February 24, 2009



Remember


Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me, in your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
Just remember me

I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,
It is the last light, to fade into the rising sun

I'm with you
Whenever you tell, my story
For I am all I've done

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me, in your memory
Remember me

I am the one voice in the cold wind, that whispers
And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky

As long as I still can reach out, and touch you
Then I will never die

Remember, I'll never leave you
If you will only
Remember me

Remember me...

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
I live forever
Remember me

Remember me
Remember... me...



--Josh Groban

February 17, 2009

Solitude

Between modalities at physical therapy, sometimes I find myself alone in a treatment room.  In the past, I have had so little to do at home that I didn't mind these times.  I would listen to the voices of other patients and therapists as they filtered down the hall and into my room. I would listen for voices I knew, or I might attempt to meditate.

Then I got an ipod and those moments between modalities became little vignettes in my mind.  I listen to Josh Groban even though about half of his music is opera and in a language I do not understand.  I understand the melody. I understand the gift of the young man's voice. It speaks to my soul.

Today, one of my favorite songs was on when Jim (my PT) came bursting in the room and he froze.  I slowly lifted my head from my chest where it had slowly relaxed to rest against my breastbone.  The soles of my feet were together and pulled in to touch my body, my knees flat against the table.  I find this a relaxing position. 

Jim apologized for interrupting, said he didn't mean to interrupt my meditation and asked me if I'd studied.  I haven't, not formally.  I studied breathing with a Shao-lin master.  I read up on different schools of thought on meditation and decided that I would let my body tell me what worked best.

But I did notice that my soul was quieter.  As Jim manipulated my bad shoulder, we discussed his wife's upcoming birthday, complete with my unsolicited advice as usual.  It makes him laugh.  However through the conversation and my shoulder manipulation, my soul was still and I hungered for more.

The moment had been so rare of late that I immediately wanted it back.  But it wasn't to be.  I came home to welcoming barking and howling from both boys and dogs alike.  I wouldn't give this up for anything.  There's a joy in being welcomed.  But I wished for that stillness again.

The moment reminded me of two things.

Firstly, the scripture: Be still, and know that I am God.

Be still.  How often do we take time to purposefully be still both in mind and body?  I can get my body still at night but many times my mind races and I cannot still it.  God gives us this scripture for reason.  Being still and simply aware of Him and nothing else...how much better does it get? 

Whether you choose to "be still and know that he is God" or a type of meditation that involves focusing on a syllable such as "Ohm", you are "Being still".  If you are concentrating on your breathing as in some martial arts, you are being still.   There is value to our bodies, our minds, in having that ability to "be still".

The other thing of which I was reminded is the song "It is well with my soul".  I find it easier to reach that place, that still place after singing to myself, "It is well, with my soul. It is well, it is well, with my soul."

There was a time when I feared solitude.  I saw my children leaving the nest, and looming was the day where I would be sick and alone.  I was afraid.

Now that I can walk short distances, which is all I *need*, if not all I want, I fear it less.

Solitude is coming whether I want it or not.  I have four dogs, even with them, solitude is coming.  All will be well with my soul.

Only time will tell if my heart and mind will follow.

February 16,2009

Dr. Egan day.  Nothing big except that I've lost so much hair that my scalp is showing through, so I get to go see yet another specialist.  A dermatologist.

Andrew Bush is in ICU at UK.  I don't have the details but I keep thinking about the last time I saw him.  He was wanting to go to Afghanistan.  It was so odd.  He said that if he died, he would have died doing what he loved.  I am just sick for his poor mother.

David Hunt has had Hospice called in.  He has fought so valiantly, so bravely, and with such grace.  I have an assignment from Dr. Riggs.  I am not to make myself ill by empathizing when he goes.  I don't know if I can do that.  I feel so awful for his family.  His wife, his children, and poor Lisa, who needed him so badly.

Dr. Riggs says that my overly empathetic nature is hurting my health and I have to learn to control it.  I will try, but I don't see it happening.

Steve isn't feeling well.  I'm concerned about him.

There I go.

At least I know why.

February 9, 2009

In January I wrote about the stone on my chest, my inability to breathe, to function, knowing my brother was leaving for his Iraq training.

I know more now.

The situation is far more terrifying that I ever was able to imagine in the beginning.  And that's just from the little bit that I know.

My neuropsych has told me that I have a tendency to catastrophize.  In this case, I have not.  No, to go there is unthinkable, so I live in the moment.  She also has accused me of being too empathetic.  In January, I wrote about how I had no problem with being that way and that it was part of what makes me, me.

Today, I learned why I am that way.  That it is not my fault as the pattern of behavior was set in childhood by circumstances beyond my control.  However, how I react to it now *is* in my control.

Once again, we go back to my mantra.  You cannot control the actions of others, you can only control your reactions to the actions of others.  Of course, as a child, I had no control at all.  But as a 45 year old woman, I do.

It was very much a lightbulb moment for me.

Two years ago, when I was sent to this doctor to work in tandem with my neurologist, who is quite reknowned and only could see me once every 5 months, I wasn't certain whether it was necessary or that it would even do any good.

Now I see that it has not only saved my life, but has enriched it beyond measure.

