It's awfully hot today, so I only took Rasputin for a short walk this afternoon--down the block and back home via the alley. As we neared the gate off the alley, we came across a young man sitting in the brambles, holding a brown bag from which emerged the top of a large Miller's bottle. He had a full head of wavy, black hair and beautiful dark eyes. His clothes were worn but not shabby. Definitely the most handsome homeless man I'd ever seen and one of the best looking men I've seen of any kind for a long time. There seemed to be a kindness about him. Unlike the chronically homeless I've often met, his consciousness was not solely fixed on survival.
As he and I exchanged friendly glances and I admonished Rasputin to "be nice," I heard young women's voices singing from the porch of the sorority house at the end of the alley and across the street. I continued to walk toward the back gate, but then stopped to listen before passing into the backyard. The sweetness of their song was so incredibly poignant. It was a song of sisterhood and lifelong bonds. It was a song welcoming new girls into the house.
The juxtaposition of the young man whose only friend appeared to be a Miller's bottle and these young girls singing about the emotional bond between them was overwhelmingly clear to me. I glanced down the alley toward the man and saw that he too was looking in the direction of the girls, no doubt feeling the poignancy himself.
I got some juice boxes and four energy bars from my kitchen, walked back to the man, and said that it was so hot today that I was concerned he'd get dehydrated. He motioned to the brown bag and said, "And this isn't helping." I smiled and agreed that it wasn't.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Blind Leading the Blind
This past Saturday my friend Bev and I participated in a hike with the blind. I had expected to hold the hand of a sightless person and guide him or her along the trail. Boy, was I wrong!
When I arrived at Newport Bay Back, approximately 25 sighted persons from the OC hiking meetup group, a half dozen blind people, and Bev were already assembled. The leader was Brian Bushway, a gregarious, 30s-ish bear of a guy who freely made light of his blindness. He was a true joy. He and the other "mobility coaches" led the sighted on a three-mile hike, over sometimes steep and rough terrain. They were all faster hikers than me.
Halfway through the hike, some of the sighted persons donned blindfolds and canes to see how they would fare without vision. Some did surprisingly well; others were completely lost. I'm sure this disparity had to do with the person's observation skills. Each blindfolded person had a blind guide who kept the sighted from getting into any trouble with their footing.
The blind were associated with World Access for the Blind, an amazing group that travels the world, teaching the blind how to do so much more than get from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom. These folks bicycle, mountain bike, and play soccer. Amazing!
They employ a technique that allows the blind to picture their surroundings through interpreting the sounds that bounce back to them from their tongue clicking, a form of echolocation.
Though of course I do not even entertain the possibility of blindness, I fully realize that diabetes is the leading cause of blindness in the U.S. I always thought that I would do myself in if I went on dialysis, but now I've been on dialysis for almost 19 months. Now, because of these remarkable individuals from World Access for the Blind, I also realize that blindness does not have to be the end of the road.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
My Farting Dialysis Machine
Before I began dialysis, I looked forward to holing myself up in my bedroom at night, pulling the blinds and the curtains, donning my sleeping mask, and dozing in darkness and quiet, the covers pulled high around my neck. My son once said that I'd be happy sleeping in a tomb.
Dialysis has brought a major change in that scenario. Sure, I can still achieve the darkness, but silence is a long-gone pleasure. For the 9 1/2-10 1/2 hours that I am doing therapy, the machine chugs, glugs, squirts, hums, buzzes, slurps, and farts continuously. One 6-litre bag sets on the heater to warm it up before it's injected into my peritoneum. A 5-litre bag and a 2-litre bag set on the therapy table. All 13 litres pass into my body during the night, and 11 pass out and are squirted into the 5-gallon drain jug, which I empty into the bath tub or the toilet in the morning. The remaining 2 litres I carry around with me all day until they're drained out at the beginning of therapy that night. So solution is always moving--into me, out of me, into the bag on the heater, into the drain jug. It's a lot of chug-a-lugging.
I have tried ear plugs and kleenex in my ears and pillows over my head. I've also tried to buffer the noise by putting two lap quilts under the machine so that it doesn't wiggle against the therapy table. I once put quilts over the machine, then thought better of it: The heater could easily burn the quilt and start a fire. All this helps a little, but not nearly enough.
