Living With Fibromyalgia Or Any Other Chronic Pain Syndrome
I was 27 when the doc told me that Fibromyalgia was the name for the galloping pains I had developed throughout my body. It was strange to me that sometimes it would hurt to hold a pen, or to walk, or do any of the normal activities of life. The doc told me I could go on disability because of it. This is back in the days when a diagnosis was pretty certain, and not given lightly. Back when it was nearly impossible to get that diagnosis due to the lack of information, lack of understanding, etc. Some skeptical medical people today will look at the time of my diagnosis as a sign of an accurate assessment. At any rate, when the doc told me I could probably go on SSI, something in me rebelled. Part of it is the Viking in me, and part of it was just fear that I would climb into bed and never get out.
If other FM people read this they are likely to be offended, but I really believe that my determination not to be crippled is what has kept me from being crippled. Most of the time I ignore it. Sometimes I am trying to figure out why something aches and I will suddenly remember...oh, yeah. It's not exactly whistling in the dark, but something like it.
My experience has been this...FM is like a flower in the garden. Given enough attention it will likely grow tall and take over, but if I ignore it, it will likely survive, but will stay insignificant, except for those periods of monsoon rains, or if I leave the sprinkler on too long and allow it to get a full long drink. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else, but for me, paying it attention allows it to be a much bigger part of my life than I want. It's bad enough when it forces me to take notice, but like other chronic conditions, do what the doctor says, but don't focus on it. Ignore it as best you can and keep going.
I refuse to let FM take things like rappelling or whitewater rafting away from me. Sure I might be crippled for a few days afterward, but I will have done it!
The unwilling concessions I have made to this condition are these: 1. Refrain from using power tools. The vibrations make my wrists ache so bad I want to cut off my hands. 2. Don't do too much housework at once. Suffering for housework is silly, don't you think? 3. When something big is coming up, take it easy for a while before you go. 4. Don't go building houses. I would love to go on the mission trip, building or renovating for underpriviledged people and churches, but for me to go, much as I want to, means that I'm taking the place of a fully able-bodied individual. Some of these people can do physical labor for 10-14 hours a day. If I push it, I've got a good 2 or 3 hours of physical labor. 5. Don't buy a farm unless you can afford help to run it. 6. There's no shame in asking for help, though sometimes I feel like there is. 7. Your chiropractor and massage therapist are not optional. 8. Ibuprofen, while not for everyday use, is a wonder, and comes in industrial size bottles at Sam's Club and Costco.
What would you do if you knew there would be pain afterward? I'd be willing to bet that most of us would do plenty. Would you give up all the fun and challenging things in life to be pain-free? No way! Pain is a good thing. It is our bodies way of warning us, and lack of pain is a serious and dangerous condition that you don't want! Can you say leprosy? Being unable to feel pain is a terrible thing.
Anyway, them's some of my thoughts on the subject. And remember...you only have to use the parts of your body you want to continue to function, okay?
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Water, Water Everywhere And Then I'm In The Drink.
It was an incredibly warm June. Warm and dry. Our typical afternoon showers abandoned us here in Colorado and headed elsewhere. I returned to Colorado from an atypically hot dry Oregon, to rain showers. Fortunately the rain did not interfere with our landing, the lightening being a safe distance away.
It has rained every day since, and not our typical light afternoon shower. It has rained and rained and rained. July 4th we needed sweatshirts after a really strong rain cooled temps before sunset. It rained or sprinkled during our entire rafting trip. I was really glad we decided to splurge and rent wetsuits and splash jackets. It would have been miserable without them. One great thing about the rain is that it kept the bugs away. We could see them in the air, in the midst of pouring rain, tempting swallows to dart across the river for a wet feast, but the biting insects seemed to be missing.
The other plus is that sunscreen was unnecessary. The clouds were thick enough to keep us tan free.
I'll admit that I was concerned that I might not be able to pull my paddle enough to be a help and not a liability, but I did okay. At one point, hitting a rapid just right, and with the right surge of water, and all, I found my face in the river. I knew I was being thrown from the boat. One hand kept a grip on my paddle, while with the other I grabbed for the line on the side of the boat. If I was going in, at least I wasn't going to get away from the boat. I remember being surprised that the water wasn't colder. The rain felt colder than the river. Almost before I had a chance to process those thoughts, I was upright in the boat. The guide had grabbed my life jacket, and Steve had my foot. They kept me from going over completely. I'm not sure how much of me made it in the water, but my hair and hat were completely drenched, so my sense is that my whole head was under.
It was fun, but the jolt either of being thrown or being stopped so abruptly have given me some pretty strong aches and pains. About 6 or 7 on a 10 point scale. Not enough to scream, but enough to wince, moan, even cry a bit, and enough to send me to the Ibuprofen bottle, taking more than most could handle, or would need. A typical 400 miligrams does nothing for other than a mild headache with me, but 800 mg last night still didn't cut it. Today it was 1200 mg before I could move with ease. Oh the joys of FM. Before you ask, yes. It was worth it. Yes. I would do it again. I'm not sure I want to take a full-day trip, or to go on the stronger rapids. Your attachment to the raft is so minimal that it's a wonder we don't all wind up in the drink. To me anyway.
