Apparently I always rush off the to ER on the Friday before Labor Day. This year it was for something that turned out to be nothing, and I knew it was going to be nothing. I have no idea why I went; I have only gone to the ER three times as an adult (including for my kids). As I was driving over there, already feeling silly for getting worked up over something minor, I realized that I had checked myself into the emergency room of Mercy Hospital exactly one year before.
So my year of the crab has come and gone. I went to a party on Saturday afternoon, and celebrated both the occurrence and the completion of the past twelve months. (I drank too much of Chresten's amazing home brew and belabored the point, so I don't plan to rehash it here.) But then I got thinking.
The language around cancer (and illness in general) is often very violent. I hear terms like "battle," "war," "fight," "survivor." If violence is not the path to peace over geopolitical differences, how can it be the path to peace within our bodies? How can it ever be a path to peace?
In declaring war, I name an enemy. It seems to me that this act makes the "enemy" stronger. The more violent the assault, the more powerful this enemy becomes. We see it now, today, in the current military conflicts raging in the Middle East. But look at the other wars we live with: the War on Drugs, the War on Poverty, the War on Illiteracy and Ignorance, the War on Obesity, Mental Illness, Disease, Terror. Have these become stronger or weaker as these wars have raged on? Or have these wars just made more enemies, caused anxiety and casualties and collateral damage, and squandered resources and lives? Could it be that war is never the answer, no matter how well-meaning I am?
Now we are in the thick of another presidential election, and declaring war on "bad ideas" and "bad government" (a redundancy, in my mind), and on each other. Is it possible that, by staying in this constant cycle of political battle, I strengthen the opposition, or even create it?
I can be free even as the shackles rattle on my ankles, and I can work towards harmony and well-being for the whole world, by recognizing the inherent violence in the effort to bend others to my will. (I think it's pretty hard work, but it feels like good, meaningful work). It is possible to shine the light of compassion on the most challenging of adversaries; really, I think it is critical in order to get off this treadmill. Even disease, ignorance, terror, poverty are not meaningful without recognizing that it is the human experience of these things that makes them important. These issues are always about people.
If "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger," what happens to that which we try to kill?
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
When the Walls Close In
I have been sketching and scrapping posts since we came back from our trip. I want to tell you about the Newport Folk Festival, which means so much to me. I want to tell you how Dave Rawlings taught me to play guitar (and if you have heard Dave play, and heard me play, you will wonder if I was paying attention). I want to tell you so many things that are flying around in my head, but I find myself with an hour to write, and it is this hour, and this is what I am writing:
Today is August 21. A year ago at this time, I was ignorant of the fact that the walls were about to close in. I felt bad enough to finally make a doctor's appointment (having not slept for more than a few hours for at least a month and finding myself almost unable to eat due to pain in my mouth), but not bad enough to think anything was really wrong. I had a bump on my jaw that I needed to have checked out, and I would half-joke to myself that it was cancer (I think I knew it was cancer), but even that didn't alarm me particularly. By Thursday of this coming week I will know that I probably, most likely, have leukemia. I will sit on the grass in the sun in front of my house in a hallucinogenic daze, weeping in fear and in joy and in confusion. I will realize I don't know anything about leukemia. I will spend the coming weekend with my husband's mother, brother and sister-in-law, trying to smile, waiting for the results of my biopsy and trying to figure out how to treat myself and how to avoid chemotheraphy.
The world will become very small, the slant of light thin and blinding; the periphery will disappear. I will spend most of the September that I had so looked forward to, that golden child of the calendar, in a series of small, white rooms in an aged brick building in Portland. I will spend the rest of it trying to rebuild myself from inside ninety-two pounds of flesh, behind sunken eyes, under a shaved head. The rest of the fall will look much the same.
Sometimes the moment is so big that you can't climb out of it even if you want to. Sometimes the sky falls so far that you find yourself sitting in the clouds. Sometimes, somehow, gratitude and fear are the same.
I had so many things I wanted to tell you tonight. I am grateful, so grateful, that I will have another day in which to tell them.
Today is August 21. A year ago at this time, I was ignorant of the fact that the walls were about to close in. I felt bad enough to finally make a doctor's appointment (having not slept for more than a few hours for at least a month and finding myself almost unable to eat due to pain in my mouth), but not bad enough to think anything was really wrong. I had a bump on my jaw that I needed to have checked out, and I would half-joke to myself that it was cancer (I think I knew it was cancer), but even that didn't alarm me particularly. By Thursday of this coming week I will know that I probably, most likely, have leukemia. I will sit on the grass in the sun in front of my house in a hallucinogenic daze, weeping in fear and in joy and in confusion. I will realize I don't know anything about leukemia. I will spend the coming weekend with my husband's mother, brother and sister-in-law, trying to smile, waiting for the results of my biopsy and trying to figure out how to treat myself and how to avoid chemotheraphy.
