Healing with Nostalgia and Creativity

There are times when we are at a crossroads in life.  Times of transition often are accompanied by nostalgic recollections and resurfacing lessons: we are clear to see the patterns of the past, how they have culminated into our present and what we need to do to point ourselves in our true direction for our future.

One of the exercises that I've found to be beneficial in the healing process is to write a fanciful story based on the past.  Be as liberal with your creativity as you would like - let the story just bubble up and the characters will start to create themselves.  You may be quite surprised at what surfaces when you attempt this healing exercise.

Here is a story that came to me.

3 Characters:
Mom, Prissy (younger sister) and Agnes (older sister)
Background:
Prissy learns to keep her head down because she sees what Agnes induces upon herself with her exuberant and inappropriate actions (i.e. spitting, talking with boys, coming home late and dirty without informing Mama, etc.)
Prissy could pick on her sister and would, as siblings do, except Agnes picks on her, amiably instead, as older sisters with exuberance and a need to dispel it, tend to do.  One example: sometimes Agnes would tickle Prissy until she peed.  Agnes would get in trouble and would have to clean it up.

(The story is told from Prissy's point of view)

Sometimes Agnes would tell me these horrible stories about how Mother and Father had other, previous children before us who died at a young age, or that our parents were really aliens that ate children and we'd better be cautious.

I think she even had nightmares about it.

Agnes would come in late, after the rest of us were sitting at the table ready to eat dinner.  

She was dirty and moody, and hadn't forewarned mother where she had been or that she'd be late.

Dinner was fairly stilted.  Cool whipped mood on the top layer, anger and frustration the pudding.

Agnes' mood could and would change frequently.  It was hard to keep up.

Father told her to stop singing at the table and then made a rule about it when she did it again.

Resolved, subdued, still willful, Agnes ate dinner in silence.

The rest of us talked about our days and pretended everything was ok.

Sometimes my stomach hurt when we had meals like that.

Agnes would go up to her room and listen to music, light candles and write in her journal.  I think she was always trying to sort things out, even when she was young.

We went to church.  We sang duets together.  We went to church camp together.  We were in the youth group and VBS together every year.

We took piano lessons.  We played duets.  We competed in front of so many judges and won so many awards, together and as soloists.

We believed in God.  We believed in family.  It was what we knew.  We were sheltered that way - protected by our parents who always wanted only the best for us.  They just didn't always know best.

I don't blame Agnes for getting me into trouble with her sometimes.  Hanging out with her is always fun.  Sometimes dangerous.  But yeah, always enlightening.

We liked to drive late at night

when it was really dark - way out on the country roads where there were no lights, only empty cornfields.  

The radio would be loud. The music was intentional, a mixed tape she made, or some other mystical music.

The air outside would be chilly - but the windows in the car were down and the moon-roof was open.  The heat was on full-blast.

We saw deer.

The road was dusted by swirling snakes of snow as we drove along, carefree and in our own minds.

We could not see any further than the beam of our own headlights.  It was magical.

We stopped to gas up and she brought back chocolate and drinks for us.  We didn't know where we were.  Some little gas station out in the middle of the country, everything else was closed down and dark this time of night.

Only the phone booth was lit up. 

We got back into the car and she changed the tape to something serene this next jog into the fog.  Classical guitar music will always remind me of that night.

Somehow she always finds herself back safely home and we slide into the house, hoping not to disturb anyone.

Since I'm with her, they really are lenient.

We go upstairs and start to dream.

That's what life is like with her - unpredictable and exciting.

I think it scares mother, and that's why she's so hard on my sister.

She's always saying, "Don't ruffle feathers!" and Agnes, well, she's just a feather-ruffeler by nature.

It's better now that mother's stopped trying to preen Agnes.

I was actually kind of jealous of my sister, truth be told.  And I know she was jealous or at least resentful of how respectable and un-rufflely I was.

We were at odds sometimes, but I always loved her and she loved me, too.  That was never in question.

We drifted apart when she moved away.

When I see her, it's always a delight.