Add to this the alarms. For the first few months I was on dialysis, I'd get up to five alarms a night. Perhaps I had rolled over on the tubing, and the solution could not enter or exit my body. Or the tubing got kinked inside me, something that is usually corrected by shifting position. Or the tubing at the bag became occluded. Or the machine just wanted to disrupt my sleep. Then I'd have to call tech support because the instructions in the manual as to how to correct the problem were always wrong. The techs would always say, "Oh, no, don't do that. Do this," and they'd give me some tip about stroking the back side of the cassette before inserting it into the machine or lifting the bag on the heater and folding it in half. All things that were never mentioned in the manual. Just another frustration in this whole process--a manual full of erroneous information.
Now that I finally have the tricks that I should have been given during my initial training back in February 2009, the alarms do not go off as frequently. But at least once a week, and this past week five times, the alarm goes off. Rarely do I see why. I just scroll down to bypass and then the alarm sounds again, so I bypass again. That usually shuts the thing up.
The only nights since beginning dialysis that I have had silence were the five days I visited Ken in Tucson and did manual exchanges during the day rather than use the machine, the one night I spent at chick cabin weekend last year and again did manuals, and the five days I spent at Kaiser Sunset following my heart surgery as the hospital used a different type of dialysis setup, one that used gravity feed rather than a motor so it was completely silent. These nights were wonderful. I had forgotten how lovely night-time silence is.
The reason why I don't do manual exchanges is because I'd have to do three or four exchanges a day. Upon waking, I'd have to set up my IV pole and let the solution that had been dwelling inside me all night drain out, then let 2 fresh litres drain in. At 1 p.m. and 6 p.m., I'd have to do the same thing. Then before bed I'd do the fourth exchange. Since each manual exchange takes about an hour, when you include setup and cleanup, that means I'm basically doing little else with my day than dialysis. No thanks.
If I were sleeping with someone, then I'd consider manual exchanges. I get caught up in all the tubing myself. I can't imagine the mess that might ensue if I were having sex while doing dialysis. Perhaps the best solution would be hemodialysis. That way I'd just go into a clinic three times a week and be done with it. But hemodialysis is unappealing for other reasons: depressing to see patients at the clinic who aren't taking care of themselves and who are in worse shape than I am, the difficulty of travel, letting someone else be responsible for my health, my distaste of IVs.
Sometimes I close my eyes and remember hearing tree frogs at my cabin in Point Arena or the rush of a river near a place where I was camping or the wind in the trees. These are the sounds I want to experience again just before I fall off to sleep, not the obnoxious farting of a dialysis machine.
Dialysis has brought a major change in that scenario. Sure, I can still achieve the darkness, but silence is a long-gone pleasure. For the 9 1/2-10 1/2 hours that I am doing therapy, the machine chugs, glugs, squirts, hums, buzzes, slurps, and farts continuously. One 6-litre bag sets on the heater to warm it up before it's injected into my peritoneum. A 5-litre bag and a 2-litre bag set on the therapy table. All 13 litres pass into my body during the night, and 11 pass out and are squirted into the 5-gallon drain jug, which I empty into the bath tub or the toilet in the morning. The remaining 2 litres I carry around with me all day until they're drained out at the beginning of therapy that night. So solution is always moving--into me, out of me, into the bag on the heater, into the drain jug. It's a lot of chug-a-lugging.
I have tried ear plugs and kleenex in my ears and pillows over my head. I've also tried to buffer the noise by putting two lap quilts under the machine so that it doesn't wiggle against the therapy table. I once put quilts over the machine, then thought better of it: The heater could easily burn the quilt and start a fire. All this helps a little, but not nearly enough.
Add to this the alarms. For the first few months I was on dialysis, I'd get up to five alarms a night. Perhaps I had rolled over on the tubing, and the solution could not enter or exit my body. Or the tubing got kinked inside me, something that is usually corrected by shifting position. Or the tubing at the bag became occluded. Or the machine just wanted to disrupt my sleep. Then I'd have to call tech support because the instructions in the manual as to how to correct the problem were always wrong. The techs would always say, "Oh, no, don't do that. Do this," and they'd give me some tip about stroking the back side of the cassette before inserting it into the machine or lifting the bag on the heater and folding it in half. All things that were never mentioned in the manual. Just another frustration in this whole process--a manual full of erroneous information.