The world will become very small, the slant of light thin and blinding; the periphery will disappear. I will spend most of the September that I had so looked forward to, that golden child of the calendar, in a series of small, white rooms in an aged brick building in Portland. I will spend the rest of it trying to rebuild myself from inside ninety-two pounds of flesh, behind sunken eyes, under a shaved head. The rest of the fall will look much the same.
Sometimes the moment is so big that you can't climb out of it even if you want to. Sometimes the sky falls so far that you find yourself sitting in the clouds. Sometimes, somehow, gratitude and fear are the same.
I had so many things I wanted to tell you tonight. I am grateful, so grateful, that I will have another day in which to tell them.
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| This photograph was taken at Thanksgiving, 2010 |
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| This is me now, with John's grandfather and the little boys |
Monday, July 25, 2011
A Little Light Mourning
When John and I were in our mid-twenties, we lived in a trendy little city. Every Friday morning, we would have coffee and salt bagels at a cafe. Another young couple, attractive and hip in the way that we secretly hoped we were, had the same ritual at the same time.
Now I am in my mid-thirties. I don't drink coffee anymore, and I have stopped eating grains. I am trying to eliminate cheese. No more coffee and bagels at the cafe. I think that other couple broke up. She keeps a shop in that same city; when I'm in town I stop by.
A friend of mind has found herself suddenly adrift. With two small children and no place to call home, she's off to clean out her old house. All her possessions, the peripheral items that color her rituals, are going into storage.
Each day, each hour, each minute, a little door closes behind me. I don't dwell in that, but I acknowledge it. "You're gonna drown tomorrow, if you cry too many tears for yesterday," as Townes said.
I rejoice in this moment, on the crest of the wave of my life. I am grateful for the great force of the swell beneath me, and for the detritus lifted or left behind. Still, there are flickers of sadness for the little things lost along the way, and it would be foolish of me to deny them. Much we make of the addict's desire to return to a chemical state, but that's not the whole story. It is also the association of our memories, the big and small places that we choose to leave but in which we also leave a piece of ourselves. "I don't want another drink, I only want the last one again," as the song goes.
So for a moment, even as I throw my arms wide in acknowledgment that I choose this place with all its rewards, let me mourn. A slice of pepperoni pizza. A favorite coffee cup. The giddy luxury of a bender, when the next morning was unclaimed by children, household and health (and age). Bread with butter. Pierogies.
I will not try to re-create these riches now in rough facsimile, but rather let them linger, bittersweet, in my memory. Occasionally I will put fresh flowers on their graves. Sometimes I will throw a death-day party.
Sometimes we put parts of our lives in storage; sometimes we leave parts behind. That's okay; if we can allow ourselves the emotional space to find what is opening ahead it can even be wonderful. Nonetheless, those little losses are real, and sometimes I need to mourn them.
And with that, here are a few recipes that are working in my life Right Now. One is vegan and can be raw or cooked, one has fish.
Taco-less Fish Tacos
Ingredients:
1-2 lbs. firm wild-caught white fish, such as haddock or cod
3 large sweet potatoes
2 Tbsp butter
1 tsp chili powder
Sauce
1 C yogurt, strained through a coffee filter or cheesecloth for an hour
1 Tbsp cumin
1 clove garlic, diced fine
1 tsp salt
1 Tbsp lemon juice
Optional toppings:
1/2 C grated gruyere
chopped scallions
diced avocado
tomatillo salsa
Directions:
Bake sweet potatoes at 450 until tender when pierced with a knife. I make a slit in the top of them while they cook to let the steam escape, and I put a baking sheet on the rack below so that the sugar doesn't bake onto the oven.
Once the potatoes are done, remove and lower the heat to 350. Allow the temperature to drop, and then brush the fish with olive oil and sprinkle with chili powder. Bake about 10 min, until flaky. Check it regularly so it doesn't overcook.
Mix the yogurt and other sauce ingredients. If you are not eating any dairy products, you can try making a similar sauce using a base of soaked, pureed almonds, avocado cream or a nut yogurt. You can also omit it entirely, along with the cheese.
Cut the potatoes in half. Put two halves on a plate, top with butter and 1/4-1/2 lbs. of fish. Top with sauce and cheese if desired. You can also add other taco toppings, if you want.
Portobello Cap Pizza
6 large portobello mushrooms
Marinade (optional - this is only necessary if you plan to eat these raw. Mushrooms should not be eaten totally raw; they require cooking or marinating)
1/4 C soy sauce or tamari
1/2 C olive oil
Toppings
1/2 C softened sun-dried tomatoes
1/2 C pitted calamata olives
1/4 C olive oil
2 Tbsp fresh Italian parsley
Parmesan cheese (optional)
If eating these raw, marinade the mushrooms until they feel "cooked," about 15 minutes with regular turning.
