We've all heard about or experienced how the healthcare system in this country is broken. Specifically, that 45 million or so people are without health coverage and that hospitals that accept indigent patients are going broke.
I would like to address other ways in which the system is broken--and could be so easily improved with so little money.
I am a member of Kaiser Permanente, one of the biggest, if not the biggest, HMOs in the country. Kaiser is all about processing patients, not about healing. The following are my recommendations to improve the system and make it more conducive to health:
* Keep it clean! Two of the last few times I've been hospitalized, I've been horrified by the filth. On one occasion at the Harbor City hospital, there was blood on my sheets and blood on th floor. I told the nurse, who said he was not authorized to clean it up. I asked for cleaning supplies so I could do it myself, but he said that was not allowed either. And while at the Bellflower hospital, I saw feces on the bathroom floor before the cleaning staff entered the room and after they left. This is why I now ask my son to thoroughly clean my hospital room before I enter it. This shouldn't be necessary. And my next precaution is to bring anti-bacterial wipes for any personnel who step through the door to attend to me. All this to prevent the staff infections that are killing and debilitating thousands in our nation's hospitals.
* Turn off the TVs! About 15 years ago, Kaiser introduced TVs into waiting rooms. At first, they displayed soothing nature scenes accompanied by soft classical music. This was fantastic. But soon enough these healing images and sounds were replaced with TV shock shows. How many times I have gone to a cardiology appointment only to be assaulted by distraught, disturbed, and disturbing drama queens and kings shouting at each other and traipsing their crazy lives in front of all the world to see.
* Bring some life inside. I feel as if I'm in some Soviet-era government building when inside a Kaiser facility. What is needed are living plants and aquariums and aviaries. Patients who are surrounded by vibrant living things tend to do better than those who are denied contact with life that is flourishing.
* Give patients a rub. While patients are waiting for a stress-inducing doctor appointment or diagnostic test, why not have a massage therapist give them a shoulder rub or massage their hands? What a relaxing, stress-alleviating, healing experience!
* Get rid of the numbers. Decentralize healthcare services so that the receptionists actually know the patients by name. This is one of the chief differences between going to an HMO and going to an alternative practitioner. In fact, when I call my acupuncturist's office, he often picks up the phone. This is in contrast to Kaiser's maze of buffers before ever reaching the doctor. In fact, I have never reached a Kaiser doctor. Even when he or she does receive my message, a nurse returns my call, not the doctor. And then the nurse doesn't leave a message besides saying that I should call back, and so the same frustrating experience begins anew. This can go on for days or even a week before a question can be answered, and by then the patient is either dead or over whatever it was that was the problem.
Until my recommendations are enacted, I will continue to bring cleaning supplies to the hospital and to psychically protect myself from all the negative vibes and all the antagonistic-to-healing components of the HMO system.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Still Expecting a Miracle
Despite some dark thoughts and pessimistic worrying during the past two months, my overall attitude is one of hope. I am still expecting a miracle.
This is the Season of Light, so what better time for a miracle. I am focused on the healing of my body, especially the restoration of my kidneys and heart to optimal working order.
Each night and morning when I meditate, I feel the vibrations throughout my body, pulsations of vibrancy and health. Each day I affirm my improved health and give thanks to beings of light and love who are working with my body during the dream state to bring it into alignment with its master plan of health.
In the past week, I have noticed some positive changes. My breathing is no longer labored when I am lying down. I only need two pillows under my head at night and not four or five. In fact, there have been nights in the past few months when I had to sit in a straight-back chair in order to breathe--a position that is not conducive to sleep. Also, I am able to walk quite a distance without becoming short of breath or growing fatigued. Case in point: During the evening of caroling, I probably walked 14 blocks. Even a few weeks ago, I had trouble walking to my truck, much less to the end of the block. This is a great improvement. And I am no longer exhausted in the middle of the day and need to take a nap. Yes, indeed, a miracle is definitely in the works.
I am putting off surgery, knowing that it will soon be unnecessary. The miracle is manifesting in perceivable improvements. My body is aligning with health, vitality, strength, and vibrancy. The miracle that I have been anticipating for almost four decades is drawing nigh in this season of miracles.
This is the Season of Light, so what better time for a miracle. I am focused on the healing of my body, especially the restoration of my kidneys and heart to optimal working order.
Each night and morning when I meditate, I feel the vibrations throughout my body, pulsations of vibrancy and health. Each day I affirm my improved health and give thanks to beings of light and love who are working with my body during the dream state to bring it into alignment with its master plan of health.