Now that I finally have the tricks that I should have been given during my initial training back in February 2009, the alarms do not go off as frequently. But at least once a week, and this past week five times, the alarm goes off. Rarely do I see why. I just scroll down to bypass and then the alarm sounds again, so I bypass again. That usually shuts the thing up.
The reason why I don't do manual exchanges is because I'd have to do three or four exchanges a day. Upon waking, I'd have to set up my IV pole and let the solution that had been dwelling inside me all night drain out, then let 2 fresh litres drain in. At 1 p.m. and 6 p.m., I'd have to do the same thing. Then before bed I'd do the fourth exchange. Since each manual exchange takes about an hour, when you include setup and cleanup, that means I'm basically doing little else with my day than dialysis. No thanks.
If I were sleeping with someone, then I'd consider manual exchanges. I get caught up in all the tubing myself. I can't imagine the mess that might ensue if I were having sex while doing dialysis. Perhaps the best solution would be hemodialysis. That way I'd just go into a clinic three times a week and be done with it. But hemodialysis is unappealing for other reasons: depressing to see patients at the clinic who aren't taking care of themselves and who are in worse shape than I am, the difficulty of travel, letting someone else be responsible for my health, my distaste of IVs.
Sometimes I close my eyes and remember hearing tree frogs at my cabin in Point Arena or the rush of a river near a place where I was camping or the wind in the trees. These are the sounds I want to experience again just before I fall off to sleep, not the obnoxious farting of a dialysis machine.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
My Garden Plot
I had to leave that community garden because a shopping mall was going to be built on the site. Remember the song: Take paradise and put up a parking lot. That's quite literally what happened.
In the years since then, I have often thought how wonderful it would be to have a plot again. Last February, soon after I went on dialysis, I stopped by the Wild Oats Community Garden on 10th and Loma to fill out an application. A year passed, and I figured that they had forgotten about me. Then in May I got an email from the gardens, asking if I'd like a plot. I jumped on the offer.
Aaron cleared and tilled the plot, but since then I've taken care of it, watering and weeding every other day. At first I lost nine plants to racoons who were digging for grub, but recently all has been well. I've harvested green and red bell peppers, two kinds of tomatoes, and one delectable cucumber.
A storm drain project will be coming through the gardens beginning in January, and everything has to be cleared out by December. Supposedly, the garden will be given back to us by next June when the construction is completed. During those six months I'll just have to be satisfied with the four bush beans and radishes I have planted in a flower box on my driveway, as I don't have even a square inch of yard.
Sorry I Wasn't Clear
I wasn't clear with what I wrote yesterday as a intro to Susie's letter (see previous post). I didn't specifically ask people who read her letter to pass the word along. I had meant to imply that, but I didn't explicitly state it. So please post Susie's letter to your blog and forward it to your friends. As Susie wrote to me this morning, "Let's get your story out into the world so that you can meet your donor, the person who wants to help you with your miracle."
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Susie's Beautiful Letter
Twice during the past 18 months of dialysis, I have drafted a letter to friends and family, asking for their help in finding a kidney. Both times I have only sent the letter to Susie, who donated one of her kidneys to her friend Ron last summer. The first letter, Susie said, was too soon, as I wasn't yet on the transplant wait list. The second I sent to her two weeks ago.
Susie read my letter and said it was filled with a lot of facts about kidney disease, but it didn't show the "wonderful" person I am. She offered to rework it. Well, she did much more than an edit. She completely scrapped it and put together the beautiful letter that follows. I am so grateful for Susie's kindness and support.
Please read the letter with an open heart and an open mind. Susie quite literally saved her friend's life, and you never know, someone who reads this--perhaps someone you send it to--may be inspired to save mine. You can contact Susie via this blog. Thanks so much for your time.
************************
Dear Heidi,
I have been thinking a lot about you over the last week. My friend Jim Crumby was killed in a motorcycle crash on August 6th, he was 53 years old. It was shocking that someone so young would just be gone, leaving a son. Yesterday I went to his funeral and spent the day remembering him with his family and friends.
