Category Archives: medicine

An open world begins with an open mind

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I saw this video on Facebook.  Every so often, after spending countless minutes of looking at absolute crap, you stumble on something that is absolutely worth watching.  And after watching this video, which is more of a summation of a few people, I continued down the line and watched all of the individual videos that were posted.  I was in tears after watching this video.  I was sobbing at the end of last one I watched.

But the tears I shed weren’t specifically about the videos.  The tears I shed were about the message that I got from watching the reaction of each person as they found out they weren’t exactly who they thought they were.  Each of the participants were so adamant about their background that they had all but dismissed any other reality….until they got their results.

The message in this experiment is one I wish we could spread across the planet.  And this test is one that I wish WAS made mandatory for everybody.  Finding out you share DNA with someone you have been historically trained to hate, not as a person but as a race, religion or belief, would be a hard pill to swallow.  But that pill could possibly begin to cure the current pandemic  called Hate.

 

 

 

The rain from my heart

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teardrop

A single drop,

a salty tear,

lingers in the corner of my eye,

tentative at first,

until the relief comes

from letting go of the emotion

I’ve held so close to my heart.

One drop follows the contour of my cheek,

marking the path for others to follow.

I feel solace in that line of emotion.

I trace it with my finger

as countless tears fall in succession,

trailing the first,

releasing my imprisoned worry.

Only the silence hears me cry,

and when my tears have all but gone,

the clouds over my heart are lifted,

and my rain has washed away my unease.

 

I’ll have what she’s having….

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I have several friends who suffer from chronic pain.  Some have a mildly annoying dull ache that never goes away and some are almost immobilized by debilitating pain.  My dog recently became a victim of that chronic pain but, unlike my friends, she had no voice to tell me how uncomfortable she had been until it was alarmingly noticeable.

If you read my most recent blog post, you’ll know that I took Callaway in to the vet on Tuesday and the vet prescribed an anti-inflammatory with a mild pain-killer.  After one dose and about six hours, she was a brand new dog.  She regained some of her youthfulness and we seemed to move the clock back by four years.

I immediately became jealous of my dog’s new vitality and joie de vivre.  I told the vet I would call the day after her appointment to report how she was doing on the medication and my first sentence began with “I don’t know what is in that Meloxicam, but I want some”.

what-shes-having

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But as much as I feel the oncoming burdens of aging, I consider myself very lucky that I have not fallen victim to the same incessant pain that my friends must bear.  It seems so unfair that the people who are able to voice their symptoms still suffer the same torment from their chronic pain, try prescription after prescription, and feel no relief at all.

I can only hope that each of you will eventually find your Meloxicam and enjoy the freedom of movement that so many of us take for granted each day.

 

 

In sickness and in stealth

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It happens at the end of every summer season.  Between the concentrated efforts we all put in for the 9 weeks of our summer season, the short hours of sleep and the continual decrease in the staff roster, sickness strikes.  It is stealthy at the onset, seeming to only target one person, but the snowball of affliction slowly picks up speed as it plunges down the slope, accumulating the remaining staff members like helpless snowflakes.  Yesterday, I became one of those snowflakes.  

I didn’t feel unwell when I woke up yesterday morning but, when I greeted my dog, my usual alto voice was expressed as a baritone.  It came as a shock to us both.  I tried to get through the rest of our morning routine, essentially in silence, and made my way into work.

The three cups of coffee did nothing to negate my feeling of infirmity and, although I gave it my best effort, I eventually conceded the loss to my state of ill-health and came home.  What should have been a restful sleep, thanks to some nighttime medication, became a series of small naps interrupted by superfluous coughing spasms.

sick

Being sick in the summer is a truly undesirable ordeal.  I struggled through my work day again today but now find myself wrapped in a blanket on my couch on a balmy summer day.  I’m giving this cough medicine one more chance.  If it doesn’t work – it’s Hot Toddies for me tomorrow!

 

 

 

There’s a nap for that

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Most days our time is spent on routine tasks.  We get up, we have coffee, we prepare ourselves (and possibly a family) for the approaching day and we leave the house, or not, with confidence as we anticipate the next eight to twelve hours of our lives.  It seems like a standard operating procedure.

But life has a way of throwing a myriad number of curve balls into our otherwise predictable strike zone.  It can be exhausting trying to anticipate what is coming next.  By 3:00 pm, the wall looms directly ahead and we plow right into it.