In a food processor, process the topping ingredients until they are finely chopped but still chunky. Top the mushrooms.
If eating raw, warm them in a cool oven to desired temperature (food must be less than 115 to be considered raw).
If cooking, put the topped mushrooms on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil, and bake at 350 for about 15 minutes, or until warm and soft.
You can do any pizza topping on these; this was what I had in the house.
Now I have my computer back, and soon I will be getting a keyboard that works properly (the u and the 7 don't function on this one so I have to cut and paste from other text), I should be able to keep up with my blog again! However, due to all sorts of excitement that I will report later, I will not be updating the blog next week.
Now I am in my mid-thirties. I don't drink coffee anymore, and I have stopped eating grains. I am trying to eliminate cheese. No more coffee and bagels at the cafe. I think that other couple broke up. She keeps a shop in that same city; when I'm in town I stop by.
A friend of mind has found herself suddenly adrift. With two small children and no place to call home, she's off to clean out her old house. All her possessions, the peripheral items that color her rituals, are going into storage.
Each day, each hour, each minute, a little door closes behind me. I don't dwell in that, but I acknowledge it. "You're gonna drown tomorrow, if you cry too many tears for yesterday," as Townes said.
I rejoice in this moment, on the crest of the wave of my life. I am grateful for the great force of the swell beneath me, and for the detritus lifted or left behind. Still, there are flickers of sadness for the little things lost along the way, and it would be foolish of me to deny them. Much we make of the addict's desire to return to a chemical state, but that's not the whole story. It is also the association of our memories, the big and small places that we choose to leave but in which we also leave a piece of ourselves. "I don't want another drink, I only want the last one again," as the song goes.
So for a moment, even as I throw my arms wide in acknowledgment that I choose this place with all its rewards, let me mourn. A slice of pepperoni pizza. A favorite coffee cup. The giddy luxury of a bender, when the next morning was unclaimed by children, household and health (and age). Bread with butter. Pierogies.
I will not try to re-create these riches now in rough facsimile, but rather let them linger, bittersweet, in my memory. Occasionally I will put fresh flowers on their graves. Sometimes I will throw a death-day party.
Sometimes we put parts of our lives in storage; sometimes we leave parts behind. That's okay; if we can allow ourselves the emotional space to find what is opening ahead it can even be wonderful. Nonetheless, those little losses are real, and sometimes I need to mourn them.
And with that, here are a few recipes that are working in my life Right Now. One is vegan and can be raw or cooked, one has fish.
Taco-less Fish Tacos
Ingredients:
1-2 lbs. firm wild-caught white fish, such as haddock or cod
3 large sweet potatoes
2 Tbsp butter
1 tsp chili powder
Sauce
1 C yogurt, strained through a coffee filter or cheesecloth for an hour
1 Tbsp cumin
1 clove garlic, diced fine
1 tsp salt
1 Tbsp lemon juice
Optional toppings:
1/2 C grated gruyere
chopped scallions
diced avocado
tomatillo salsa
Directions:
Bake sweet potatoes at 450 until tender when pierced with a knife. I make a slit in the top of them while they cook to let the steam escape, and I put a baking sheet on the rack below so that the sugar doesn't bake onto the oven.
Once the potatoes are done, remove and lower the heat to 350. Allow the temperature to drop, and then brush the fish with olive oil and sprinkle with chili powder. Bake about 10 min, until flaky. Check it regularly so it doesn't overcook.
Mix the yogurt and other sauce ingredients. If you are not eating any dairy products, you can try making a similar sauce using a base of soaked, pureed almonds, avocado cream or a nut yogurt. You can also omit it entirely, along with the cheese.
Cut the potatoes in half. Put two halves on a plate, top with butter and 1/4-1/2 lbs. of fish. Top with sauce and cheese if desired. You can also add other taco toppings, if you want.
Portobello Cap Pizza
6 large portobello mushrooms
Marinade (optional - this is only necessary if you plan to eat these raw. Mushrooms should not be eaten totally raw; they require cooking or marinating)
1/4 C soy sauce or tamari
1/2 C olive oil
Toppings
1/2 C softened sun-dried tomatoes
1/2 C pitted calamata olives
1/4 C olive oil
2 Tbsp fresh Italian parsley
Parmesan cheese (optional)
If eating these raw, marinade the mushrooms until they feel "cooked," about 15 minutes with regular turning.
In a food processor, process the topping ingredients until they are finely chopped but still chunky. Top the mushrooms.
If eating raw, warm them in a cool oven to desired temperature (food must be less than 115 to be considered raw).
If cooking, put the topped mushrooms on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil, and bake at 350 for about 15 minutes, or until warm and soft.
You can do any pizza topping on these; this was what I had in the house.