I'm thinking of you lately because your situation is similar. It may not be happening as quickly, but it's still happening.
Truly I don't want to be negative or dramatic, because you know I believe/know that you will get a kidney transplant, but I also wanted to acknowledge the struggle that you are experiencing and tell you that I feel a level of dread when I think about your future if you don't get a kidney. No one wants to watch someone die.
You do a great job of not dwelling in this reality and, in fact, you have been amazing in your tenacity with regard to getting yourself on the transplant list - going through open heart surgery could have killed you, but it didn't. Instead you are doing better and better. The setbacks you experienced earlier this year with the falls and broken bones might have discouraged, or even ended it for someone else in the same situation heath-wise, but you just kept going.
You truly are the unsinkable Heidi Nye.
I think that because Janet has offered to donate it might seem to others that you are out of the woods, but you and I both know the reality is that you need a kidney from a donor with O positive blood type. A paired donation is still available and possible, but it is not a foregone conclusion.
The facts are that you are one of 85,000 people waiting for a kidney in this country and because you have O positive blood your wait will be longer as that is the blood type that can give to anyone.
That puts you at the literal end of the line.
You have been on dialysis for 18 months already and although it may seem that one can live forever on dialysis that is not true, the reality is that dialysis doesn't do much more than clean toxins from the blood, it doesn't provide the hormones or electolyte balance that are necessary for true health. The average survival time on dialysis is about 5 years. This means that you will continue to have health issues, which means that you may be removed from the list if you decline in any way.
Although this reality is grim you continue to live your life to the fullest, traveling to Paris and to your cabin in Nova Scotia. You persevere through the medical system, advocating for yourself in a way that amazes me. You do everything you can to keep yourself healthy and you hold on to hope that the kidney will come. You remain engaged in the world, writing, serving on the board of the Alliance for Organ Donor Incentives, being open to a loving relationship and, as always, you continue to be a great mother and friend to your son, Aaron.
I'm writing this to you because I want you to know that I understand just how dire your situation is. I hear you when you share with me how discouraging all of this is and how alone you feel and you have every reason to feel that way.
I want you to know that when I share with people about donating a kidney to a friend (or as I think of it - participating in a miracle) I also tell them about you. My hope is that you will share this e-mail with your friends and acquaintances so that they can share your story with their friends and acquaintances. My prayer is that there is someone out there who may feel moved to donate, as I was, and that they would donate to you and change your life.
I know this is possible because your neighbor Janet has already stepped up although she was not a match and it didn't happen, it opened the door to possibility.
While living donation may not be something that most people would consider doing, they CAN sign their donor cards. No one likes to think about dying when they are young and healthy, but if it happens becoming a donor can create a blessing out of a tragedy.
I am always available to answer questions about living donation and my experience being a donor so please feel free to send anyone who might be interested my way.
Hang in there - love you,
Susie
Susie read my letter and said it was filled with a lot of facts about kidney disease, but it didn't show the "wonderful" person I am. She offered to rework it. Well, she did much more than an edit. She completely scrapped it and put together the beautiful letter that follows. I am so grateful for Susie's kindness and support.
Please read the letter with an open heart and an open mind. Susie quite literally saved her friend's life, and you never know, someone who reads this--perhaps someone you send it to--may be inspired to save mine. You can contact Susie via this blog. Thanks so much for your time.
************************
Dear Heidi,
I have been thinking a lot about you over the last week. My friend Jim Crumby was killed in a motorcycle crash on August 6th, he was 53 years old. It was shocking that someone so young would just be gone, leaving a son. Yesterday I went to his funeral and spent the day remembering him with his family and friends.
I'm thinking of you lately because your situation is similar. It may not be happening as quickly, but it's still happening.
Truly I don't want to be negative or dramatic, because you know I believe/know that you will get a kidney transplant, but I also wanted to acknowledge the struggle that you are experiencing and tell you that I feel a level of dread when I think about your future if you don't get a kidney. No one wants to watch someone die.
You do a great job of not dwelling in this reality and, in fact, you have been amazing in your tenacity with regard to getting yourself on the transplant list - going through open heart surgery could have killed you, but it didn't. Instead you are doing better and better. The setbacks you experienced earlier this year with the falls and broken bones might have discouraged, or even ended it for someone else in the same situation heath-wise, but you just kept going.