It's great fun though. It amazed me how concerned I was to pull my paddle properly for the benefit of everyone else. I was really impressed with our guide. Being right in front of her, I was able to see and feel how much work she put into the trip. She is the rudder, and knows the best paths down the river. While it might have felt like we were doing all the work, I could feel her straining to rudder the boat into the right path, the right current.
Just as a side note: Once your wet suit is wet, don't go to the bathroom until you have no other choice, because that suit is not coming back up without calling in the marines. For that reason, make sure you wear shorts over your swimsuit if you don't want to be exposed for the remainder of the trip. I'm glad was wearing those tangerine shorts under the wetsuit, that's all I'm saying.
It has rained every day since, and not our typical light afternoon shower. It has rained and rained and rained. July 4th we needed sweatshirts after a really strong rain cooled temps before sunset. It rained or sprinkled during our entire rafting trip. I was really glad we decided to splurge and rent wetsuits and splash jackets. It would have been miserable without them. One great thing about the rain is that it kept the bugs away. We could see them in the air, in the midst of pouring rain, tempting swallows to dart across the river for a wet feast, but the biting insects seemed to be missing.
The other plus is that sunscreen was unnecessary. The clouds were thick enough to keep us tan free.
I'll admit that I was concerned that I might not be able to pull my paddle enough to be a help and not a liability, but I did okay. At one point, hitting a rapid just right, and with the right surge of water, and all, I found my face in the river. I knew I was being thrown from the boat. One hand kept a grip on my paddle, while with the other I grabbed for the line on the side of the boat. If I was going in, at least I wasn't going to get away from the boat. I remember being surprised that the water wasn't colder. The rain felt colder than the river. Almost before I had a chance to process those thoughts, I was upright in the boat. The guide had grabbed my life jacket, and Steve had my foot. They kept me from going over completely. I'm not sure how much of me made it in the water, but my hair and hat were completely drenched, so my sense is that my whole head was under.
It was fun, but the jolt either of being thrown or being stopped so abruptly have given me some pretty strong aches and pains. About 6 or 7 on a 10 point scale. Not enough to scream, but enough to wince, moan, even cry a bit, and enough to send me to the Ibuprofen bottle, taking more than most could handle, or would need. A typical 400 miligrams does nothing for other than a mild headache with me, but 800 mg last night still didn't cut it. Today it was 1200 mg before I could move with ease. Oh the joys of FM. Before you ask, yes. It was worth it. Yes. I would do it again. I'm not sure I want to take a full-day trip, or to go on the stronger rapids. Your attachment to the raft is so minimal that it's a wonder we don't all wind up in the drink. To me anyway.
It's great fun though. It amazed me how concerned I was to pull my paddle properly for the benefit of everyone else. I was really impressed with our guide. Being right in front of her, I was able to see and feel how much work she put into the trip. She is the rudder, and knows the best paths down the river. While it might have felt like we were doing all the work, I could feel her straining to rudder the boat into the right path, the right current.
Just as a side note: Once your wet suit is wet, don't go to the bathroom until you have no other choice, because that suit is not coming back up without calling in the marines. For that reason, make sure you wear shorts over your swimsuit if you don't want to be exposed for the remainder of the trip. I'm glad was wearing those tangerine shorts under the wetsuit, that's all I'm saying.
Friday, July 07, 2006
All Work And No Play...
I signed us up to go on a whitewater rafting trip with some people from church. Steve works so much and is so stressed out it seemed like a good idea to get away from here for a bit. He doesn't seem too interested, in fact, it sounds like he's grumpy about the whole thing. Sometimes he acts like I'm silly (not in a good way) about stuff I want to do. If I talk about making a certain dish while our friends are visiting for several days, he barks about how he just can't think about that. He's too busy thinking about work and money and whether we'll be able to afford to even have groceries while they are here.
See, I've got a secret he hasn't tapped into. You know my Abba, my daddy, owns the cattle on a thousand hills. He can always sell one off if I'm in need.
So I have decided not to take offense that he isn't as excited about this trip as I am. In truth, I'm a bit scared about it. Not the rafting part, but the part where my shoulders haven't been working properly and my back has been giving me fits. I'm afraid that I won't be able to use the oar properly when the time comes. Still, I look forward to these kind of challenges, and to getting Steve away from the business for a while. Leaving allows you to come back refreshed and with a different perspective. Our minds need the break.
Yahoo! To the rapids!
See, I've got a secret he hasn't tapped into. You know my Abba, my daddy, owns the cattle on a thousand hills. He can always sell one off if I'm in need.
So I have decided not to take offense that he isn't as excited about this trip as I am. In truth, I'm a bit scared about it. Not the rafting part, but the part where my shoulders haven't been working properly and my back has been giving me fits. I'm afraid that I won't be able to use the oar properly when the time comes. Still, I look forward to these kind of challenges, and to getting Steve away from the business for a while. Leaving allows you to come back refreshed and with a different perspective. Our minds need the break.
Yahoo! To the rapids!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Ramblings and Random Thoughts of...Me
That may have described my initial intentions with this blog, which is to say I had no real intentions, but as I have continued to write, I find myself coming back more and more to dwell on the verse listed below my blog title, and so I have written a new description. This journey has fits and starts and wrong turns, steep slopes and rock slides, grand vistas and fog banks. Sometimes those are all present in one morning.