In the past week, I have noticed some positive changes. My breathing is no longer labored when I am lying down. I only need two pillows under my head at night and not four or five. In fact, there have been nights in the past few months when I had to sit in a straight-back chair in order to breathe--a position that is not conducive to sleep. Also, I am able to walk quite a distance without becoming short of breath or growing fatigued. Case in point: During the evening of caroling, I probably walked 14 blocks. Even a few weeks ago, I had trouble walking to my truck, much less to the end of the block. This is a great improvement. And I am no longer exhausted in the middle of the day and need to take a nap. Yes, indeed, a miracle is definitely in the works.
I am putting off surgery, knowing that it will soon be unnecessary. The miracle is manifesting in perceivable improvements. My body is aligning with health, vitality, strength, and vibrancy. The miracle that I have been anticipating for almost four decades is drawing nigh in this season of miracles.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Caroling for Brandy Yields Booze and Good Cheer
Last night I and 10 other merry-makers caroled our way from door to door, bringing joy to the Rose Park area of Long Beach. Since I am the one who began this tradition some 25 years ago in Wisconsin and finally, finally, finally, others are catching on that this is tremendous fun, I got to ring the doorbells and direct the singers. Except for Lisa, one of son Aaron's coworkers, who has a degree in vocal music, none of us have trained voices. But that really didn't matter. We made up for our lack of talent with great bursts of enthusiasm.
At households where I deemed the occupants were partyers, I'd give a little signal to my fellow carolers and we'd close with a second verse of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," which goes like this: "Now bring us a cup of brandy/Now bring us a cup of brandy/Now bring us a cup of brandy/And a shot and a beer." This goes back to the first caroling venture on a cold winter night in Wisconsin with my then-husband, my brother and his wife.
I gave the signal at Ali's house, but his dog ran off and he had to fetch him. By that time we were across the street at the home of a woman who brought out her tambourine to accompany our "Jingle Bells." As we finished there, Ali ran across the street, beckoning us back to his place. He had gotten a bottle of brandy from his liquor cabinet and poured a dozen shot glasses for us. As I no longer drink--doesn't appeal to me anymore and it doesn't do my health any good--a few of my fellows got two shots.
We stopped at the drive-through lane at Golden Burger. These folk were thrilled with "Feliz Navidad" and offered us money--which we refused--and sodas. Next up was Portfolio Coffeehouse, which like last year was populated with bored hipsters and PC-entranced yuppies. Both sets were too cool to give us any mind. What dullards!
A few other houses, one with two guys, one holding a beer, but not offering us one. Another with two women, new homeowners who were so happy we'd stopped by. A house with a couple and a young child, who gave us his leftover Halloween candy. A house we had visited last year at which the family sat on the porch after supper, apparently waiting for random magic--like a group of carolers. And then there was Suzanne, who asked to join in, so Othman shared his song sheet and she belted out "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."
Then it was on to O'Connell's, a neighborhood bar complete with pool tables. Music was blaring from the jukebox, so I asked the bar tender to turn it down because we were going to sing. He obliged. We hit them with the first chorus of "Here We Come A-Wassailing." I then turned to our audience and asked, "Any requests?" A burly guy quipped, "Let's see your tits." I didn't miss a beat: "No! A song!" Since no requests were made, I gave the signal to close with our special version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." At first the bartender said something about no money, no booze. Then Othman countered with, "We know you've got brandy here." The bartender gave in when I said that we come here all the time and pay for our drinks. He gave us three pitchers of beer on the house!
Wishing to be on our way, back to the business of caroling, I ordered my fellows to down their drinks. Shouting a merry Christmas to all, we were out the door. We stopped in front of the cafe next door. It was closed, but we sang anyway. The owner unlocked the door, and we sang our hearts out for the amused table of four that was finishing their late supper. Most of my group was pretty smashed, so the carol was off-key with different singers finishing at different times. Othman explained: "Some of us are a little drunk." I asked if the diners had any requests. They laughed and one of the them said, "Oh, no, I don't know how you could top that!" We wished them a merry Christmas and headed home, stopping only to serenade a lone walker.
The evening ended around the Christmas tree with me passing out gifts to my fellow carolers. Blueberry juice for Othman as he had not known that such a thing existed. A vintage scarf and vintage earrings for Christina, who dresses in '50s attire. Balls of yarn, pipe cleaners, and glitter pom-poms for her boyfriend, Mike, who I said was creative enough to know how to use these in the bedroom. A Batman mask and a bottle of champagne for Bryant. Funny magnets for Dennis. The U.S. Constitution and "1001 Places to See Before You Die" for Othman. And what was best of all--a Lonely Planet guidebook to Southeast Asia and a map of the same for Tyler, who said that was the next place he wanted to go. He was so thrilled that I had known this. "Of course I knew, Tyler," I told him. I also gave him a huge tome of natural remedies, of the right foods for hundreds of ailments--a book he had been looking at in Spanish while traveling in Peru, but he said having the English version would be so much easier.
