Thank You, Helene!

My good friend Helene scrubbed my cabin to get it in shape for my visit. She bought the needed Lysol spray, hydrogen peroxide, paper towels, Lysol wipes, and sundry other supplies for keeping a clean abode. She also was there when the dialysis solution arrived, and she took inventory of the boxes. And she even finished off the bedroom, filling in gaps in the paneling through which the insulation was showing through, then painted the bedroom walls and floor. She put a baseboard in, too, to give it a tidy look. The paint she chose is a beautiful blue that matches the blue in the gnome curtains and table cloths. In short, she put in a lot of work to make my cabin clean and welcoming. So a big thank you to Helene!



Thanks, too, to Helene for including me in her social life. In truth, I have had more social engagements in the past few days than I have in six months in So Cal. And the amount of time I have spent with Helene, even though she is working more than full-time as a cook at the pub, exceeds the time I spend in a given year with any So Cal friend. It's amazing how in small towns, people slow down and take the time to be with one another. This is such a wonderful change of pace.

Would You Laugh if You Swallowed One Month's Pay?

For the last eight months or so, I have been having challenges with my veneers. My upper four front teeth have veneers because, for all of my childhood and much of my adulthood, people would comment about my yellow teeth. Yellow teeth run in my mother's side of the family, and whether that's a genetic thing or a geographical thing linked to the water, I don't know. But I've never liked them, and so about 15 years ago, I did something about it.

Lately, the adhesive has not been holding, so I have made frequent visits to my dentist, who, bless her soul, is always trying new ones on me. Denette gets excited about trade shows, hoping she'll find a miracle product to use on my veneers.

Denette is such a mensch that she hasn't been charging me for all this rebonding. She's probably fit me into her busy schedule a half dozen times during the last eight months. So when one of my veneers kept falling off, I didn't want to bug her. I thought I'd wait for my next teeth-cleaning. So during the past three months, my veneer has come loose a hundred times or more. Sometimes all the way off and sometimes just a little. Sometimes it ends up in my food. Sometimes other people see this!

I wanted to get this taken care of before I left for Canada tomorrow, so I have a dentist appointment in about a half hour. The only thing is during lunch today, I swallowed my veneer! Can you believe it! Three months of me gluing it in place with Elmer's and of futzing with it no end, and then hours before my dentist appointment, I swallow it! The irony of this has not escaped me.

All I can do is giggle.

And then I remembered how much veneers cost. Oh, my God! $500--my entire monthly pension from Cal State! I wonder how many people would laugh about swallowing their entire month's pay! Perhaps that should be an online dating question. It would certainly be a great divider of the world's people--those who could chuckle and those who would curse.

Might as Well Include Health in my Pact Too

OK, from now on, I will not comment on my emotional state regarding dialysis or my health in general. I will only state facts. I can state facts such as "I am depressed due to an antibiotic," as I did in an earlier post today, but it does no good to voice negative emotions. Voicing them merely feeds them. For most of life, I have followed this creed, but it seems that I have slipped quite a bit lately. I will be more diligent and self-controlled from now on.

Another Wait List Update

Well, the results of the MUGA test were not great--35 percent pumping capacity for the left ventricle. Dr. Phan says that anything 35 or lower is a sign of a heart that could stop at any moment without warning. He and Dr. Lee from UCLA are now thinking of an implantable cardioverter defibrillator (ICD). This is generally used for patients with arrhythmia, which I don't have, but in my case it would be used as a preventative, that is, in case my heart does stop, this would restart it.

My trip to Canada will give them a month to mull it over. I have an appt. to see Dr. Lee on Monday, Sept. 14, after I return from my vacation.

Other than that, things are in a holding pattern for the next few weeks.