*****
I have affected a style of starting sentences with "And", "But" along with other conjunctions. I use too many elipses, too many dashes and too many parenthetical remarks that probably aren't parenthetical. And I probably will not stop that.
*****
I think I have offended my parents with my concern and some of my remarks. Not intentionally, of course, but despite my best efforts to be respectful and to honor them, I may have been too blunt, too outspoken, perhaps just wrong. I admit it. I believe I am right, but I am willing to concede that people are wrong all the time, and I am very likely wrong quite often. Sometimes I think Dad is doing much better than even he thinks, but other times I'm not certain he is even as well as Mom thinks. Clearly they aren't ready for anything like assisted living. Clearly. Ohmigosh, I would be so offended if I were in their shoes. No one wants to need help at all, but clearly, according to our beliefs, according to Scripture, we all need help. Note: I wrote this in one of my placate-the-parents moods. Upon further reflection and a dose of honesty, assisted living may be the best. Not for Mom, who clearly doesn't need it, but for Dad, since really, he is already in assisted living. Mom is assisting his living. Once you need help such as Mom provides, it doesn't seem right to pretend you don't need it. It certainly doesn't seem right once you need that assistance to insist that only one person provide it, whether you are the receiver OR the provider. We aren't meant to carry these times alone.
The problem is that the Bible gives direction that we are to honor our parents and that it is shameful not to care for them. There is a fine line between the day one needs no help and the day one needs some help. It isn't clearly defined, but in my opinion, a person who intends to honor that commitment and that God-given responsibility needs to keep a sharp eye out. Not to do so would be neglecting your responsibilities. Heck, it's not an onerous burden, it's what you do because you love them, and you honor them for caring for you when you were a little snot.
I mean we would all like to think that we die while hiking a tall mountain, overlooking a grand view, or safely sleeping in our own bed with no pain, but many of us will not do that. I think Dad would like that...to spend his final moments looking out over Mysterious Lake, crawling into a warm sleeping bag and waking up in Heaven. I know I would like to spend my final moments there. But we are neither of us likely to do that again unless there are helicopters, pack horses, oxygen tanks, air mattresses and young folks to haul the firewood and cook the meals. Barring that, we are likely to face some amount of impairment this side of heaven. I would just like to feel that I did my best to make my parent's lives a little easier, a bit more pleasant and gave them some happy times. Aging is frightening, at least it is for me. I'm concerned that the arthritis that is already limiting some of my activities will be a monster as I get older. I wonder how bad it will be when I'm 60 or 70. It's not dying that frightens me. Pain frightens me. Depending on others frightens me. God is utterly reliable, I'm pretty sure no human is.
I hope my parents will understand the love that is behind my bumbling. And I hope they will forgive me, for surely they must have wondered at times if there were more they could or should do for their parents.
*****
Matthew 26: 36-44. One of the garden of Gethemane passages in the gospels, this is where Jesus, knowing his death and the torment surrounding it was imminent, prayed to have it taken from him "nevertheless, not my will..." and yielded to the Father's will. This is probably my favorite passage in all of Scripture, together with Luke's retelling of the same events. The events in the garden are so incredible to me in their depiction of the Jesus who loved me enough that he endured the unendurable. He gave up not just his life, but took on the horrors of sin, as the only human who could ever understand what true horror that is. Knowing he would have to be severed from contact, from the deepest of all communion, with the Father, even though the horror and the struggle took him to his knees three times--not mild prayers, but agonized, heart-wrenched, blood, sweat and tears struggling, yet each time he submitted to the will of the Father, even though he pleaded three times. Oh that Jesus I understand. Or at least that Jesus understands me when I struggle. How wonderful it is to me to know that he truly understands! I used to feel guilty struggling to accept God's will, but Jesus struggled too! "For even Christ pleased not himself..." Rom. 15:3, and if HE did not pursuit his own pleasure, his own desires, shouldn't I be ready to deny what I want if it isn't in alignment with what God wants? "With his stripes we are healed" Isaiah 53:5. He did not please himself, and it cost him. It cost him torture. I would not endure one moment of pain I didn't have to endure, but though he could have called three thousand angels, or commanded the ground to open up and swallow his tormentors, he did not. He knew the price and he paid it. Willingly, but not without struggle. Those stripes healed me. His obedience paid for my disobedience. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He knew what he was in for. He knew the torture to come. He didn't run toward it, but in spite of not wanting it, he pressed forward, certain that he was doing the Father's will. He did that for you. He did that for me. It makes me weep.
*****
I have affected a style of starting sentences with "And", "But" along with other conjunctions. I use too many elipses, too many dashes and too many parenthetical remarks that probably aren't parenthetical. And I probably will not stop that.