Cats: Little Pocket Panthers and Companions

I've thought a bunch about cat behavior and it's my opinion that cat's bring us their dead (or not dead) catches to present us with trophies.  They do like to be praised and appreciated for their hunting endeavors.  Our neighbor's 6 toed tiger stripped cat (that adopted us and lived on our porch) would bring me and my daughter squirrels, birds, bunnies, until he realized we weren't eating them, then he stopped sharing and simply ate them himself on the porch.  (We soon took all the bird feeders down from the porch as it had become a kitty buffet for Tiggy Malone.)  He disappeared around the end of Nov.  I'm worried that coyotes may have gotten him, as they have eaten several other neighborhood cats over the past few years especially.

My 6 month old kitten, Pippin (short for Epiphany) is strictly a house-cat; she still has the hunting instinct in her, and we play fetch with great frequency with a little chirping bird toy that is her favorite.  She seems quite placated by this ritual and does not seem to be very interested in going outside (thank goodness!)  She follows me around like my little companion kitty, always interested in what I'm doing and meows pitifully at me if I'm in another room without her (the bathroom, the front porch).

My 5 year old cat, Abony, has chosen to be an outside cat, even though I'd never owned a cat that lived outside before.  Once she saw that Tiggy Malone was outside ("that's an option??" I heard her think), she'd have none of this house arrest that we'd safely ensconced her within and peed in our beds and on the couch to remind us that her intentions were very clear and she was resound in getting her way.  It worked, of course.  Maybe she'll have a shorter life than my indoor cats, but she's pleased as punch to have her freedom.  She comes in nearly every night, and certainly throughout the day as often as I am home and will let her go in and out.  She's the most beautiful and neurotic cat I've ever had...only neurotic because she clearly wants her way and will get in a hissy fit if she doesn't get it.  Sometimes I call her Piss Pot.  I do love her :)

And then there is BhadaBoo. She will be 17 years old in March.  She's my one white whisker soul-sister.  We have a very strong bond.  She's the cat that gets along with everyone- other cats, dogs, people.  She's cautious, loving, stoic, caring.  These are the last remaining weeks with her on God's green Earth; I can tell she's at the beginning of the end of her life.  I am glad to be with her during her transitioning period.  I put her heated bed beside me on my bed and we spend a lot of time together throughout the day as I write, work and correspond.  It's a good life.

I thank God for my cat companions.  They have chosen to be with me just as much as I have chosen to be with them.  They have truly been a blessing in my adult life.

Living with an Auto-Immune Disease, part 2

Living with an Auto-Immune Disease Part One  <---- click this link to read my previous article for some useful background.

I’m not afraid of a challenge.  In fact, the love of adventure is one of my strengths.  This has come in handy when going through life’s inevitable transitions.

The Trouble With Doctors

I have experienced some rather irritating and progressive health challenges over the past 2 decades.  Since my early 20s, my ability to process and digest food has cumulatively gotten worse.  After having my annual physical several years ago, it was discovered that not only was I extremely anemic, but also had several low B12 levels.  These results triggered my family doctor to recommend a gastro-intestinal specialist to perform an endoscopy/colonoscopy.  I was 37 years old when they diagnosed me with Crohn’s disease.

Not much is known about Crohn’s disease, or other auto-immune diseases.  From what I have learned, it all boils down to one’s body attacking itself.  Having an auto-immune disease is a literal manifestation of being one’s own worst enemy.  Flying scientifically blind, there is not much that Western medicine can do to root out the cause.

Paying a substantial sum of money for health insurance, I feel obligated to continue in my attempts to get some expert knowledge and guidance on how to manage with this intangible tangled up mess that my guts have become.

Any diet restrictions?  “No.”  But I was advised to try and get more iron into my diet.

Any lifestyle guidance?  “Try and avoid stress.”  o.O  Really?  Is that even attainable, doctor?  And I begin to argue with the doctor about how it’s normal to have stress in our lives, but I want to learn how to manage it better.  “Take these pills,” is her easy answer.