Statue_of_the_Tired_Man

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There is much to be said for getting to the point in your life that admitting an afternoon nap is acceptable.  It doesn’t make us old, it makes us smart.  If you can afford yourself a bit of a break, a 2o-minute power snooze has been proven to boost your energy level, your cognitive skills, your creativity and your memory.

So the next time your boss catches you catching some z’s at your desk, you can simply tell that executive figure that you are clearly increasing your productivity in the workplace.

How do you feel about an afternoon siesta?

 

Optimism is contagious

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I’ll admit I stole my subject line from a Maxwell House commercial but it is an adage that resonates with me.  One of my goals for the year 2016 was to start every day with a positive attitude.  It’s going to end as well as it began – successfully optimistic.  Some days are more difficult than others to maintain that joyful outlook but, even under the stress that lurks in the dark corners, I still look for and embrace that light of optimism.

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It’s really not difficult waking content and rising to meet the morning when the light streams through my curtain-free window and falls on the face of my dog.  She is notably glad to see me come back into consciousness and her smile is the first breath of happiness I inhale each morning.  The smell of Hazelnut Vanilla coffee brewing is a vital, but distant, second.

Attitudes are contagious and energy can be vicariously passed, similar to an unseen as a spirit moving through the shadows, and the vital force it leaves behind is just as palpable.  It is constantly but invisibly lingering in the air and the mood that is portrayed is unconsciously absorbed by others.  I know how much a person with a negative energy can affect me and I want to achieve the polar opposite.

Wouldn’t it be great to feel that optimism and zest for life is contagious and it is passed unwittingly to the people you interact with on a daily basis?  They may not even realize the source of their uplifted spirit but their newly found smile has the potential to create a ripple effect.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.  ~Winston Churchill

The invisible sentinels

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moon

In the wee, small hours of morning,

your concern makes my nerves fray.

Distance creates questions,

that hang in the air unanswered

facial expressions unable to be read,

worry unable to be alleviated.

If I could reach out,

touch your arm for the briefest second,

perhaps that contact would help.

It may ease my worry,

and just maybe it would let you know,

that you never have to face your fear alone.

There is an army behind you,

charging into battle with you,

always there, ready to fight.

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…..

6 Comments

I may not always follow the letter of the law when it comes to my health.  I have been guilty of eating things that are more processed than my hair after it has been freshly dyed.  I have been known to imbibe in some alcoholic beverages which is frowned on….depending on which new study you read.  And I have been culpable of using over-the-counter nasal sprays that wreak havoc on my blood pressure.

Thankfully I am not a hypochondriac and I only take up space in my doctor’s office when I truly have a medical issue or need a prescription refilled.  The moments are few and far between that I will put myself through the painstaking process of arriving considerately early at the office, getting in exceedingly late for my scheduled appointment and then feeling like I am taking up too much of my physician’s time by asking questions.

It took me a while to warm up to my doctor’s “desk-side” manner but I truly appreciate the fact that she does not sugar-coat her curative banter.  I have had my share of real health issues that warranted a trip to the hallowed dominion of her office and I came out wondering if there were a few chapters in her medical books that other doctors had not been privileged enough to read.

I had a severe case of Pneumonia two years ago that could have possibly been diagnosed as a lung infection.  I had been so sick that I purposely subjected myself to a walk-in clinic…..in the middle of the afternoon…….on a Saturday.  After being prescribed a drug that made me feel like I had been chronically licking a tire-iron for a week, I made an appointment to follow up with my doctor.

hippocratic oath

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I was given the good news that the intensely strong medication had its desired effect and my lungs sounded relatively normal.  During the course of my regaling her with my intermittent trips to the office while sick with Pneumonia she casually expressed a few primitive medical terms, obviously from the book that only she received in med school.

The first archaic phrase was uttered and I was called an “idiot”.  This is a much shorter version of the 19th Century diagnosis that was identified as a “profound intellectual disability”.

Approaching with caution, I summoned up the courage to then mention the truthful number of times I had been to the office, and out in public, during my illness and I was then diagnosed as “stupid”.  I have since examined an alternate medical journal a little more closely and found that analysis of my symptoms to be defined as Fecal Encephalopathy which, roughly translated, means “shit for brains”.

I have always held on to the hope that my doctor has remained on the cutting edge of technology, that she is one of the few rural doctors that truly has her finger on the pulse of modern medicine.  What I had not prepared myself for was the fact that she was reverting back to honest medicine and just calling a spade a spade.