*****
I think I have offended my parents with my concern and some of my remarks. Not intentionally, of course, but despite my best efforts to be respectful and to honor them, I may have been too blunt, too outspoken, perhaps just wrong. I admit it. I believe I am right, but I am willing to concede that people are wrong all the time, and I am very likely wrong quite often. Sometimes I think Dad is doing much better than even he thinks, but other times I'm not certain he is even as well as Mom thinks. Clearly they aren't ready for anything like assisted living. Clearly. Ohmigosh, I would be so offended if I were in their shoes. No one wants to need help at all, but clearly, according to our beliefs, according to Scripture, we all need help. Note: I wrote this in one of my placate-the-parents moods. Upon further reflection and a dose of honesty, assisted living may be the best. Not for Mom, who clearly doesn't need it, but for Dad, since really, he is already in assisted living. Mom is assisting his living. Once you need help such as Mom provides, it doesn't seem right to pretend you don't need it. It certainly doesn't seem right once you need that assistance to insist that only one person provide it, whether you are the receiver OR the provider. We aren't meant to carry these times alone.
The problem is that the Bible gives direction that we are to honor our parents and that it is shameful not to care for them. There is a fine line between the day one needs no help and the day one needs some help. It isn't clearly defined, but in my opinion, a person who intends to honor that commitment and that God-given responsibility needs to keep a sharp eye out. Not to do so would be neglecting your responsibilities. Heck, it's not an onerous burden, it's what you do because you love them, and you honor them for caring for you when you were a little snot.
I mean we would all like to think that we die while hiking a tall mountain, overlooking a grand view, or safely sleeping in our own bed with no pain, but many of us will not do that. I think Dad would like that...to spend his final moments looking out over Mysterious Lake, crawling into a warm sleeping bag and waking up in Heaven. I know I would like to spend my final moments there. But we are neither of us likely to do that again unless there are helicopters, pack horses, oxygen tanks, air mattresses and young folks to haul the firewood and cook the meals. Barring that, we are likely to face some amount of impairment this side of heaven. I would just like to feel that I did my best to make my parent's lives a little easier, a bit more pleasant and gave them some happy times. Aging is frightening, at least it is for me. I'm concerned that the arthritis that is already limiting some of my activities will be a monster as I get older. I wonder how bad it will be when I'm 60 or 70. It's not dying that frightens me. Pain frightens me. Depending on others frightens me. God is utterly reliable, I'm pretty sure no human is.
I hope my parents will understand the love that is behind my bumbling. And I hope they will forgive me, for surely they must have wondered at times if there were more they could or should do for their parents.
*****
Matthew 26: 36-44. One of the garden of Gethemane passages in the gospels, this is where Jesus, knowing his death and the torment surrounding it was imminent, prayed to have it taken from him "nevertheless, not my will..." and yielded to the Father's will. This is probably my favorite passage in all of Scripture, together with Luke's retelling of the same events. The events in the garden are so incredible to me in their depiction of the Jesus who loved me enough that he endured the unendurable. He gave up not just his life, but took on the horrors of sin, as the only human who could ever understand what true horror that is. Knowing he would have to be severed from contact, from the deepest of all communion, with the Father, even though the horror and the struggle took him to his knees three times--not mild prayers, but agonized, heart-wrenched, blood, sweat and tears struggling, yet each time he submitted to the will of the Father, even though he pleaded three times. Oh that Jesus I understand. Or at least that Jesus understands me when I struggle. How wonderful it is to me to know that he truly understands! I used to feel guilty struggling to accept God's will, but Jesus struggled too! "For even Christ pleased not himself..." Rom. 15:3, and if HE did not pursuit his own pleasure, his own desires, shouldn't I be ready to deny what I want if it isn't in alignment with what God wants? "With his stripes we are healed" Isaiah 53:5. He did not please himself, and it cost him. It cost him torture. I would not endure one moment of pain I didn't have to endure, but though he could have called three thousand angels, or commanded the ground to open up and swallow his tormentors, he did not. He knew the price and he paid it. Willingly, but not without struggle. Those stripes healed me. His obedience paid for my disobedience. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He knew what he was in for. He knew the torture to come. He didn't run toward it, but in spite of not wanting it, he pressed forward, certain that he was doing the Father's will. He did that for you. He did that for me. It makes me weep.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Three Days
Grandma always said that three days was long enough for anyone to visit. You've said everything there is to say, you've seen everybody, now it's time to go before everyone get's tired of each other. 14 days with Mom and Dad hasn't made us tire of each other, but it does make one tired of the disruption of schedule, of different foods, of sleeping on air mattresses (although that is surprisingly comfortable), of being away from family, away from my dogs, my church, my garden. It hasn't been long enough that Walmart seems like a good outing...yet.
It has been long enough that I will once again really long for water once I'm gone, rivers, the ocean, lakes. I have to finish my pond and waterfall. There is something so restful and healing and necessary about water. Pounding, fushing, falling, rippling, running water. Water. It's not just for drinking anymore. Or something like that.
I would not have had to come here to long for my mom and my dad. Heck, my granddad died in February of 1982 and I still miss him. A picture of him will still put a smile on my face and a tear in my eye. But we buck up and get on with the business of living. Some days the pain, grief and troubles of life threaten to overwhelm, but we know that there is no new trouble under the sun, and we know that life continues. Somehow we go on after the worst of trouble. We know that those who have gone before us have always done so, how can we do less?