I admit it: I am a stubborn patient, unwilling to delve willy-nilly into taking a rainbow of medications for the rest of my life simply because the doctor said so.  But I don’t want to cause a scene, so I take the samples she hands me and make my appointment to see her again for my 4 month checkup.

Another season passes and I’m back at the gastro-intestinal doctors’ office.  She’s not going to be happy with me.  I’ve not been following her protocol, exactly.  I admit that I’ve only been taking 2 of the pills 2x/daily instead of 4 pills 4x/daily.  She shakes her head and says to me, “This prescription is based on researching plants.  It’s “natural” and the least amount of medication that I feel you need to be on.  Take all 4 pills, 4 times a day as prescribed.  Are we clear?”  I nodded, feeling chagrined and charged up about it at the same time.   Even though I had streeeetched out the sample packs she’d given me, when my pharmacist called to tell me that I could go online to get a good coupon for the drug, I knew just how strapped I was going to be if I started to really take it full-force.  Everything told me not to get the ‘script filled.

 “Oh?” she tilts her head and looks up at me from the little laptop from which she has been reading my medical chart information.  “You’re not taking B12 supplements anymore?” 

I tell her that I haven’t been feeling as tired lately, that the tingling I had felt in my fingers and toes were not present and hadn’t been for a few months now.  I tell her that I voluntarily took myself off to take a little break.

My doctor looks at me as if I were going crazy.  “What?  You can’t just take yourself off of something just because you feel like it,” she says with incredulity.

“I’m ordering a lab on you to check your levels, Rachael,” she states matter-of-factly.  Awesome!  I want to know what’s up with my levels, too.  It’s been about a year since my last blood test.  Seems about time to me.  That’s what I’m paying exorbitant amounts of money to BlueCross/BlueShield for insurance to cover all this, isn’t it?

“Do you get out into the sun very often?”  Heck no, and when I do, I try and cover up if I’m going to be out for more than 5 minutes.  Having rosacea (another auto-immune disease, this one triggered by sun-exposure), I try to minimize exposing myself to the beautiful rays of the sun for too long.  She types up something into the computer.  “I bet you are vitamin D deficient.  You need to be taking vitamin D,” and here I’m told that she’s writing me a prescription for extra strong vitamin D, plus I should be taking supplement Vitamin D over the counter in addition.  I snort a little to myself and cross my arms.  I do not like where this is going.  It seems extreme to me.

As she sees me out, she reminds me to take those 4 prescription pills, 4 times per day, to call her if I have any problems, but only if I follow her regime.  She makes it clear that she wants to support me this way, and this way only.

I get a call in about a week from one of the nurses at the office with my blood results.  Guess what?  My B12 levels were through the roof.  I had to ask the nurse to repeat herself when she told me.  I ask if this means that I should not be taking the B12 supplements.  “Don’t take those; but you do need to be taking vitamin D.  Your levels are low in vitamin D,” and on she hops to the prescription drug band-wagon.  

I’m still a little flustered and confused and ask for the nurse to send me a copy of the results.  Somehow, this is a major challenge.  “If you want, I can mail a consent packet to you.  Sign and return it to our office, then we can give you a printed copy of your lab results.”  They are not able to send me an email consent packet.  I have to either drag myself back downtown to their office to sign, then wait for them to mail the results to me, or they can mail the consent packet to me, then I mail it back, and then they will then mail the lab copy to me.  

Needless to say, I was fairly frustrated at this point.  I followed their protocol and kindly requested that they start the process at once.

It was at this point that I returned to alternative, holistic medicine. This time, I found a doctor that did full blood, urine and saliva panels before offering a personalized non-prescription supplement regime which would be based on my results.

