in good company. I am in good company. It is good to not feel so alone. Even with blinding headaches, I know I am not alone.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Perception is reality
Funny how the stars align. Within three days of each other I heard two quotes about perception. The first was "Perceptions + selective memories = extraordinary results but not necessarily reality...", and the second was "Perception is reality". This second statement was followed up by the comment - "That's Marketing 101".
Thinking about body image and marketing over the past few weeks thanks to my daughter's blogging challenge and now thinking about perception. Is it reality or not?
Certainly the young anorexic I know perceives something different in the mirror than I do when I look at her. Her perception is reality. My perception is reality. I guess the real question is where in our two realities is the truth. Or, is it possible there is more than one truth.
Despite all the videos and articles I have read on Photo-shopping, there is still some sort of truth in the finished product. It may not be reality, but there is a truth there.
Since starting this blog challenge I am actually feeling good about my physical self, not necessarily avoiding mirrors, but not seeking them out either. Moving the mirror that was on the floor beside where I dressed and undressed every morning and night was a stroke of genius on my part.
More on my mind these days is my health - I have been plagued by migraines, sometimes 3 or 4 a week, and I am feeling fragile. My restless legs are getting worse, now working up my leg to my mid thigh. Sigh. My appointment with the neurologist isn't until May. I can't imagine coping with these visual auras and headaches until May. I did buy some good sun-glasses this past weekend, and I am hoping they help, if light glare is a source of the problem.
So, I have been looking at diets recommended for Migraines - some are quite extreme and all want me to avoid carbs, and dairy. There is the little voice in the back of my head that says "and I would probably lose weight too". Although it is weird that since Christmas, and since not worrying about my weight, I have been hungry and eating often, and yet I feel like I am losing weight. Ironic, no?
And, a closing thought about perception and reality. I remember a friend of Brian's who went through a horrible divorse many, many years ago. We went to her new apartment for dinner. She was devastated, and looked tired from lack of sleep. You know what I thought? The 27 year old me thought, well, yes, her marriage has fallen apart, but how bad can it be when she is so thin and fit? Horrible, yes? My perception? Yes. My reality? Yes. Her reality? Not so much.
Thinking about body image and marketing over the past few weeks thanks to my daughter's blogging challenge and now thinking about perception. Is it reality or not?
Certainly the young anorexic I know perceives something different in the mirror than I do when I look at her. Her perception is reality. My perception is reality. I guess the real question is where in our two realities is the truth. Or, is it possible there is more than one truth.
Despite all the videos and articles I have read on Photo-shopping, there is still some sort of truth in the finished product. It may not be reality, but there is a truth there.
Since starting this blog challenge I am actually feeling good about my physical self, not necessarily avoiding mirrors, but not seeking them out either. Moving the mirror that was on the floor beside where I dressed and undressed every morning and night was a stroke of genius on my part.
More on my mind these days is my health - I have been plagued by migraines, sometimes 3 or 4 a week, and I am feeling fragile. My restless legs are getting worse, now working up my leg to my mid thigh. Sigh. My appointment with the neurologist isn't until May. I can't imagine coping with these visual auras and headaches until May. I did buy some good sun-glasses this past weekend, and I am hoping they help, if light glare is a source of the problem.
So, I have been looking at diets recommended for Migraines - some are quite extreme and all want me to avoid carbs, and dairy. There is the little voice in the back of my head that says "and I would probably lose weight too". Although it is weird that since Christmas, and since not worrying about my weight, I have been hungry and eating often, and yet I feel like I am losing weight. Ironic, no?
And, a closing thought about perception and reality. I remember a friend of Brian's who went through a horrible divorse many, many years ago. We went to her new apartment for dinner. She was devastated, and looked tired from lack of sleep. You know what I thought? The 27 year old me thought, well, yes, her marriage has fallen apart, but how bad can it be when she is so thin and fit? Horrible, yes? My perception? Yes. My reality? Yes. Her reality? Not so much.