Belated Birthday Thanks

I would like to say a special thank you to Aaron, Bev, Diana, Chris and Mark for taking me out for my birthday. Aaron bought me a plant for a decorative pot my neighbor gave me, and then took me out for Indian food at my favorite Long Beach restaurant, Kamal Palace. Unfortunately, later that day, I had a violent attack of vertigo and up-chucked the chutney. Diana and Bev took me to dinner in old town Tustin at Rutabagorzand then to a small comedy club in a nearby office complex. We sat in the front row (of three rows) and laughed and laughed, which is always a good thing.

The event with Chris and Mark was a surprise. I knew that the two were flying into LA from San Francisco for Chris's birthday (one day before mine), and Mark and I had talked of the three of us getting together for a meal. But then they invited me to share their box seats at the Hollywood Bowl to see Grace Jones! Wow, what a show! Mark's long-time friend John Halsey accompanied us. This was quite a delightful evening: Grace Jones looked great, she was incredibly sexy, and her costumes were out of this world.



Mark and I are always tremendously silly together, which I enjoy no end. I'm sorry that Chris and I did not get more of a chance to talk, as Chris said, "You two have been speaking your own language all night long!"




So, thanks, guys, for including me, and thanks, Chris, for my ticket.

Off to Canada

I'm off to Canada on Tuesday. This is a huge step. My first trip since beginning dialysis, that is, except for one night away from home during Chick Cabin Weekend in May.

I have had three paramedic-ER-hospitalization dramas in the last five weeks. All episodes of severe vertigo (environment spinning, bouncing up and down, and side to side[ couldn't stand; couldn't walk; closing eyes didn't help), uncontrollable vomiting, and very high blood pressure. The cause of these crises is undetermined, but I tend to agree with my nephrologist, who feels the culprit is ciprofloxacin, which was given to me at the end of July to combat an infection in my dialysis tubing. Cipro was also responsible for bouts of depression and weepiness during the treatment time. Unfortunately, cipro is the only oral antibiotic that can attack micro-organisms living on plastic. The only alternative is to receive antibiotics by IV in the hospital. This would be much preferrable to these vertigo spells and to the depression.

The first bout of vertigo was July 2, which was prior to the cipro, but this was also associated with very low blood sugar. Vertigo has never been a symptom of hyperglycemia for me, but perhaps my symptoms are changing.

I had a less severe episode on Wednesday. I was simply talking on the phone when it came on. I had great difficulty walking (had to move along a wall or a cabinet to remain standing), but I didn't vomit and I didn't have to call the paramedics. Even though I stopped taking the cipro a week ago Thursday, cipro side effects can occur up to a month or more after discontinuation. And as I am a dialysis patient, toxins are removed from my body more slowly than in a person with healthy kidneys.

The long and short of it is that I am envisioning a paramedic-free, ER-free, hospital-free vacation in Nova Scotia!

Keep Your Mind Guarded Like a City in Battle

From an ancient Chinese medicine text, "The Yellow Emperor's Canon on Internal Medicine," comes these sage words: "Keep your mind guarded like a city in battle." I fell in love with these words the first time I encountered them.

Since that encounter, I see myself as a guard stationed above the door to the castle. A stranger comes to the door and wants to be let in. I tell him that he can speak his mind, and I will then decide whether to grant him entrance. The stranger, of course, are ideas, beliefs, advice, theories, and opinions. The guard listens to all of them, just like I am free to listen to anything anyone says. I then must do the most important job: decide whether such an idea should take up residence in the castle or if it should be sent on its merry way.

As so often happens in life, there are two messengers at my gate with divergent messages. The one who has been there for decades are all the folks over the years who have been telling me that I am too independent and that men want to feel needed by a woman. My friend Beverly, with whom I confided on such matters, says that any man who sees me in one of my full-body orgasms will run for the hills, thinking that if I can get set off by a good kiss or even the touch of a hand, what need do I have for him! But whether it's low sexual threshold or traveling by myself or not falling all over every man who comes along, it's my independence that is keeping men away. That's been the prevailing sentiment. But yesterday Susie told me that I am needy and that this is keeping men away.