You truly are the unsinkable Heidi Nye.
I think that because Janet has offered to donate it might seem to others that you are out of the woods, but you and I both know the reality is that you need a kidney from a donor with O positive blood type. A paired donation is still available and possible, but it is not a foregone conclusion.
The facts are that you are one of 85,000 people waiting for a kidney in this country and because you have O positive blood your wait will be longer as that is the blood type that can give to anyone.
That puts you at the literal end of the line.
You have been on dialysis for 18 months already and although it may seem that one can live forever on dialysis that is not true, the reality is that dialysis doesn't do much more than clean toxins from the blood, it doesn't provide the hormones or electolyte balance that are necessary for true health. The average survival time on dialysis is about 5 years. This means that you will continue to have health issues, which means that you may be removed from the list if you decline in any way.
Although this reality is grim you continue to live your life to the fullest, traveling to Paris and to your cabin in Nova Scotia. You persevere through the medical system, advocating for yourself in a way that amazes me. You do everything you can to keep yourself healthy and you hold on to hope that the kidney will come. You remain engaged in the world, writing, serving on the board of the Alliance for Organ Donor Incentives, being open to a loving relationship and, as always, you continue to be a great mother and friend to your son, Aaron.
I'm writing this to you because I want you to know that I understand just how dire your situation is. I hear you when you share with me how discouraging all of this is and how alone you feel and you have every reason to feel that way.
I want you to know that when I share with people about donating a kidney to a friend (or as I think of it - participating in a miracle) I also tell them about you. My hope is that you will share this e-mail with your friends and acquaintances so that they can share your story with their friends and acquaintances. My prayer is that there is someone out there who may feel moved to donate, as I was, and that they would donate to you and change your life.
I know this is possible because your neighbor Janet has already stepped up although she was not a match and it didn't happen, it opened the door to possibility.
While living donation may not be something that most people would consider doing, they CAN sign their donor cards. No one likes to think about dying when they are young and healthy, but if it happens becoming a donor can create a blessing out of a tragedy.
I am always available to answer questions about living donation and my experience being a donor so please feel free to send anyone who might be interested my way.
Hang in there - love you,
Susie
Not Another Cold!
For the past few days, I've had a sore throat, sneezing, and now chills. Right now it's the end of a sunny, warm day, and I'm sitting inside with a jacket and a winter coat on--and I'm still cold. I also have been having low-level nausea, fatigue, and weakness. Not sure how I got this cold as I don't recall being around anyone who was sick.
I spent five weeks in June and July with an ongoing cough. Had just gotten over that, and now this hits. UGH!
I spent five weeks in June and July with an ongoing cough. Had just gotten over that, and now this hits. UGH!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
TreePeople Event at Harbor Regional Park
Yesterday morning I participated in a tree-care event at Ken Malloy Harbor Regional Park. About 15 volunteers weeded around the bases of trees that were planted previously by TreePeople, a nonprofit that plants and cares for trees and works toward cleaning LA's air in other sustainable ways. We then watered and mulched.
I was also the official photographer, but unfortunately my photos are stuck inside the camera. My battery gave out, and when I recharged it, the camera still wouldn't turn on. So I guess the battery has bit the dust. I checked online for a replacement, and delivery to my doorstep would cost $79.99. Gee, they don't make it attractive to keep an old model, do they!
I encourage you to check out TreePeople. I often have a tree planted in someone's name instead of giving him or her a gift. As I write on the gift card, we all have too many things, but the world does not have enough trees. I especially like to give a tree to a newborn, planting the seed for a life of giving and community involvement.
I was also the official photographer, but unfortunately my photos are stuck inside the camera. My battery gave out, and when I recharged it, the camera still wouldn't turn on. So I guess the battery has bit the dust. I checked online for a replacement, and delivery to my doorstep would cost $79.99. Gee, they don't make it attractive to keep an old model, do they!