Friday, November 18, 2011
restless legs
I think I have developed restless leg syndrome. I have always had, what some affectionately call, dancing feet. My feet are always on the move - it sometimes drives my husband nuts. But lately, since September, I have noticed this crawly, gripping, annoying weird feeling in my lower legs that demands I move them, stretch them, or shake them out. It's an awful feeling. It is a feeling that I used to only get on long drives, or long airplane rides, when I was really, really tired. Now, I get it all the time. Well, not all the time - but all the time in the evening and when I go to bed at night.
I have 'googled' it, and it seems that they, the infamous they, don't really know what causes it. It is probably fatigue, or lack of some vitamin or other. I am taking lots of supplements these days, and they are helping with my energy level and mood, and I have a new migraine remedy that seems to be working - I haven't had one for a couple of weeks now. But this leg thing is kind of crazy making. It is like I have bugs crawling up and down the inside of my skin. Ick!
So, what is the metaphor for this. Time to move on? This is my last year teaching full time - at least that is what I keep telling everyone - and it certainly is my last year for a while, a year or two at least. My husband and I are cleaning out the 'stuff' of 30 years and thinking of putting our house up for sale - so moving on in more ways then one.
I am working on my bucket list - I have added calculus to it. And selling my stamp collection (maybe I am a millionaire and I don't even know it).
So restless legs, yeah, it's trying to tell me something. Maybe it has something to do with the pilgrimage I want to do on the Camino? I am worried that with the new movie that is out, The Way, the journey will be filled with people trying to 'conquer' the distance. Why do I care? I will be doing it for my own reasons, and others for there's. Sometimes I can be so judgemental. I have to work on that.
I have 'googled' it, and it seems that they, the infamous they, don't really know what causes it. It is probably fatigue, or lack of some vitamin or other. I am taking lots of supplements these days, and they are helping with my energy level and mood, and I have a new migraine remedy that seems to be working - I haven't had one for a couple of weeks now. But this leg thing is kind of crazy making. It is like I have bugs crawling up and down the inside of my skin. Ick!
So, what is the metaphor for this. Time to move on? This is my last year teaching full time - at least that is what I keep telling everyone - and it certainly is my last year for a while, a year or two at least. My husband and I are cleaning out the 'stuff' of 30 years and thinking of putting our house up for sale - so moving on in more ways then one.
I am working on my bucket list - I have added calculus to it. And selling my stamp collection (maybe I am a millionaire and I don't even know it).
So restless legs, yeah, it's trying to tell me something. Maybe it has something to do with the pilgrimage I want to do on the Camino? I am worried that with the new movie that is out, The Way, the journey will be filled with people trying to 'conquer' the distance. Why do I care? I will be doing it for my own reasons, and others for there's. Sometimes I can be so judgemental. I have to work on that.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
56
I am turning 56 tomorrow. If you are an anthroposophist, or interested in biography work, 56 is a big one. The end of one 7 year cycle, and the beginning of the next one. It is auspicious that I am graduating my class, and retiring in my 56th year. Many biographers have noted that often a touch with death occurs in this year in the form of a life threatening illness. Sometimes that illness results in death.
This is not a maudlin thought. It is what it is.
A biography course I took once said that 56 is where you decide whether you need to trim the sails. From 49-56 you are steering your own boat, or just lying on the raft being carried along. Either way, at 56, you might need/want to change course.
I don't want to just raft. I want to row. Perhaps I want to trim the sails abit so I am not going too fast. I want to feel the resistance of the water against my oars and the soreness of my muscles from the exertion of a hard day's row. The 7 year cycles are:
0-7 growing into the physical body
7-14 developing the habit life
14-21 developing the feeling life
21-28 developing the ego
28-35 mirror resolve of 7-14 -vocation related
35-42 mirror of 0-7 is the world good?
42-49 Mars period - recapitulation of 14-21 and 21-28
49-56 what is the world asking of me? mirrors 7-14,28-35
56-63 what do you want me to do, and can I do it? mirrors 35-42 and 0-7
63-70 free from past life karma (whew, can't wait to get there)
70-77 ....