Now I have my computer back, and soon I will be getting a keyboard that works properly (the u and the 7 don't function on this one so I have to cut and paste from other text), I should be able to keep up with my blog again! However, due to all sorts of excitement that I will report later, I will not be updating the blog next week.
Monday, July 4, 2011
The Cure for the Common Everything. Best Paleo Veggie Burgers Ever, Plus a Little Impermanence For Good Measure
Yesterday morning I sat down to a precious few minutes at the computer and began to load last week's photos for My Time-Lapse Life. My computer crashed. Undeterred, I rebooted, only to discover that iPhoto was completely blank. Yep, pictures all gone. Five years of photos, not backed up. (The thing about the lower items on my to-do list is that, as the upper items all involve the survival of the family and are barely executed most of the time, they stay at the bottom. Undone. I have been meaning to back up my iPhoto and iTunes for about 3 years.)
My first reaction was to wail and weep as if the house had burned down. Since then, oddly, I have felt really calm about the whole thing. There is a good chance that I can retrieve the files if I take the machine to a tech (yes, I will buy backup memory and back everything up RIGHT THEN!), but my usual response to this type of situation is to panic until I have taken care of things.
Why am I sharing this scintillating tale with you? Well, in addition to offering an explanation for why I won't include any pictures this week, I think this is a testament to the incredible success my current dietary regimen has had in terms of regulating my adrenals. Accepting impermanence, staying present and mindful, meeting each moment with openness and energy; everything is suddenly much easier.
I have shared here before that I often have insomnia, waking during the night for hours at a time. While my other anxiety symptoms have declined over the years as I have made chances to my lifestyle and diet, I occasionally feel panicky or my heart races. I have to be very careful what "news" I consume and how; certain issues put me over the edge and I have trouble bringing myself back to a normal mental and emotional state.
Last week, I wrote that I was making a casual transition to a modified paleolithic diet (and by modified I mean that I cheat sometimes!). So now that I have gone and told everyone to eat lentils, I am easing myself off legumes and pulses. Since I stopped eating wheat and all other grains (I am not strict about beans and lentils and dairy products, although I can tell that I don't digest as well when I eat them), I sleep at night. Almost every day, I wake up refreshed at a reasonable hour. If I am up during the night, it is because the baby is needing something, and I can usually nap during the day with him to catch up. Other than that, I have energy all the time. I feel terrific.
The big issue I am noticing during the transition is that I am hungry often. At first, I felt really hungry, and I just ate snacks as often as I could, making sure to keep a lot of good stuff on hand. After a little more than a week, I need to eat fairly often, but I don't feel ravenously hungry ever. I don't eat very much at any one time, except for when I occasionally eat meat. When I eat meat, I tend to eat a lot, and then I am not hungry for a long time; usually well into the next morning. It occurs to me that I may be adjusting to a natural condition of being slightly hungry; I don't need to eat, but I can. That would make sense if I were a grazing omnivore in a jungle somewhere.
One symptom I have been fortunate to avoid over the years is chronic headaches, but I know many folks who suffer from them. I have recently read some fascinating stuff about glutamates (including, but not at all limited to, MSG). You are right, Mom, autolyzed yeast is essentially MSG. A lot of foods are high in glutamates, or exacerbate glutamate-sensitivity when cooked or fermented. Check out the information on this website, it is fascinating stuff. All of us should be careful with glutamates. We need some, they are essential to the production of hormones that calm us down. Too much overwhelms these processes and produces opposite and undesirable effects. This is an area where I need to learn a lot more, so please add any links that are useful to you.
So what are we eating, you may ask? Here are some terrific recipes that are working for our family. I still make bread or pasta when it is requested, but I am noticing a decline in demand lately as we all start feeling better.
I am living out of Ani Phyo's "Ani's Raw Food Kitchen". Sometimes I follow her recipes but cook them. I find the text in this book to be somewhat sanctimonious and annoying, but the recipes are terrific.
Sun Burgers with Basil Cashew Sauce
Ingredients:
Basil Cashew Sauce
Ingredients:
Ragged animal hides not required.
My first reaction was to wail and weep as if the house had burned down. Since then, oddly, I have felt really calm about the whole thing. There is a good chance that I can retrieve the files if I take the machine to a tech (yes, I will buy backup memory and back everything up RIGHT THEN!), but my usual response to this type of situation is to panic until I have taken care of things.
Why am I sharing this scintillating tale with you? Well, in addition to offering an explanation for why I won't include any pictures this week, I think this is a testament to the incredible success my current dietary regimen has had in terms of regulating my adrenals. Accepting impermanence, staying present and mindful, meeting each moment with openness and energy; everything is suddenly much easier.