I have looked deeply at both these messages, and I have decided not to let either one of them enter my castle. I am proud of my resourcefulness and independence. I get a great sense of satisfaction when I can figure out how to fix something on my own. Of course, I would love to have a man in my life who would say, "Oh, honey, let me do that for you." Wow, that would be fantastic. But he's not here, and I'm not going to start compromising who I am at this late stage. As Tracy Chapman sang, "All I've got is my soul." Amen to that! True, the vast majority of men may be insecure, as Beverly is always telling me. The vast majority might give me a kiss and send me into a bout of quivering and writhing, and that might scare them. But I'm not interested in that kind of man. I'm interested in the kind of man who would see that and say, "Damn, honey, that's what you do with a kiss! I can't wait to see what happens when we take our clothes off!"

Is Sad the Same as Needy?

I was in the hospital Saturday and Sunday with another attack of sudden-onset vertigo. While there, I spoke with my friend Susie, the amazing gal who has just donated one of her kidneys to her friend's husband. Susie is a dynamic, playful, intelligent, big-busted, big-hearted woman. Truly remarkable. So when Susie says something, I take heed.

Susie says my posts express a neediness for a man, and that my neediness is keeping men away, that the sadness expressed in my posts are really the writings of a needy woman. As "needy" is not a word I would ever use to describe myself, I thought I had best take a good look at what Susie said.

True, I have been down at times. This last week or so has been very difficult, with bouts of weepiness for seemingly no reason, but I finally associated this with the antibiotic I was taking for the infection of my dialysis tube. I finished the regimen yesterday, and my mood has definitely improved. Other than such pharmaceutically induced blues, I really have been feeling remarkably well since March. (The first month of dialysis and the build-up to dialysis were very difficult, but then I would think they would be difficult for anyone. Surely, no one wants to be doing dialysis.)

I went back and reread the posts in which I share the strategies I have used over the years to boost or maintain my mood--saying aloud "I am loved, I am deeply loved," hugging myself, and going on "fun walks" in which I am very attentive to the beauty around me. In each of these posts I admitted that initially these practices did not bring me joy, that at first they highlighted my aloneness. But in every case, I ended with the deep and profound recognition that something much greater than the little self--call it God if you will--is sending me love. If someone only reads the first half of these posts, yes, I'd agree that they might be downers. But if you read to the end, you see that these are joyful experiences, certainly not desperate or needy.

When I was a child and a young adult and even a not-so-young adult, I was needy. I was in an uninterrupted state of depression and frequent withdrawal from the world. But that Heidi just doesn't exist any more. I had a shift several years ago, a shift that released food as a coping strategy, a particularly life-threatening coping strategy for a diabetic. This shift also included major changes in the way I perceived myself, my mission, and my relationship to other people. Basically, I decided to be happy, no matter what.

Now, of course, things happen in life that challenge that state of being, but these dark times are far less dark than they have been in the past, and they are much more short-lived. Darkness sometimes passes over me like a cold breeze, and I am sad or weepy for a minute or two, and then it is gone.

Susie not only prompted thinking about my own character, but about the wider question: Is sad the same as needy? I sure don't think so. To me, sad is to needy as poor is to moochy (or whatever the adjective is for being a moocher). Sad is personal, something you can keep to yourself, something you can indulge in when you're alone but go out into the world with a smile and a glow about you. One goes home to weep alone, just like one goes home to shit alone, to get out the impurities, so that one can go back into the world refreshed. Needy is 24/7. Sad is personal and can be contained so that it only effects the person who is sad. Others may know the sad person and even be good friends with her and yet always think of her as the happiest, sunniest person going. Needy is a drain on others; needy zaps the people it's around. Similarly, poor is a statement of fact: Someone is poor, he lives in a substandard dwelling, his clothes are worn, and he has few possessions. This is very different from a moocher, who is also poor but who begs, borrows, and cheats his way into getting others to give him a place to live or his next meal or a new set of clothes. He zaps others, whereas the poor man does not. The poor man accepts his state of being and lives as best he can within what has been given to him. So, definitely, all needy people are sad people, but the reverse is not true.