77-84....
It is interesting to me that my husband is always the 7 year cycle ahead of me. We are in lock step one cycle apart (interesting, that my sister and I are also in this lock step. And her husband is in lock step with the 7 year cycle ahead of her). Another very good friend of mine is in lock step one cycle behind me. I don't know what the significance is, but it is significant.
I know that as the physical body starts to give way, the spiritual body gains momentum. Heading towards the threshold that we all must cross one day. I am heading into this new journey with strength, resolve, good will, and thankfulness.
Eight years ago, at this very time, around my 48th birthday I received that tap on the shoulder. I am not mortal. Everything I read (and I read alot), said that often 7 years after diagnosis was a crucial time. I know that then was then and now is now. I know that people like me are diagnosed much, much earlier than in the past. So, really, I kept telling myself, the 7 years doesn't mean anything. And, still, it was lying there before me. And so were the questions. Should I take another class? Will I see my son and daughter marry? Have children? Will I, in fact, die before my husband? Again, these are not maudlin thoughts. They just are. Thoughts
But, here I am. Healthy, good, normal blood counts. Really, although no one will say it aloud, in remission. Good enough for me.
56. This year is going to be exciting. Different. Challenging. Promising. Scary. I am leaving on a strong note. I can feel it.
There are still new adventures, and I am re-reading my biography notes so that I can prepare myself for the journey ahead. I am beginning to trim the sails, set a new course, change tack.
The Sun on my face, the horizon ahead of me, my life companion by my side.
This is not a maudlin thought. It is what it is.
A biography course I took once said that 56 is where you decide whether you need to trim the sails. From 49-56 you are steering your own boat, or just lying on the raft being carried along. Either way, at 56, you might need/want to change course.
I don't want to just raft. I want to row. Perhaps I want to trim the sails abit so I am not going too fast. I want to feel the resistance of the water against my oars and the soreness of my muscles from the exertion of a hard day's row. The 7 year cycles are:
0-7 growing into the physical body
7-14 developing the habit life
14-21 developing the feeling life
21-28 developing the ego
28-35 mirror resolve of 7-14 -vocation related
35-42 mirror of 0-7 is the world good?
42-49 Mars period - recapitulation of 14-21 and 21-28
49-56 what is the world asking of me? mirrors 7-14,28-35
56-63 what do you want me to do, and can I do it? mirrors 35-42 and 0-7
63-70 free from past life karma (whew, can't wait to get there)
70-77 ....
77-84....
It is interesting to me that my husband is always the 7 year cycle ahead of me. We are in lock step one cycle apart (interesting, that my sister and I are also in this lock step. And her husband is in lock step with the 7 year cycle ahead of her). Another very good friend of mine is in lock step one cycle behind me. I don't know what the significance is, but it is significant.
I know that as the physical body starts to give way, the spiritual body gains momentum. Heading towards the threshold that we all must cross one day. I am heading into this new journey with strength, resolve, good will, and thankfulness.
Eight years ago, at this very time, around my 48th birthday I received that tap on the shoulder. I am not mortal. Everything I read (and I read alot), said that often 7 years after diagnosis was a crucial time. I know that then was then and now is now. I know that people like me are diagnosed much, much earlier than in the past. So, really, I kept telling myself, the 7 years doesn't mean anything. And, still, it was lying there before me. And so were the questions. Should I take another class? Will I see my son and daughter marry? Have children? Will I, in fact, die before my husband? Again, these are not maudlin thoughts. They just are. Thoughts
But, here I am. Healthy, good, normal blood counts. Really, although no one will say it aloud, in remission. Good enough for me.
56. This year is going to be exciting. Different. Challenging. Promising. Scary. I am leaving on a strong note. I can feel it.
There are still new adventures, and I am re-reading my biography notes so that I can prepare myself for the journey ahead. I am beginning to trim the sails, set a new course, change tack.
The Sun on my face, the horizon ahead of me, my life companion by my side.
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