For some reason, the listings of generations in the Bible has been of comfort and strength for me lately. In Genesis it lists the men in the direct line of Abraham and Isaac. This list goes on and on. Adam, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, etc., etc. Somehow all of those living, having children and dying reinforces to me that this is the cycle of life since the fall. Nothing that is happening here is unique (except that it is happening to ME, of course). It is not out of the experience of mankind. That gives me comfort that no matter how overwhelming the grief, and how great the pain, it can be endured, and it will wane. Life will continue.
I still hope that Mom and Dad decide to move near family while it is still a possibility. Mom needs it, and honestly, I think Dad would appreciate it, even though he doesn't want to need anyone. Still...you can WANT to be around family even if you don't NEED it, right?
As with every time I fly, I can't sleep tonight, even though I lost sleep last night and don't have to be at the airport 'til 2 pm. Grrr. going to bed now.
It has been long enough that I will once again really long for water once I'm gone, rivers, the ocean, lakes. I have to finish my pond and waterfall. There is something so restful and healing and necessary about water. Pounding, fushing, falling, rippling, running water. Water. It's not just for drinking anymore. Or something like that.
I would not have had to come here to long for my mom and my dad. Heck, my granddad died in February of 1982 and I still miss him. A picture of him will still put a smile on my face and a tear in my eye. But we buck up and get on with the business of living. Some days the pain, grief and troubles of life threaten to overwhelm, but we know that there is no new trouble under the sun, and we know that life continues. Somehow we go on after the worst of trouble. We know that those who have gone before us have always done so, how can we do less?
For some reason, the listings of generations in the Bible has been of comfort and strength for me lately. In Genesis it lists the men in the direct line of Abraham and Isaac. This list goes on and on. Adam, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, etc., etc. Somehow all of those living, having children and dying reinforces to me that this is the cycle of life since the fall. Nothing that is happening here is unique (except that it is happening to ME, of course). It is not out of the experience of mankind. That gives me comfort that no matter how overwhelming the grief, and how great the pain, it can be endured, and it will wane. Life will continue.
I still hope that Mom and Dad decide to move near family while it is still a possibility. Mom needs it, and honestly, I think Dad would appreciate it, even though he doesn't want to need anyone. Still...you can WANT to be around family even if you don't NEED it, right?
As with every time I fly, I can't sleep tonight, even though I lost sleep last night and don't have to be at the airport 'til 2 pm. Grrr. going to bed now.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Two Days 'til Home
In a way, being with my parents is as much home as any home I've created on my own. The familiarity of walls lined with shelves crammed with books, post-it notes hanging off of everything, a 2 lb. block of cheddar cheese in the fridge, an over-sized, over-stuffed, ugly recliner in the living room and the smell of Rain Bath hanging in the bathroom after a shower. These are familiar. Stacks of papers printed out on any variety of topics on the edges of tabletops, and stacked on top of books, notebooks filled with Greek, Hebrew, sermon notes, radar information, mathematical texts of all descriptions, and a preacher's library fit for a small seminary.
Bottles of pills, both prescription and vitamins crowd the counters, all the things that try to keep my dad alive and comfortable, along with the pills that try to counter the effects of some other pills. Eye drops, insulin, alcohol swabs. Nasal canulas (is canulii the plural?), hand sanitizer, blood glucose meters. Such are the accoutrements of diabetes, apnea and renal failure. All the wonderful things that happen to a body that cannot regulate it's own blood sugar levels.
In my parents' home, you can find pens, pencils, markers, highlighters, scissors, fingernail files, nail clippers, magnifying glasses, rubber bands, paper clips, combs, and other wonders beside every chair, on every desk, and in every nightstand or bookshelf. Most locations will also have rubber cement, tape, a screwdriver or a pair of pliers as well. It's quite a change from my house, where I often cannot locate any of the 6 or 7 pairs of scissors, dozens of clippers, pens, markers, etc. that I replace fairly often. Where they go is a mystery. Perhaps they somehow wind up in my parents house through an unseen portal.
Here I can find the answers to all my quantum mechanics, physics, chemistry, calculus, statistics and algebra questions in easily accessible textbooks. I can also find reference books on any number of physical conditions, look up medications and their side effects and study anatomy. Sitting in their living room I can see six 6 ft. bookcases. These are not the bookcases of an HGTV designer show, with selected books displayed with carefully selected pottery and artwork. No, these are stuffed stem to stern with books, baskets, papers, clocks, cd-roms, and record albums. One of the bedrooms has another 7 or 8 bookshelves as well as tables and desks for more books, office supplies and computer equipment. While this means that the guest bed is an air mattress laid out under the table each night, surrounded by the blue, red, and green lights of various computers, printers and such, it still feels like home.
Mom reads her library books and various magazines, while Dad's computer screen is invariably displaying Greek text from whatever Bible passage he is studying at the moment. The daily language lesson makes my head spin. I was a straight A student in Honors English in college and have never before heard of some of these parts of speech and their tenses.
Mom enjoys a trip to the local thrift store searching for treasures among other people's cast offs. The beautiful Chico's jacket I am bringing home probably came from one of those perfect homes, where everything has it's place and the moment it is unneeded it is discarded. We have never been such people, though I admire them greatly. How do they know when they are through with something? One of the traits that drove my previous employer batty is my filing system. I always have a basket or tray with papers I just can't decide what to do with. There they lie until either I need them (and thus know I must keep them and where to put the paper) or it has been about three months or so. After the paper has been in the tray for 3 months, I can then sort the stack and fairly easily see that I do or do not need the paper in question and probably 90% can go straight in the shredder. The remainder is then easy for me to file away, and their classification becomes clear to me. Hey...it works for me.