I have shared here before that I often have insomnia, waking during the night for hours at a time. While my other anxiety symptoms have declined over the years as I have made chances to my lifestyle and diet, I occasionally feel panicky or my heart races. I have to be very careful what "news" I consume and how; certain issues put me over the edge and I have trouble bringing myself back to a normal mental and emotional state.
Last week, I wrote that I was making a casual transition to a modified paleolithic diet (and by modified I mean that I cheat sometimes!). So now that I have gone and told everyone to eat lentils, I am easing myself off legumes and pulses. Since I stopped eating wheat and all other grains (I am not strict about beans and lentils and dairy products, although I can tell that I don't digest as well when I eat them), I sleep at night. Almost every day, I wake up refreshed at a reasonable hour. If I am up during the night, it is because the baby is needing something, and I can usually nap during the day with him to catch up. Other than that, I have energy all the time. I feel terrific.
The big issue I am noticing during the transition is that I am hungry often. At first, I felt really hungry, and I just ate snacks as often as I could, making sure to keep a lot of good stuff on hand. After a little more than a week, I need to eat fairly often, but I don't feel ravenously hungry ever. I don't eat very much at any one time, except for when I occasionally eat meat. When I eat meat, I tend to eat a lot, and then I am not hungry for a long time; usually well into the next morning. It occurs to me that I may be adjusting to a natural condition of being slightly hungry; I don't need to eat, but I can. That would make sense if I were a grazing omnivore in a jungle somewhere.
One symptom I have been fortunate to avoid over the years is chronic headaches, but I know many folks who suffer from them. I have recently read some fascinating stuff about glutamates (including, but not at all limited to, MSG). You are right, Mom, autolyzed yeast is essentially MSG. A lot of foods are high in glutamates, or exacerbate glutamate-sensitivity when cooked or fermented. Check out the information on this website, it is fascinating stuff. All of us should be careful with glutamates. We need some, they are essential to the production of hormones that calm us down. Too much overwhelms these processes and produces opposite and undesirable effects. This is an area where I need to learn a lot more, so please add any links that are useful to you.
So what are we eating, you may ask? Here are some terrific recipes that are working for our family. I still make bread or pasta when it is requested, but I am noticing a decline in demand lately as we all start feeling better.
I am living out of Ani Phyo's "Ani's Raw Food Kitchen". Sometimes I follow her recipes but cook them. I find the text in this book to be somewhat sanctimonious and annoying, but the recipes are terrific.
Sun Burgers with Basil Cashew Sauce
Ingredients:
- 3/4 C chopped celery
- 1/4 C chopped yellow onion
- 1 C chopped cremini mushrooms
- 1t sea salt
- 2t dried oregano or 2T fresh oregano
- 1 C sunflower seeds, ground
- 1/2 C flax seeds, ground
- 1/2 C water
- 1/4 C chopped parsley
- Basil Cashew Sauce, see below
- Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, adding water last to get a good burger texture. As it is important not to eat mushrooms raw, you can either pre-marinate them in a little olive oil and tamari, as I did, or cook the burgers.
- Form burger patties.
- If cooking, bake at 350 for about 10-15 minutes, checking regularly.
Basil Cashew Sauce
Ingredients:
- 1 medium garlic clove
- 1 t sea salt
- 2 C cashews (I soak mine for 4-8 hours)
- 4T lemon juice. If fresh, juice of 2 lemons
- 1 T olive oil
- 1 bunch basil
- 1/2 C water, as needed
- Puree all ingredients in blender or food processor to make a thick cream.
Ragged animal hides not required.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Preference for Poison
The pharmaceutical companies might not have as much to worry about as they think from vitalistic health approaches. It isn't because there aren't non-toxic or non-pharmaceutical alternatives to most of the mainstream treatments for major and minor maladies. I believe that there is so much we can do with whole foods in various forms to prevent and heal damage that I feel compelled to study it with devotional zeal. No, it is because a majority tends to view the allopathic approach as the "easy way."
I was chatting with a friend whose father-in-law has AML. He is in chemotherapy, but he isn't interested in modifying his diet or his lifestyle, and the prognosis is not promising. The odd thing is, he feels terrific on the chemo, and horrible off it. Now, the way chemo works, it is true that the nadir (rock-bottom) comes after the treatment, but I would not describe the experience of toxic drug therapy as "terrific." No; "white-knuckled and teeth-clenched, grasping at the core of health lest I spin off into black misery" is closer to it. And yet it is easier, psychologically, to undergo these treatments than to stop eating bread or drinking coffee (and don't even ask me about alcohol). Whyizzat?
There are deep cultural and social reasons, as well as individual psychological ones. Many of them are well documented and explained in this article, which highlights the addictive and toxic characteristics of all the grasses we eat (including rice, corn, and any monocotyledonous foods), with wheat at the top of the heap. (See also this for an explanation of the health dangers of whole grains, aside from gluten) Read these essays. They are stunning arguments for an immediate cessation of grain consumption, even for healthy folks.