I encourage you to check out TreePeople. I often have a tree planted in someone's name instead of giving him or her a gift. As I write on the gift card, we all have too many things, but the world does not have enough trees. I especially like to give a tree to a newborn, planting the seed for a life of giving and community involvement.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Three Days Without Rasputin
Aaron has been working seven days a week for months, but this weekend he took off on a camping trip with his new girlfriend. At the last minute, they decided to take Rasputin with them, so I've been sans dog buddy since Thursday afternoon.
Rasputin is so much a part of my life now that it is very strange to be without him. And yet for decades I survived somehow without a cute, little dog. How did I do it!
Yet Another Example of Dehumanizing Corporate Double Speak
Every two weeks I have to call Baxter, the dialysis supply company, to place my next order. About a month ago I noticed that there was a new recorded message that played while I was on hold:
"We want to process your order as efficiently as possible. If you are calling to stop or suspend your dialysis supplies or to request a cycler pickup, you do not need to provide an explanation or reason."
Whenever I'm confronted with such careful language, I wonder, "What is the subtext here?" Clearly, the only reason someone would discontinue supply deliveries and no longer need the dialysis machine (a.k.a. cycler) would be one of the following:
1. She received a transplant.
2. She switched to hemodialysis.
3. She died.
4. She is discontinuing dialysis because she can no longer take living like this anymore. She is in fact ending her life by discontinuing treatment.
So then the question becomes "Why can't the clerk hear this information?" If the patient did in fact receive a transplant, why wouldn't the clerk want to share in the patient's boundless joy? If the patient were switching to hemodialysis (the kind of dialysis that is administered at a clinic by technicians, not at home by the patient), that wouldn't require much more than a sentence of explanation. Hardly something that would thwart efficiency. So, it must be that the order clerks are uncomfortable with hearing reasons 3 and 4.
I asked the clerk who took my order about the new message. At first she talked of efficiency, but then she worked around to saying the same thing as I had thought, only putting the onus on the family of the deceased--they are the ones, not the clerks, who are uncomfortable.
Isn't it too bad that we live in a society in which we buffer ourselves from such basic human interactions! What a much healthier country this might be if we looked at death, not hid it away like it was an unforgiveable social stigma that we might catch! How wonderful if a grieving family or a hopeless dialysis patient could receive a kind word from an order clerk. Who knows, that little interchange of kindness could possibly give the patient a ray of hope and she might reconsider #4.
You never know how you touch people, but you must first touch. More and more we live in a world in which we build walls that prevent connection or make it incredibly awkward. That's why, at every turn, dehumanizing corporate double speak has to be called out, challenged, and recognized for what it is--dehumanizing.
"We want to process your order as efficiently as possible. If you are calling to stop or suspend your dialysis supplies or to request a cycler pickup, you do not need to provide an explanation or reason."
Whenever I'm confronted with such careful language, I wonder, "What is the subtext here?" Clearly, the only reason someone would discontinue supply deliveries and no longer need the dialysis machine (a.k.a. cycler) would be one of the following:
1. She received a transplant.
2. She switched to hemodialysis.
3. She died.
4. She is discontinuing dialysis because she can no longer take living like this anymore. She is in fact ending her life by discontinuing treatment.
So then the question becomes "Why can't the clerk hear this information?" If the patient did in fact receive a transplant, why wouldn't the clerk want to share in the patient's boundless joy? If the patient were switching to hemodialysis (the kind of dialysis that is administered at a clinic by technicians, not at home by the patient), that wouldn't require much more than a sentence of explanation. Hardly something that would thwart efficiency. So, it must be that the order clerks are uncomfortable with hearing reasons 3 and 4.
I asked the clerk who took my order about the new message. At first she talked of efficiency, but then she worked around to saying the same thing as I had thought, only putting the onus on the family of the deceased--they are the ones, not the clerks, who are uncomfortable.
Isn't it too bad that we live in a society in which we buffer ourselves from such basic human interactions! What a much healthier country this might be if we looked at death, not hid it away like it was an unforgiveable social stigma that we might catch! How wonderful if a grieving family or a hopeless dialysis patient could receive a kind word from an order clerk. Who knows, that little interchange of kindness could possibly give the patient a ray of hope and she might reconsider #4.
You never know how you touch people, but you must first touch. More and more we live in a world in which we build walls that prevent connection or make it incredibly awkward. That's why, at every turn, dehumanizing corporate double speak has to be called out, challenged, and recognized for what it is--dehumanizing.