This doctor and I do not always agree.  We fight, we argue, but I figure that's what she gets the big bucks for. LOL.

One more doctor's appointment this week, the rheumatologist (plus three scheduled trips to PT) and I'm done for the month, God willing.

I have a lot of thinking to do.   I always have felt that this ultra-sensitivity, this overdeveloped sense of empathy was purposeful, that it existed so that someone cared enough to give the person in pain's sufferring the recognition it deserved.

But as was pointed out to me today, not at the expense of my health.

Except there is one instance in which I will stand my ground.  The doctor insisted I had no business trying to take Pepper, our Yorkie, who had had a seizure, to the vet in an ice storm (I fell, of course, but wasn't badly hurt, and my sister took Pepper, who is okay).  There is NO power that would keep me from getting one of my dogs the veterinary care it needed in an emergency.  I told her that my boys, once they got me in the house, said that they would not let me back out.  The doctor said, had she been here, she would have stood between me and the door...this from a woman in a wheelchair.  They wouldn't let me go to the hospital to see my father!

But my son went.  Oldest son went in my stead.  He took over the reins and represented me, our family.  Quite frankly, Daddy would probably rather have seen him anyway.  He doesn't like to be fussed over and boys don't fuss over each other.

As difficult to believe as it is, a little over a week ago, my father had stents put in blockages that should have killed him.  Today he rode ATV's in Hawaii.  I just shook my head.

February 8, 2009

This is doctor appointment week.  I've come to dread doctor appointments.  Every time that I lower my inner shields, expecting a simple "check up", invariably I get the rug pulled out from under me and something new and major has developed.  This has happened enough that I actually get a headache and my blood pressure goes up before doctor day.  And that's any doctor.

Tomorrow is my first neuro checkup with Dr. Pica instead of Twyman.  She will be kind and is going to see for the first time how much I've lost on my right side.  I dread her seeing it simply because she hasn't.  However, I'm in PT for it, so there's not much else to do right now.

Perhaps I'm feeling vulnerable because I miss my parents.  No, that's not it.  I'm worried about my Dad and I wish my parents were home.  Between that and my brother getting his training for Iraq, I keep myself in a ball of nerves and that's *with* medication.

I booked a cruise to Alaska for our 25th wedding anniversary.   I caught Steve in a weak moment and got it for a song.  The best price I've ever gotten.  I think he's a little nervous, but we're taking the Inside Passage, so we should be quite near land all the time.  We're scheduled to go dogsledding, glassblowing and whalewatching.  I can hardly wait.

I have to say, leaving the boys alone in my house, with my dogs makes me a little nervous, but I'll have to learn to let go and this is a good way to begin.  Mom and Dad will be home, so Sam can go to their house during the day. 

I feel the need to wax poetic, but the words elude me.  The ensuing doctor visits short circuit my ability to think clearly on any other subject.

I'll be glad when this is over for now.


I almost lost my dad last week.

It was possibly the most terrifying day of my life with the possible exception of the day I had my first seizure.

Life goes on, we get caught up in our little worlds of isolation, of insulation.

We'd already been jarred by my brother's departure for Iraq. That had shaken our family to the core, but we came together. We circled the wagons 'round him and his family. We lifted each other up.

Then the phone rang and my life cracked like glass about to shatter.

You see, when my father's father died, the circumstances were similar. A phone call that something had happened. Concern. Prayer. A phone call saying he was comfortable in his hospital bed. Relief.

Then another phone call that shattered everything. He was resting and then had a sudden massive coronary and he died. My Papaw was gone. Just like that. I'd seen him just a few days before. My last words to him were "I hope you feel better. I love you." Praise God I had the words. Never part with angry words. You never know what words will be your last.

This day last week was eerily like that day so many years ago. The call. Chest pain while working out, vomiting. The transfer to Lexington, blockages, we'll do a heart cath in the morning...

And then I learned the power of prayer. The depth of a Father's love. The value of the gift of mercy.

He gave my daddy back to us.

Even the surgeon said that the Lord was watching out for my father because he should have died. One of the blockages was in a dangerous place where two arteries meet. It's called "The Widowmaker".

Mercy. Compassion. Love.

The outpouring of affection from the people at my father's church, from people here on facebook, was overwhelming. I am ever grateful.

Dad and Mom leave for a cruise tomorrow. The doctor said it was okay, but I have misgivings about it.

So again I turn to the Father to ask for guidance and protection for my father. And for my mother who must be terrified at every cough, every noise Dad makes...and he makes many.

I was iced in. I couldn't go to the hospital. My boys refused to let me attempt to leave the house. I'd already fallen once in an attempt to leave. My doctors would have had hissy fits if I'd been in a hospital full of germs in winter. I am supposed to be housebound for January and February because of the germs.

I was Lost.

Alone.

My husband was working 15 hour days, 7 days a week on a project that had to get out.

My father was lying in a hospital bed.

I was useless.

Lost.

The ice has melted now. Dad is about to leave for two weeks. My husband is supposed to be finished with his time consuming project.

Yet I still feel Lost.

Where do I find myself again?

The question is not where, but when.

I will find myself.

In time.

For God's timing is perfect.