Sustenance is the basis of much of our human interaction. We identify ourselves by what we eat, and our cultural rituals are rooted in it. To stray from the norm, and again from our own place of comfort, feels a radical act. All addictions are ritualistic, and all rituals are habitual (with apologies to Jane's Addiction). In order to change, what we are moving towards must become as compelling, or more so, as what we are leaving behind.
This transition happens slowly, at least for me. Now I am moving towards a paleolithic diet, in a household where my partner is a pesca-vegetarian and my children like nothing better than bread with butter and honey (NOT toasted, thank you). The amazing thing is, it's working! It is working because it finally made sense, on an emotional level.
It is certainly cheaper to heal yourself with food than drugs, but the pharmas have psychology and cultural identity on their side. Until we identify this weight, we cannot unburden ourselves from it.
I was chatting with a friend whose father-in-law has AML. He is in chemotherapy, but he isn't interested in modifying his diet or his lifestyle, and the prognosis is not promising. The odd thing is, he feels terrific on the chemo, and horrible off it. Now, the way chemo works, it is true that the nadir (rock-bottom) comes after the treatment, but I would not describe the experience of toxic drug therapy as "terrific." No; "white-knuckled and teeth-clenched, grasping at the core of health lest I spin off into black misery" is closer to it. And yet it is easier, psychologically, to undergo these treatments than to stop eating bread or drinking coffee (and don't even ask me about alcohol). Whyizzat?
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| My Beautiful Bread! How do I part with it? |
Sustenance is the basis of much of our human interaction. We identify ourselves by what we eat, and our cultural rituals are rooted in it. To stray from the norm, and again from our own place of comfort, feels a radical act. All addictions are ritualistic, and all rituals are habitual (with apologies to Jane's Addiction). In order to change, what we are moving towards must become as compelling, or more so, as what we are leaving behind.
This transition happens slowly, at least for me. Now I am moving towards a paleolithic diet, in a household where my partner is a pesca-vegetarian and my children like nothing better than bread with butter and honey (NOT toasted, thank you). The amazing thing is, it's working! It is working because it finally made sense, on an emotional level.
It is certainly cheaper to heal yourself with food than drugs, but the pharmas have psychology and cultural identity on their side. Until we identify this weight, we cannot unburden ourselves from it.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Ritual and Replenishment: A Few Thoughts on Surviving a Hospital Stay
My day is full of rituals. (I feel like I am documenting them in my My Time-Lapse Life project, which is cool). I used to make coffee and an egg; now I make a green smoothie and some tea, but the idea is the same. The hospital is full of rituals, too, that became mine: the 5:30 am rounds of the phlebotomist, the routine vitals report every four hours, the 2am changing of sweat-soaked sheets and pajamas.
In my life, I have spent approximately seven weeks in the hospital; six of them were this past fall. It is possible to make a home within those four white walls. Here are a few suggestions, either of things that I did or things that I should have done, to make myself comfortable. I hope some of them can be helpful to you.
I know there are fancy hospitals out there; this wasn't one of them. Picture fifties-era motel in forgotten tourist locale, and you have the image. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of this, the medical and support staff were extremely flexible and accommodating. I cannot say enough good things about Mercy Hospital. Some of the following were their suggestions.
-Private Room
You may not have much influence here, but it's worth trying. Your doctor, and the staff at her or his office that are making your "reservation" might be able to help. Ask them. Call the nurses station before you check in (this is wise as a confirmation anyway; waiting in admitting for several hours is pretty boring), and find out if you are in a private room. At Mercy, the oncology patients are always in private rooms, and guests are welcome to stay.
-Refrigerator
Ask the hospital if you can have one. They like to inspect it. This way you can keep your own food or supplements at hand. Hospital food is no way to get healthy; I became quite dependent on fish salad and ferments.
-Pillows, Mattress Pads
The mattresses and pillows in the hospital are made of plastic. You know why. Even if you don't have the sweats from your treatment, you will from the bedding. If your hospital lets you bring your own, I recommend it. If you are sensitive to the chemical detergents and bleach used in the linens, you can bring those as well (don't forget a laundry bag). If you are using theirs, ask the staff to put a flannel blanket under the bottom sheet.
-Soap
My skin inflames immediately if I use anti-bacterial detergent soaps. You will probably remember your toothbrush, but try to remember your soap, too.
-Pure anhydrous lanolin
Hospital air is awful, and the windows cannot be opened due to infection risk. My skin got terribly dry, especially my lips and around my eyes. The hospital will happily sell you moisturizers, but they are all full of petroleum and parabens. Get pure lanolin at the drug store, or have someone bring it to you.
-Ipod, Ipod dock
All hospital rooms have televisions, but I don't like to watch tv. I find solace in music. Plus, hospitals can be noisy; the more sanctuary-like you can make your room, the better.