For years I carried around a pink rabbit, handcrafted by a friend of mine. Covered in polyester lace and adorned with blue ribbon, it was cleverly designed to sit on a shelf. At the same time, she gave me one of those 5 or 6 inch straw hats adorned with fake flowers, more polyester lace and pastel ribbons. For a brief period of time I attempted to decorate around these pastel pink and blue gifts, but afterwards kept moving them with me and displaying them everywhere I went. The problem is that I dislike pastels, particularly pink (to decorate, that is), hate cutesy, and really abhor polyester lace. What I loved is my friend. What I loved is her thoughtfulness, her cleverness, her handiwork. But it took me years to understand that the things were not her. I was not treating her with disdain if I didn't keep the things she gave me. My friend Jana helped me with this, unknowingly. Jana is one of those people who discards things easily. She has culled her possessions into the few things she really loves, and anything broken or having outlived it's usefulness is gone. We have a "no guilt" agreement between us. Whatever I give her she is perfectly free to like or dislike, keep or give away without any hard feelings, and the reverse is true. In fact, when a bowl she had given me broke, and I was staring at it trying to figure out if I could glue it back together, I knew how proud she would be if I were to simply put the pieces in the trash. So I did. It was freeing!
I was checking my camera to see what pictures I have taken while here. I was surprised to discover no pictures of Beverly Beach, and almost none of the mountains. No pictures of the Willamette River either (pronounced will a' meht, the a is a long flat a sound like in apple). But I have better. I can't show you, but in my head I have recorded the sights, sounds, smells and feel of those places. I have bird song, surf, the feel of sand under my feet, the sight of little crabs scurrying away and of creatures burying themselves in the sand. I have mountain vistas, Boiling Bay, Cape Foulweather, and Yaquina Point Lighthouse stored away. There are the smells of saltwater, seaweed, lush undergrowth, cedar, drops of oil burning on the catalytic converter, masses of petunias in a roadside produce and flower market, and of the rosemary bush I bought and planted outside their front door. Hopefully I have enough mental recordings of my Dad's voice to keep with me once the man himself is gone.
Of Dad's things, yes, Kris and I will probably have discussions about various portions of his library, but I most want his walking stick and whichever of his Bibles has the most handwritten notes inside.
Bottles of pills, both prescription and vitamins crowd the counters, all the things that try to keep my dad alive and comfortable, along with the pills that try to counter the effects of some other pills. Eye drops, insulin, alcohol swabs. Nasal canulas (is canulii the plural?), hand sanitizer, blood glucose meters. Such are the accoutrements of diabetes, apnea and renal failure. All the wonderful things that happen to a body that cannot regulate it's own blood sugar levels.
In my parents' home, you can find pens, pencils, markers, highlighters, scissors, fingernail files, nail clippers, magnifying glasses, rubber bands, paper clips, combs, and other wonders beside every chair, on every desk, and in every nightstand or bookshelf. Most locations will also have rubber cement, tape, a screwdriver or a pair of pliers as well. It's quite a change from my house, where I often cannot locate any of the 6 or 7 pairs of scissors, dozens of clippers, pens, markers, etc. that I replace fairly often. Where they go is a mystery. Perhaps they somehow wind up in my parents house through an unseen portal.
Here I can find the answers to all my quantum mechanics, physics, chemistry, calculus, statistics and algebra questions in easily accessible textbooks. I can also find reference books on any number of physical conditions, look up medications and their side effects and study anatomy. Sitting in their living room I can see six 6 ft. bookcases. These are not the bookcases of an HGTV designer show, with selected books displayed with carefully selected pottery and artwork. No, these are stuffed stem to stern with books, baskets, papers, clocks, cd-roms, and record albums. One of the bedrooms has another 7 or 8 bookshelves as well as tables and desks for more books, office supplies and computer equipment. While this means that the guest bed is an air mattress laid out under the table each night, surrounded by the blue, red, and green lights of various computers, printers and such, it still feels like home.
Mom reads her library books and various magazines, while Dad's computer screen is invariably displaying Greek text from whatever Bible passage he is studying at the moment. The daily language lesson makes my head spin. I was a straight A student in Honors English in college and have never before heard of some of these parts of speech and their tenses.
Mom enjoys a trip to the local thrift store searching for treasures among other people's cast offs. The beautiful Chico's jacket I am bringing home probably came from one of those perfect homes, where everything has it's place and the moment it is unneeded it is discarded. We have never been such people, though I admire them greatly. How do they know when they are through with something? One of the traits that drove my previous employer batty is my filing system. I always have a basket or tray with papers I just can't decide what to do with. There they lie until either I need them (and thus know I must keep them and where to put the paper) or it has been about three months or so. After the paper has been in the tray for 3 months, I can then sort the stack and fairly easily see that I do or do not need the paper in question and probably 90% can go straight in the shredder. The remainder is then easy for me to file away, and their classification becomes clear to me. Hey...it works for me.