So Much of my Life is Outside the Bounds of Small Talk
Yesterday I had my first date in about six months. Because I go on so few dates and in general have so few opportunities to dress up, I had fun getting cute for this deli date. A fitted black skirt, a robin's-egg-blue top, a diaphonous scarf tied about my waist, dangly abalone earrings, and black heels no less!
Martin is a psychologist working in teen suicide intervention. Before going back to school in the early '90s, he was a successful painting contractor in San Diego. I admire people who follow their heart and make a radical shift to fulfill their dreams. He sure seemed to draw a lot of meaning and satisfaction from his work.
Near the end of lunch, I congratulated him on his conversation skills. I told him that it is rare to meet a person who knows how to ask questions, listen for the answers, and yet reveal something of himself. Usually I meet people who either can't hold up their end of the conversation and I end up interviewing them or they monopolize the conversation and don't ask anything of me. It was refreshing to meet an exception to that rule.
Martin is a psychologist working in teen suicide intervention. Before going back to school in the early '90s, he was a successful painting contractor in San Diego. I admire people who follow their heart and make a radical shift to fulfill their dreams. He sure seemed to draw a lot of meaning and satisfaction from his work.
Near the end of lunch, I congratulated him on his conversation skills. I told him that it is rare to meet a person who knows how to ask questions, listen for the answers, and yet reveal something of himself. Usually I meet people who either can't hold up their end of the conversation and I end up interviewing them or they monopolize the conversation and don't ask anything of me. It was refreshing to meet an exception to that rule.
Throughout lunch, however, I was occasionally aware that I had to clip my answers so as not to reveal too much. Later, as I was driving home, I realized how much of my current life is outside the bounds of small talk. For example, let's start with a big topic of conversation on a first date--career. I can't say that I retired from Cal State last year because that would prompt questions of "Why?" and "Aren't you too young for retirement?" Honest answers to these queries would mean I'd have to say something about dialysis and heart surgery.
And I held back at other junctures too. Martin said he swims several times a week. I love to swim but cannot do so now, as the risk of infection at my dialysis exit site is too great. So I just smiled, nodded my head, and said something like, "That's fantastic."
Martin talked about his family of origin, then asked if my parents were still alive. I said they were not. He asked other questions, and so I told him that I had moved my mother here from Wisconsin to watch over her during the last two years of her life, but that, that had been difficult. I couldn't explain why it had been difficult though because that again would have entailed a discussion of my health. The stress and physical strain of moving her to California prompted a heart attack the very day after I settled her in at her assisted living facility. That was just the first in a series of dozens of medical emergencies I experienced while simultaneously caring for all her needs and her finances, working several jobs, and tending to my household duties. I really don't know how I outlived her.
I didn't get the feeling from Martin's parting comments that he was interested in seeing me again, so I won't have to be concerned about keeping dialysis, diabetes, and heart disease from him. And as I have so few dates, I may not have to face this sort of situation for another six months, maybe longer, maybe never again. I'll just have to find other opportunities to wear heels!
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Diet Soda and the Quick Path to Depression
For many, many years, I was a six-pack-of-Tab-a-day gal. (Tab, for those of you who missed the '80s, was and still is--if you can find it--the precursor of Diet Coke.) I loved the stuff. I was addicted to it.
Starting about two decades ago, my use began to taper off due to a number of events: frequent solo camping trips into remote areas where there were few stores, none of which carried Tab; four years of living in Northern California, again where any kind of soda, diet or not, was rare; and a news report about how a subsidiary of Coke was murdering union leaders at its South American plants. The last one really got to me,even more so than the knowledge of the harm Diet Coke (since Tab was now difficult to find even in large urban areas) was doing to my body: gas bubbles in the intestinal track, dissolution of bones, alteration of the body chemistry, and depression. In fact, aspertame, the sweetening agent in diet drinks, has been linked to at least 92 symptoms and diseases.
Since a small child, I had been depressed, so I can't blame it all on diet sodas, but I often wonder, now that I've almost completely kicked the habit, how much of my adult depression was due to aspertame, more commonly known under its brand name of Nutrasweet. (Tab, for the record, was sweetened with saccharine, which has its own troubles.)