-Clothes
Do you really want to be in a one-size-fits-all johnny the whole time? Some treatments require it, but if yours doesn't, I recommend bringing your own clothes. And even if you do need to wear a johnny, you can still have your own shorts and bathrobe.
-Outside food source
Have I mentioned that hospital food is no way to get healthy? I found a nearby cafe that specialized in local and organic foods, and would maintain a prepaid account in my name. This way, friends could bring up a meal without having to front the cash, and I didn't need to keep cash in the hospital.
-Bottled water
The hospital will have this, but I recommend ordering several whenever you get anything from the kitchen. That way you will have them on hand when you need them, and not have to wait for a nurse to get them.
Label all your stuff, and don't keep anything in the hospital that you would be devastated to lose. My hospital was very safe, but things do get stolen. You don't need cash or credit cards when you are there; get insurance on your phone. It can help to tuck stuff into a drawer if you are leaving the room for a procedure.
Okay, so those are some mundane details, but the larger picture I want to paint is that of getting through the day. I found my time in the hospital to be a gift. How often in your life do you have no job but to focus on your own well-being? That said, the whole environment can get a bit tedious.
-Create rituals. I had several. My grandmother gave me an electric kettle so that I could make tea (another reason to keep extra water on hand). A couple times of day I could make a cup of tea and sit down with some blogs or a book.
Every night after dinner I got out of bed, unplugged my iv stand, stuffed the tubing into my bathrobe and strolled the halls in my Crocs (slippers or rubber shoes are great in the hospital - the floors are gross). While I walked I would recite my mantra to myself - writing a healing mantra is another important ritual that I recommend. The evening ritual made it easier to go to bed.
While it isn't an idyllic meditation center in Western Mass., the hospital can still be a mindfulness retreat. There are a million little beeps and buzzers to act as reminders, and there is plenty of time. I recommend sitting upright or lying flat; the semi-seated position that hospital beds encourage is not good for your spine or your energy.
Of course, I had books and magazines and movies too. It all helps.
-Make friends with your nurses and support staff.
It isn't their fault you are sick; they are trying to help. I liked the people I saw every day, and having their encouragement did make a difference. Plus, when you are soaked in sweat at 2 in the morning or waiting for someone to empty the commode, you don't want to be on the wrong side of the staff.
-Pay attention, if you can. If you can't, make notes. If you are engaged in your treatment and ask lots of questions, especially when getting a medication, you will be more informed about what is happening. Mention everything when the physician's assistant or doctor makes rounds - they don't always know what the nurses are suggesting and they might disagree.
The strange thing about in-patient chemotherapy, at least for me, was that I was usually feeling totally fine until they started medicating me. My mind would be alert and active, my body would crave exercise. Instead, I would be tethered to a machine in a tiny room. Despite all that, I found ways to make my stays bearable and even restorative.
Please feel free to add any additional suggestions.
In my life, I have spent approximately seven weeks in the hospital; six of them were this past fall. It is possible to make a home within those four white walls. Here are a few suggestions, either of things that I did or things that I should have done, to make myself comfortable. I hope some of them can be helpful to you.
I know there are fancy hospitals out there; this wasn't one of them. Picture fifties-era motel in forgotten tourist locale, and you have the image. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of this, the medical and support staff were extremely flexible and accommodating. I cannot say enough good things about Mercy Hospital. Some of the following were their suggestions.
-Private Room
You may not have much influence here, but it's worth trying. Your doctor, and the staff at her or his office that are making your "reservation" might be able to help. Ask them. Call the nurses station before you check in (this is wise as a confirmation anyway; waiting in admitting for several hours is pretty boring), and find out if you are in a private room. At Mercy, the oncology patients are always in private rooms, and guests are welcome to stay.
-Refrigerator
Ask the hospital if you can have one. They like to inspect it. This way you can keep your own food or supplements at hand. Hospital food is no way to get healthy; I became quite dependent on fish salad and ferments.
-Pillows, Mattress Pads
The mattresses and pillows in the hospital are made of plastic. You know why. Even if you don't have the sweats from your treatment, you will from the bedding. If your hospital lets you bring your own, I recommend it. If you are sensitive to the chemical detergents and bleach used in the linens, you can bring those as well (don't forget a laundry bag). If you are using theirs, ask the staff to put a flannel blanket under the bottom sheet.
-Soap
My skin inflames immediately if I use anti-bacterial detergent soaps. You will probably remember your toothbrush, but try to remember your soap, too.
-Pure anhydrous lanolin
Hospital air is awful, and the windows cannot be opened due to infection risk. My skin got terribly dry, especially my lips and around my eyes. The hospital will happily sell you moisturizers, but they are all full of petroleum and parabens. Get pure lanolin at the drug store, or have someone bring it to you.