The results were telling: 

• Extreme anemia- my Iron scores an 11 on a scale that normal people range between 50-170; my Ferritin scores a 6 and the normal range is 10-190.  Transferrin Saturation: 3%, pretty low when normal ranges from 15-50%  No wonder I'm so freaking tired all the time.
• Low HDL cholesterol-  ("How is having low cholesterol even possible in today's American diet?" I ask her.  She begins to explain the different types of cholesterol to me and what my test results suggest.  She's very thorough.)
• High B12- on a normal person, the B12 range should be between 213-816.  I score 832 and hadn't been taking B12 supplements for 6 months prior to this lab.
• High NT-proBNP- that has something to do with weakening heart muscles and I'm ranging significantly high for my age.  She said that my score of 143 is within a range for an elderly person, or someone who has had trauma to their heart.  She talks to me about Broken Heart Syndrome and says she sees from these results that I have had significant stress in my life.  Her compassion brings tears to my eyes, but I can't go there now.  There is still more to learn from my lab results and she proceeds.
• High triglycerides-  (I've daily been taking fish oil pills since first being diagnosed with this in my mid-30s to help with the imbalance; having high triglycerides is linked to increased risk for coronary heart disease, she tells me.)
• Moderate C Reactive Protein-hs- This measures the general levels of inflammation in one's body.  Should be less than 1.  My score is 2.7.

Great, it's true, right here on paper: I'm dying a slow and horrible death.

Not really, but the system makes me feel that way at times when everything my body can scientifically tell them is reduced to numbers on papers resulting in a longer string of diagnostic codes all for the benefit of acquiescing to insurance coverage and reimbursement.  I think I'm going to be sick.

So, with this greater scientific knowledge, what does this mean to me?

It means that my acupuncturist was correct all along: The body, mind and soul are all intrinsically and beautifully interconnected.  When there is imbalance, the entire being suffers.

I'm on a journey now to figure out how to untangle this mess I've made for myself.  I go back twenty years to the very start of my health problems, when I ran away from a huge transgression, and I find the root of it.

Now I am certain that I am my own worst enemy, and my body was simply trying to wake me up from that awful course.

A Dream version of Song of Solomon 2

She was surrounded by the scent of roses- a deep, lusty rich scent that reminded her of playful mornings.  Her eyes remained closed as she drank the air with full, deep breathes of appreciation.

“Rachael,” she heard her mother’s voice calling from far away.  Her eyes were so heavy. 

 

“There’s a deer in the backyard,” her mother said.  “Look!”

And there, beside the pear tree, she saw the beautiful creature.  It was looking at her, meeting her eyes through the back glass door.

Without a second thought, she opened the door and started out toward the deer.  Each step brought her closer to helping the poor thing.

“Don’t worry,” she started to say.  “I’m going to save you...”

When she drew near, close enough to touch the beast, he transformed.

He was tall, taller than a normal man.  And his hands- narrow, long, beautiful fingers soon found her shoulders and pulled her close to him.  She felt herself held, fully enveloped by secure arms.  The love, so strong and pure, warmed her with slow, honeyed waves.  She felt safe and her body relaxed.

Suddenly she understood that it was he who had come to save her, not the other way around.

“Come with me,” he smiled as he spoke.  His fingers ran lightly down her arm as he withdrew from her.

The next moment he was a deer again, and so was she.  The pair of them with swift, purposeful grace, ran away from the house.

                                                        *             *             *

As she started to realize she was wakening from a dream, she forced her eyes to remain closed and her body to be as still as possible so as to not disturb the experience.  She did not want to let this treasure slip away.  It was too precious, too dear, too heartbreaking to let go so easily.  She kept her eyes shut for as long as she could, seeking to further milk the fleeting vibration of that immense love.

Surrender to Love

To surrender, to give oneself up into the power of another, to yield, takes a thoughtful, conscious effort of will and strength of faith to let go and be guided by something greater than one’s self.

Let yourself come from a place of Love.  Have confidence and be brave: you are protected. Use Faith as your shield against that which is dark and troubled.  Be still and know.  You do not have to conquer what is already won.  Let Truth be your sword. Use the power of Truth to slice through the shadowy veils that mislead one in what is true and good.  What harm can come to you when you walk in the Light?  The guiding force of Love will lead you into the peaceful pastures within yourself and provide you with perspective, patience and serenity.

“The more you are motivated by Love,
The more Fearless & Free your action will be.”
― Dalai Lama XIV