Every once in a while, I will say, "Oh, I can buy just one six pack of Diet Coke. That won't be a problem." This is alcoholic thinking--Oh, sure, I can just have one drink. This week I gave that a try. I bought six 16-ounce bottles of Diet Coke on Tuesday and had one as soon as I got home. The next morning, at cardiac rehab, the Bette Midler song "The Rose" came on the radio, and I began to cry. No one saw my tears, thank God, but I had trouble keeping my act together during my workout. I was very depressed, seemingly for no reason, since, strangely enough, "The Rose" had played during my workout on Monday and it had not affected me. I must admit that during all my years of Tab consumption, many songs made me cry and feel blue. Once again, I was knocked over the head with the message that diet drinks are a killer.
If you're wondering how such a dangerous substance was ever approved by the FDA, well, I've got one word for you--Rumsfeld, who was the CEO of the chemical company Searle Laboratories, which held the patent on aspertame and was taken over by the evil seed company Monsanto, which is attempting to ruin every farmer who refuses to use genetically modified seed. The FDA had previously banned aspertame because studies had linked it to brain tumors, but Donald Rumsfeld, who became the secretary of defense under Bush II, pushed some buttons. The FDA panel that was assembled to investigate aspertame reached a deadlock, whereupon FDA commissioner Arthur Hull Hayes cast the deciding vote. This man went on to take a high-level position with the PR giant Burston-Marsteller, which, oh my gawsh, had Monsanto as a major client.
Please, everyone who reads this, if you didn't know about aspertame prior to this, spread the message, espeically to parents who give their preeschoolers Diet Cokes! They're killing their kids.
Starting about two decades ago, my use began to taper off due to a number of events: frequent solo camping trips into remote areas where there were few stores, none of which carried Tab; four years of living in Northern California, again where any kind of soda, diet or not, was rare; and a news report about how a subsidiary of Coke was murdering union leaders at its South American plants. The last one really got to me,even more so than the knowledge of the harm Diet Coke (since Tab was now difficult to find even in large urban areas) was doing to my body: gas bubbles in the intestinal track, dissolution of bones, alteration of the body chemistry, and depression. In fact, aspertame, the sweetening agent in diet drinks, has been linked to at least 92 symptoms and diseases.
Since a small child, I had been depressed, so I can't blame it all on diet sodas, but I often wonder, now that I've almost completely kicked the habit, how much of my adult depression was due to aspertame, more commonly known under its brand name of Nutrasweet. (Tab, for the record, was sweetened with saccharine, which has its own troubles.)
Every once in a while, I will say, "Oh, I can buy just one six pack of Diet Coke. That won't be a problem." This is alcoholic thinking--Oh, sure, I can just have one drink. This week I gave that a try. I bought six 16-ounce bottles of Diet Coke on Tuesday and had one as soon as I got home. The next morning, at cardiac rehab, the Bette Midler song "The Rose" came on the radio, and I began to cry. No one saw my tears, thank God, but I had trouble keeping my act together during my workout. I was very depressed, seemingly for no reason, since, strangely enough, "The Rose" had played during my workout on Monday and it had not affected me. I must admit that during all my years of Tab consumption, many songs made me cry and feel blue. Once again, I was knocked over the head with the message that diet drinks are a killer.
If you're wondering how such a dangerous substance was ever approved by the FDA, well, I've got one word for you--Rumsfeld, who was the CEO of the chemical company Searle Laboratories, which held the patent on aspertame and was taken over by the evil seed company Monsanto, which is attempting to ruin every farmer who refuses to use genetically modified seed. The FDA had previously banned aspertame because studies had linked it to brain tumors, but Donald Rumsfeld, who became the secretary of defense under Bush II, pushed some buttons. The FDA panel that was assembled to investigate aspertame reached a deadlock, whereupon FDA commissioner Arthur Hull Hayes cast the deciding vote. This man went on to take a high-level position with the PR giant Burston-Marsteller, which, oh my gawsh, had Monsanto as a major client.
Please, everyone who reads this, if you didn't know about aspertame prior to this, spread the message, espeically to parents who give their preeschoolers Diet Cokes! They're killing their kids.
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