What a grand evening of fun and merriment for us and of holiday magic for those we regaled.
At households where I deemed the occupants were partyers, I'd give a little signal to my fellow carolers and we'd close with a second verse of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," which goes like this: "Now bring us a cup of brandy/Now bring us a cup of brandy/Now bring us a cup of brandy/And a shot and a beer." This goes back to the first caroling venture on a cold winter night in Wisconsin with my then-husband, my brother and his wife.
I gave the signal at Ali's house, but his dog ran off and he had to fetch him. By that time we were across the street at the home of a woman who brought out her tambourine to accompany our "Jingle Bells." As we finished there, Ali ran across the street, beckoning us back to his place. He had gotten a bottle of brandy from his liquor cabinet and poured a dozen shot glasses for us. As I no longer drink--doesn't appeal to me anymore and it doesn't do my health any good--a few of my fellows got two shots.
We stopped at the drive-through lane at Golden Burger. These folk were thrilled with "Feliz Navidad" and offered us money--which we refused--and sodas. Next up was Portfolio Coffeehouse, which like last year was populated with bored hipsters and PC-entranced yuppies. Both sets were too cool to give us any mind. What dullards!
A few other houses, one with two guys, one holding a beer, but not offering us one. Another with two women, new homeowners who were so happy we'd stopped by. A house with a couple and a young child, who gave us his leftover Halloween candy. A house we had visited last year at which the family sat on the porch after supper, apparently waiting for random magic--like a group of carolers. And then there was Suzanne, who asked to join in, so Othman shared his song sheet and she belted out "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."
Then it was on to O'Connell's, a neighborhood bar complete with pool tables. Music was blaring from the jukebox, so I asked the bar tender to turn it down because we were going to sing. He obliged. We hit them with the first chorus of "Here We Come A-Wassailing." I then turned to our audience and asked, "Any requests?" A burly guy quipped, "Let's see your tits." I didn't miss a beat: "No! A song!" Since no requests were made, I gave the signal to close with our special version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." At first the bartender said something about no money, no booze. Then Othman countered with, "We know you've got brandy here." The bartender gave in when I said that we come here all the time and pay for our drinks. He gave us three pitchers of beer on the house!
Wishing to be on our way, back to the business of caroling, I ordered my fellows to down their drinks. Shouting a merry Christmas to all, we were out the door. We stopped in front of the cafe next door. It was closed, but we sang anyway. The owner unlocked the door, and we sang our hearts out for the amused table of four that was finishing their late supper. Most of my group was pretty smashed, so the carol was off-key with different singers finishing at different times. Othman explained: "Some of us are a little drunk." I asked if the diners had any requests. They laughed and one of the them said, "Oh, no, I don't know how you could top that!" We wished them a merry Christmas and headed home, stopping only to serenade a lone walker.
The evening ended around the Christmas tree with me passing out gifts to my fellow carolers. Blueberry juice for Othman as he had not known that such a thing existed. A vintage scarf and vintage earrings for Christina, who dresses in '50s attire. Balls of yarn, pipe cleaners, and glitter pom-poms for her boyfriend, Mike, who I said was creative enough to know how to use these in the bedroom. A Batman mask and a bottle of champagne for Bryant. Funny magnets for Dennis. The U.S. Constitution and "1001 Places to See Before You Die" for Othman. And what was best of all--a Lonely Planet guidebook to Southeast Asia and a map of the same for Tyler, who said that was the next place he wanted to go. He was so thrilled that I had known this. "Of course I knew, Tyler," I told him. I also gave him a huge tome of natural remedies, of the right foods for hundreds of ailments--a book he had been looking at in Spanish while traveling in Peru, but he said having the English version would be so much easier.
What a grand evening of fun and merriment for us and of holiday magic for those we regaled.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
You Know You're Desperate When...
You know you're desperate when your most plausible chance for restoration to health involves abduction by space aliens. That's where I am now.
My fantasy involves me being beamed up to a spaceship by beneficent ETs who
1) recognize me as one of their own who was dropped on this planet
a) by mistake or
b) to undertake a crucial mission that has gone sadly awry or
2) are attuned to my vibrations, which are unlike those of the majority of my human companions, and so they "spot" me on planet Earth in need of their help.