-Ipod, Ipod dock
All hospital rooms have televisions, but I don't like to watch tv. I find solace in music. Plus, hospitals can be noisy; the more sanctuary-like you can make your room, the better.
-Clothes
Do you really want to be in a one-size-fits-all johnny the whole time? Some treatments require it, but if yours doesn't, I recommend bringing your own clothes. And even if you do need to wear a johnny, you can still have your own shorts and bathrobe.
-Outside food source
Have I mentioned that hospital food is no way to get healthy? I found a nearby cafe that specialized in local and organic foods, and would maintain a prepaid account in my name. This way, friends could bring up a meal without having to front the cash, and I didn't need to keep cash in the hospital.
-Bottled water
The hospital will have this, but I recommend ordering several whenever you get anything from the kitchen. That way you will have them on hand when you need them, and not have to wait for a nurse to get them.
Label all your stuff, and don't keep anything in the hospital that you would be devastated to lose. My hospital was very safe, but things do get stolen. You don't need cash or credit cards when you are there; get insurance on your phone. It can help to tuck stuff into a drawer if you are leaving the room for a procedure.
Okay, so those are some mundane details, but the larger picture I want to paint is that of getting through the day. I found my time in the hospital to be a gift. How often in your life do you have no job but to focus on your own well-being? That said, the whole environment can get a bit tedious.
-Create rituals. I had several. My grandmother gave me an electric kettle so that I could make tea (another reason to keep extra water on hand). A couple times of day I could make a cup of tea and sit down with some blogs or a book.
Every night after dinner I got out of bed, unplugged my iv stand, stuffed the tubing into my bathrobe and strolled the halls in my Crocs (slippers or rubber shoes are great in the hospital - the floors are gross). While I walked I would recite my mantra to myself - writing a healing mantra is another important ritual that I recommend. The evening ritual made it easier to go to bed.
While it isn't an idyllic meditation center in Western Mass., the hospital can still be a mindfulness retreat. There are a million little beeps and buzzers to act as reminders, and there is plenty of time. I recommend sitting upright or lying flat; the semi-seated position that hospital beds encourage is not good for your spine or your energy.
Of course, I had books and magazines and movies too. It all helps.
-Make friends with your nurses and support staff.
It isn't their fault you are sick; they are trying to help. I liked the people I saw every day, and having their encouragement did make a difference. Plus, when you are soaked in sweat at 2 in the morning or waiting for someone to empty the commode, you don't want to be on the wrong side of the staff.
-Pay attention, if you can. If you can't, make notes. If you are engaged in your treatment and ask lots of questions, especially when getting a medication, you will be more informed about what is happening. Mention everything when the physician's assistant or doctor makes rounds - they don't always know what the nurses are suggesting and they might disagree.
The strange thing about in-patient chemotherapy, at least for me, was that I was usually feeling totally fine until they started medicating me. My mind would be alert and active, my body would crave exercise. Instead, I would be tethered to a machine in a tiny room. Despite all that, I found ways to make my stays bearable and even restorative.
Please feel free to add any additional suggestions.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Right Now: My Time-Lapse Life
I sat down to write this post and this was in my blogroll. Cancer is curable; please consider helping this young woman corral the funds she needs to tackle her illness outside of the toxic assault paradigm of allopathy. No gift is too small; some of the largest and most powerful presents are just in the healing energy you can send. Trust me, I know. If you don't have any money, sit down and take a focused moment to envision her raising this money and getting well.
She has moments to live. So many. I have often written about the importance of staying in the present. Yesterday I began a new project with that in mind. It is a Twitter-based micro-blogging art journey called Right Now: My Life In Time Lapse. Or My Time-Lapse Life. I'm still working out the bugs. Each hour I take a single photograph from my phone. Low-fidelity, no editing, no effects. Point. Shoot. Publish. If you are on Twitter you can follow it here. I will be blogging the project once a day at http://mytimelapselife.wordpress.com/.
Never fear, I will still be writing my weekly Nourishing Path musings and nutritional adventures! My Time-Lapse Life is part of my path right now, and this project is already amazing! I hope you will join me!
She has moments to live. So many. I have often written about the importance of staying in the present. Yesterday I began a new project with that in mind. It is a Twitter-based micro-blogging art journey called Right Now: My Life In Time Lapse. Or My Time-Lapse Life. I'm still working out the bugs. Each hour I take a single photograph from my phone. Low-fidelity, no editing, no effects. Point. Shoot. Publish. If you are on Twitter you can follow it here. I will be blogging the project once a day at http://mytimelapselife.wordpress.com/.
Never fear, I will still be writing my weekly Nourishing Path musings and nutritional adventures! My Time-Lapse Life is part of my path right now, and this project is already amazing! I hope you will join me!
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