For years I carried around a pink rabbit, handcrafted by a friend of mine. Covered in polyester lace and adorned with blue ribbon, it was cleverly designed to sit on a shelf. At the same time, she gave me one of those 5 or 6 inch straw hats adorned with fake flowers, more polyester lace and pastel ribbons. For a brief period of time I attempted to decorate around these pastel pink and blue gifts, but afterwards kept moving them with me and displaying them everywhere I went. The problem is that I dislike pastels, particularly pink (to decorate, that is), hate cutesy, and really abhor polyester lace. What I loved is my friend. What I loved is her thoughtfulness, her cleverness, her handiwork. But it took me years to understand that the things were not her. I was not treating her with disdain if I didn't keep the things she gave me. My friend Jana helped me with this, unknowingly. Jana is one of those people who discards things easily. She has culled her possessions into the few things she really loves, and anything broken or having outlived it's usefulness is gone. We have a "no guilt" agreement between us. Whatever I give her she is perfectly free to like or dislike, keep or give away without any hard feelings, and the reverse is true. In fact, when a bowl she had given me broke, and I was staring at it trying to figure out if I could glue it back together, I knew how proud she would be if I were to simply put the pieces in the trash. So I did. It was freeing!
I was checking my camera to see what pictures I have taken while here. I was surprised to discover no pictures of Beverly Beach, and almost none of the mountains. No pictures of the Willamette River either (pronounced will a' meht, the a is a long flat a sound like in apple). But I have better. I can't show you, but in my head I have recorded the sights, sounds, smells and feel of those places. I have bird song, surf, the feel of sand under my feet, the sight of little crabs scurrying away and of creatures burying themselves in the sand. I have mountain vistas, Boiling Bay, Cape Foulweather, and Yaquina Point Lighthouse stored away. There are the smells of saltwater, seaweed, lush undergrowth, cedar, drops of oil burning on the catalytic converter, masses of petunias in a roadside produce and flower market, and of the rosemary bush I bought and planted outside their front door. Hopefully I have enough mental recordings of my Dad's voice to keep with me once the man himself is gone.
Of Dad's things, yes, Kris and I will probably have discussions about various portions of his library, but I most want his walking stick and whichever of his Bibles has the most handwritten notes inside.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Laugh, or Cry.
It's a lesson my mother taught me a long time ago. If you don't learn to see humor in the midst of pain, trials and disappointments you will be miserable. Laughter is a wonderful gift, and in times of stress is much needed.
I have laughed more during this visit with my parents than I have for a long time. I am choosing to see the humor in this situation. I'm not really laughing at my dad's expense, but I must laugh or cry. So I find his directives (mostly) humerous. He tries to explain to me how to fix his networking issues. He has never built a network. He has written Greek grammar textbooks, taught hermenutics, homiletics, textual criticism, can read Hebrew, wrote programming for the radar systems that kept our nation safe and free for a long time. He averted a nuclear war by correctly interpreting data that appeared to be, but was not, a nuclear attack. He is a BMEWS expert, a PAVE PAWS guy, understands math in ways I will never grasp, but he has not ever built a network. I have. I know enough to understand that there is something in the setup that is not apparent to me, something either set up by someone else that I don't see, or something about the particular laptop he has that is not conforming to standard networking. So when he tells me to rename everything and that should fix it, I run the network setups, and system configurations for the 17th time. I don't run and scream. (I was caught with my head on the desk, but that's not the same thing.) Instead I laugh.
When his talking begins when the key turns in the ignition and stops only when the key is removed from the ignition, I laugh. It is not unkind laughter. It is actually laughter that says, "I love you, Dad, in all your eccentricities, and I refuse to let myself get upset by these new and puzzling things that you do." I am choosing to be amused and not irritated by him.
When he discusses medical issues that he would never have mentioned in previous years, I laugh. Catheters aren't funny...well, yeah, they kind of are. Pain isn't funny, but the funny walk I have when my arthritis acts up makes me laugh. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror out of the corner of my eye, hair pulled back into a barrette and hanging more than half way down my back, and thought, I recognize this look! My mother wore her hair in a long ponytail. I though I was being so original. Ah, well. I laugh at myself a lot.
When financial stresses come, as another one did today, and threaten to make me panic, cry, hyperventilate and lose faith, I chose to pray (eventually) and to remember that I trust in the God of Abraham and of Isaac, of Jacob, of Joseph, rescued from a pit and in time made second in command over Egypt, saving his family in the process. I trust in the God of Esther, who rescued her and her people from annihilation. I trust in the God who did not let the widow's oil run out, in the God of Job, who said "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." I trust the God who put Noah and his family into the ark and brought them out onto dry ground. I trust the God who led the children of Isreal for 40 years in the desert and then led their children into the promised land. I trust in the God of my father, my mother, my brother. I trust in the God who made dry land in the midst of the sea, then caused the sea to close up over Pharoah's army. I trust in the God who made man from the dust of the ground, from his own spit and breathed life into him with his own breath. I will trust in the God who loves me more than anyone else, and who has my very best interests at heart. I will trust that he will bring good out of this.