They are so kind to me, staring at me with genuine compassion with their huge bug eyes. They gently pet me. They communicate messages of love and assurance to me without uttering a word; all is conveyed telepathically. This is not at all like the abductions you've heard and read about. This is a homecoming. A reunion of compatible souls.
My alien family takes me to an operating room. There they make the tiniest of incisions, or perhaps don't make a cut at all. They extract a few healthy cells from my pancreas, my spleen, my heart, and my kidneys. They kiss my forehead, and I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
During my slumbers, my ET physicians grow new organs for me. Before I awake, they slip my old, worn-out, barely operating heart, pancreas, spleen, and kidneys out of my body and slip into place the new, perfectly functioning organs they've cooked up for me in the lab.
Upon waking, these loving souls tell me, telepathically, of course, that I no longer need to be hooked up to an insulin pump, that I will never have to take an injection of insulin again, that my coronary arteries are completely open, that my heart is in top form, that my kidneys are now operating at 100 percent, that my spleen is doing whatever it is that a spleen was meant to do. In short, my body has been restored to the fullness and vibrancy and health it was meant to embody. I am healed!
This fantasy has replaced another restoration-to-health fantasy I have entertained for a decade or so: A man from an exotic locale, usually a musician, but sometimes a photographer, meets me by chance at a restaurant or grocery store or while taking a walk. There is an instant attraction. A beautiful romance develops.
Because of his wide-ranging travels, he has met many strange and amazing people, one of whom is a healer. Depending on his nationality--he is sometimes Afghan, sometimes Pakastani, sometimes Iranian, once in a while Irish or Russian--we make a long and arduous journey to a remote corner of the world where we meet up with this healer, who through potions and ceremonies and ancient rituals, cures what ails me. Of course, the implication is also that the love of my romantic partner has a large part to play in my healing as well.
The reason why the handsome, exotic artist has been replaced by space aliens is because I believe it is more likely that I will encounter the latter than the former. So, if you're out there, please use your telepathic powers to divine the pure nature of my intent to be well. And please beam me up!
My fantasy involves me being beamed up to a spaceship by beneficent ETs who
1) recognize me as one of their own who was dropped on this planet
a) by mistake or
b) to undertake a crucial mission that has gone sadly awry or
2) are attuned to my vibrations, which are unlike those of the majority of my human companions, and so they "spot" me on planet Earth in need of their help.
They are so kind to me, staring at me with genuine compassion with their huge bug eyes. They gently pet me. They communicate messages of love and assurance to me without uttering a word; all is conveyed telepathically. This is not at all like the abductions you've heard and read about. This is a homecoming. A reunion of compatible souls.
My alien family takes me to an operating room. There they make the tiniest of incisions, or perhaps don't make a cut at all. They extract a few healthy cells from my pancreas, my spleen, my heart, and my kidneys. They kiss my forehead, and I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
During my slumbers, my ET physicians grow new organs for me. Before I awake, they slip my old, worn-out, barely operating heart, pancreas, spleen, and kidneys out of my body and slip into place the new, perfectly functioning organs they've cooked up for me in the lab.
Upon waking, these loving souls tell me, telepathically, of course, that I no longer need to be hooked up to an insulin pump, that I will never have to take an injection of insulin again, that my coronary arteries are completely open, that my heart is in top form, that my kidneys are now operating at 100 percent, that my spleen is doing whatever it is that a spleen was meant to do. In short, my body has been restored to the fullness and vibrancy and health it was meant to embody. I am healed!
This fantasy has replaced another restoration-to-health fantasy I have entertained for a decade or so: A man from an exotic locale, usually a musician, but sometimes a photographer, meets me by chance at a restaurant or grocery store or while taking a walk. There is an instant attraction. A beautiful romance develops.
Because of his wide-ranging travels, he has met many strange and amazing people, one of whom is a healer. Depending on his nationality--he is sometimes Afghan, sometimes Pakastani, sometimes Iranian, once in a while Irish or Russian--we make a long and arduous journey to a remote corner of the world where we meet up with this healer, who through potions and ceremonies and ancient rituals, cures what ails me. Of course, the implication is also that the love of my romantic partner has a large part to play in my healing as well.
The reason why the handsome, exotic artist has been replaced by space aliens is because I believe it is more likely that I will encounter the latter than the former. So, if you're out there, please use your telepathic powers to divine the pure nature of my intent to be well. And please beam me up!
Monday, December 01, 2008
A Board Game Turns Things Around
I was having a very hard time of things, and then I was invited over to a friend's mother's house for Thanksgiving and we played a board game after dinner. What a difference that made! A simple board game with lots of laughs, and my outlook on life shifted. Amazing!
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