Wait List Update

Several developments in the wait list saga:

* Met with my Kaiser cardiologist, Dr. Phan, who said that my UCLA cardiologist, Dr. Van Herle, is leaving UCLA. I have been assigned a new cardiologist, Dr. Michael Lee--yes, another Michael, which I am taking as a good sign. I have called about an appointment with Dr. Lee, but have not yet secured one.

* I am holding off on the angiogram until after I meet with Dr. Lee. To recap, the angiogram uses a dye that is damaging to the kidneys. Furthermore, patients who are asymptomatic (no chest pain) fare worse with stent surgery (the end result of an angiogram) than without. Also, I have no guarantee that I'll be on the wait list if I do the stent surgery, so this is potentially a lose-lose-lose situation for me.

* Dr. Lee told Dr. Phan that he is willing to begin with a MUGA (Multiple Gated Acquistion) test, which will measure my heart's pumping ability or EF. This should clear up two inconsistent sets of data, one from the nuclear scan done about two months ago that indicated my EF was around 30 and the other from an echocardiogram, which showed an EF of 50, which is the low side of normal.

Months ago I had made plans to go to Canada, thinking that for sure the wait list would be decided by August. Alas, such is not the case. Most likely I will have to wait until after my return on Sept. 9 to undergo the MUGA and see Dr. Lee, so I may not have much news for a while.

Please see my left ventricle pumping like crazy, supplying my heart with all the blood and oxygen it needs to do its job perfectly, smoothly, and effortlessly.

I am Loved, I am Deeply Loved

Every once in a while, I need a boost, even if I have to supply it myself. I have written about the hug-myself and Spassiergang strategies in previous posts, and I'd like to share another means to maintain one's spirits.

Shortly after I began giving massages for a living, I began holding the thought that the person on my table is loved, deeply loved. I did not say this aloud, but I concentrated on these words and sent their power into the person's body and consciousness. As I did this, I visualized and then felt the loving energy of the universe enter my crown and travel to my heart and then down my arms and out my hands. As I held this thought, I, too, felt deeply loved.



This is a very powerful meditation, as it does not name the person, so the "you" who is deeply loved is both the client and me. In fact, the "you" seems to disappear until only love, pure and limitless and unspecified, remains.

Also, the lover is not named, so the love is not contingent upon this or that person's affections. "You are loved, you are deeply loved" is a statement of each and every person's birthright. In this way, it is far more powerful than "John loves Judy" or "John loves Jack." Love is, always and forever, though it's form may change.



Over the years, I have often whispered "I am loved, I am deeply loved" to myself when I was feeling left out of romantic love or when friends were hard to find. Sometimes this helped me feel better, and sometimes I just felt worse, berating myself for having to be the one to say these words to me.

But I kept saying them nonetheless, adopting the fake-it-until-you-make-it strategy. In time, I shifted in this respect as in many others, and the words turned from mockery into an expression of joyfulness. At such times, I enter into the space of the non-specific lover, and I feel love eminating from the moon and the trees and an evening breeze and a ray of sunshine. All are animated, and all seem to be saying, "Heidi, you are loved, you are deeply loved."

Then a few weeks ago, I had a beautiful insight. For decades I have been affirming that with every day that passes, the man who is matched to me is drawing ever closer. I have also asked that he visit me in my dreams and, by so doing, reach out to me in waking life. The insight that came to me when I was actually feeling quite a bit down about spending yet another year boyfriend- and husband-less was that the man who is matched to me--wherever he may be--deeply loves me. Just as I deeply love him and reach out to him through my prayers and affirmations and dreams, and by so doing, deeply love him, so, too, is he reaching out to me and loving me through his prayers, affirmations, and dreams. What a fascinating kind of love that is! Worth a short story, I'd say.