In the midst of a distressing trip, and on a day of distressing news, I am very glad to have met a lady named Jeannie. Jeannie made me feel welcome in her home and in her very special tea shop. Jeannie is one of the neatest people I have met in a long time. And today, of all days, when I needed a bit of encouragement, her warm smile, her gracious welcome and her lovely cup of tea were just what I needed. Thank you Jeannie.
This is somewhat disjointed tonight. I apologize, but that's me today. Disjointed. I'm 42 years old and my joints are aching with arthritis from a short walk through the mall. Not a reason not to walk, just the effect. Still, move it or lose it. I am happy to be moving at all.
Just a few more days 'til I go home. I'll be glad to get home, though I would love to live near the ocean and someplace green at some point. (Amalfi Coast?) ;-) Steve was great making this happen, and I'm really grateful, but aside from a bit of nagging and a lift of their spirits, I'm not sure I've accomplished much. What I really wish is that I could get Dad to really look at Mom and see what this is doing to her. Sometimes I think he feels like his purpose is gone, but right now, his purpose should be to be really good to my mom. "Be ye KIND one to another..." At least that's how I see it. It's a lesson for me, too. A big part of my purpose is to be good to those around me, to my family, to my husband. This is tough, cause I really am rather self-absorbed. Ugly, but true.
I have laughed more during this visit with my parents than I have for a long time. I am choosing to see the humor in this situation. I'm not really laughing at my dad's expense, but I must laugh or cry. So I find his directives (mostly) humerous. He tries to explain to me how to fix his networking issues. He has never built a network. He has written Greek grammar textbooks, taught hermenutics, homiletics, textual criticism, can read Hebrew, wrote programming for the radar systems that kept our nation safe and free for a long time. He averted a nuclear war by correctly interpreting data that appeared to be, but was not, a nuclear attack. He is a BMEWS expert, a PAVE PAWS guy, understands math in ways I will never grasp, but he has not ever built a network. I have. I know enough to understand that there is something in the setup that is not apparent to me, something either set up by someone else that I don't see, or something about the particular laptop he has that is not conforming to standard networking. So when he tells me to rename everything and that should fix it, I run the network setups, and system configurations for the 17th time. I don't run and scream. (I was caught with my head on the desk, but that's not the same thing.) Instead I laugh.
When his talking begins when the key turns in the ignition and stops only when the key is removed from the ignition, I laugh. It is not unkind laughter. It is actually laughter that says, "I love you, Dad, in all your eccentricities, and I refuse to let myself get upset by these new and puzzling things that you do." I am choosing to be amused and not irritated by him.
When he discusses medical issues that he would never have mentioned in previous years, I laugh. Catheters aren't funny...well, yeah, they kind of are. Pain isn't funny, but the funny walk I have when my arthritis acts up makes me laugh. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror out of the corner of my eye, hair pulled back into a barrette and hanging more than half way down my back, and thought, I recognize this look! My mother wore her hair in a long ponytail. I though I was being so original. Ah, well. I laugh at myself a lot.
When financial stresses come, as another one did today, and threaten to make me panic, cry, hyperventilate and lose faith, I chose to pray (eventually) and to remember that I trust in the God of Abraham and of Isaac, of Jacob, of Joseph, rescued from a pit and in time made second in command over Egypt, saving his family in the process. I trust in the God of Esther, who rescued her and her people from annihilation. I trust in the God who did not let the widow's oil run out, in the God of Job, who said "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." I trust the God who put Noah and his family into the ark and brought them out onto dry ground. I trust the God who led the children of Isreal for 40 years in the desert and then led their children into the promised land. I trust in the God of my father, my mother, my brother. I trust in the God who made dry land in the midst of the sea, then caused the sea to close up over Pharoah's army. I trust in the God who made man from the dust of the ground, from his own spit and breathed life into him with his own breath. I will trust in the God who loves me more than anyone else, and who has my very best interests at heart. I will trust that he will bring good out of this.
In the midst of a distressing trip, and on a day of distressing news, I am very glad to have met a lady named Jeannie. Jeannie made me feel welcome in her home and in her very special tea shop. Jeannie is one of the neatest people I have met in a long time. And today, of all days, when I needed a bit of encouragement, her warm smile, her gracious welcome and her lovely cup of tea were just what I needed. Thank you Jeannie.
This is somewhat disjointed tonight. I apologize, but that's me today. Disjointed. I'm 42 years old and my joints are aching with arthritis from a short walk through the mall. Not a reason not to walk, just the effect. Still, move it or lose it. I am happy to be moving at all.
Just a few more days 'til I go home. I'll be glad to get home, though I would love to live near the ocean and someplace green at some point. (Amalfi Coast?) ;-) Steve was great making this happen, and I'm really grateful, but aside from a bit of nagging and a lift of their spirits, I'm not sure I've accomplished much. What I really wish is that I could get Dad to really look at Mom and see what this is doing to her. Sometimes I think he feels like his purpose is gone, but right now, his purpose should be to be really good to my mom. "Be ye KIND one to another..." At least that's how I see it. It's a lesson for me, too. A big part of my purpose is to be good to those around me, to my family, to my husband. This is tough, cause I really am rather self-absorbed. Ugly, but true.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)