Good News Never Hurts

The video - it just puts me in good spirits to see an old guy up there with his grandson, still making music.  In fact, the existence of Pete Seeger cheers me up.

I thought you'd like to know the followup to my last post.  If you're new to this blog, maybe you should scroll down and read that first.

Okay, welcome back.

Not long after I put up the previous post, the Good Doctor did call.  I call him a Good Doctor because -
(a) he did call, and
(b) he started by explaining why it took him this long to call and apologizing.  A doctor who apologizes for your wait.  On Facebook, I'd punctuate that like this.

Here are the notes I typed into my computer as we talked, though it hurts my poor cervical spine (neck) to do things like that.  I need to have Tom find that clunky shoulder rest I used to have on the phone, when I used a landline more.  You can be sure he will have saved it, and be able to stick his hand into a heap and pull it out.  That's the difference between us.  Two differences, actually.
1.  I occasionally throw something out or donate it.
2.  What I didn't get rid of, I can't find.
So, my notes:

he began with apologizing for taking so long, and explaining that he’d been trying to get hold of the radiologist, and finally did
neck pain is from narrowing of neck, like stenosis
there may be some leakage of spinal fluid around T8, but it would cause headaches standing that go away when you lie down (so be aware if that begins).  Or it could be a glitch with the test.  (Idiots would not strap me down, and I moved a couple of times just a little. Plus, do I ever really get still?)
B12 normal
TSA a bit elevated, but thyroid fine
so go ahead and schedule the PT, and they will tell me what I need to use to walk safely
I had a stunning release of anxiety, and did the hokey pokey, holding on to things.

Thus you can see I am downright optimistic, though that is probably temporary.  Still, it is an upside to bipolar disorder that we delightful, fun, creative people need to remember when we don't feel fun or creative, and perhaps are not acting as delightful as usual:  our moods change.  Everything does.

You know, a great many American women describe themselves as depressed.  My crazy friends and I agree, people who have never been disabled by depression have no idea how bad it can be.  My Buddhist friends and I suspect that most of what passes for chronic depression is actually the dissatisfaction that comes with human life, especially in developed countries today, where people have too much time to think:  the craving to Be Somebody you're not, to have More Love than you're getting from your kids, your family, the opposite sex, your boss, etc; to not age, and certainly not die.  And there are the miscellaneous delusions, such as the well-established belief that wine really isn't alcohol because it's made from a plant.  (I had to tell the woman who told me that, so is vodka.  So is bourbon.  Etc. Somehow, we don't get together anymore.)

But life does have its rough spots, and sickness, aging, and death are big ones.  Next thing you know, you're learning to meditate lying on your back in bed with a tiny heated pillow under your neck.  I may well be the world's foremost Zen expert in that particular unconventional posture. 

This is Your Life

There's anxiety, and there's pain; then there's anxiety about pain, which more than doubles the pain.  By 9:00 last night the pain in my back and neck had gone up through my TMJ until the left side of my face hurt, and I had to do hot compresses.  Dammit.  Part of it was just too much sitting upright, the rest was the irrational anxiety about what the MRI will show and what comes next for this back injury.
This pain has been worse since the MRI of my upper back and neck Monday night.  And I am waiting, waiting for a call from the neurologist who ordered the test, and who will, I hope, suggest some way to cut back on the pain, which seems to be made worse by walking.  Now it's Friday, which means if I don't hear today I'll have to go through the weekend trying not to imagine the worst, which is, for me, being in a hospital.  After that dreadful night last December - and that was in one of our better hospitals - my tolerance of the constant abuses there has turned to something quite negative.  Like hate.

Furthermore, the fact that my fall in May was caused by Seroquel has amplified my distrust of the whole American medical system and led me to notice that there have been a lot of lawsuits about these drugs, and the movement disorder they cause that never goes away.  (It is called tardive dyskinesia.)

I don't like to be anxious or angry.  Don't Want! any of this.

Well, this kind of adversity is a common enough feature in the landscape of old age, but I like to think it isn't necessary to melt down over it.  My formal Zen study led me to find a post from a blog by Ben Howard that happens to help just a bit my perspective. The author refers to a passage in Dogen's Instructions to the Cook, which I decided to format as if it were a poem:

Do not get carried away,
by the sounds of spring, 
nor become heavy-hearted 
upon seeing the colors of fall. 
View the changes of the seasons as a whole, 
and weigh the relativeness of light and heavy 
from a broad perspective.

My first teacher, Ama Samy, said to me, at least once, "Experience everything, but don't get carried away."  He has a rich Hindi accent, so it sounded like "Don't get caddied away."  This is good advice for anyone with moodswings, or who golfs.  

More from Howard's blog:  "Commenting on this passage, the Soto master Kosho Uchiyama urges us “to be resolved that whatever we meet is our life,” and to “see the four seasons of favorable circumstances, adversity, despair, and exaltation all as the scenery of [our lives].” Oh yes. The default scenery, in fact, that the Buddha warned us about. Life is not that fabled isle of bliss they promised . . .

but more like this at times:

Heavy.  And that's just the way it is.  Everything broken, including the medical system and, maybe, the doctor's phone.

This is making me think it's time to publish a poem I wrote years ago after being forgotten in an exam room. Really.  (A nod of thanks to Ken Vail, who drove me to that doctor and waited patiently.)

                             Doctor
or, Jean-Paul Sartre in the Examining Room           
           
Here in a windowless room–this dying body–
naked beneath a paper towel,
waiting, waiting for Doctor to come and ask,
How are you?  Where do you hurt?
How long have you felt this way?
Doctor is busy, invisible accountants
issue denials of benefits,
nurses in running shoes flash smiles.

Doctor is here I think he is running late,
this will explain our policies.
You are responsible sorry
I know these rooms are cold
but Doctor wears a suit under his lab coat
we keep it comfortable for him
here, here is a paper blanket
sorry we have no tea, the pot is broken
no one has time, time . . .

Are you still here?
sorry the office is closed
the computer is down please call
tomorrow for an appointment we are
automated for your inconvenience
please hold please remain
on the line, your call is important to us
your call will be received in the order 
in which you enter your patient account number
date of birth and death, social
followed by the pound   invalid   invalid

Sorry, Doctor has no more appointments
this year.  Doctor is at a convention
and does not answer his page
someone
will try to get back to you
in the order your call
was tomorrow

Wait—we have just been informed
Doctor is no longer with us. 
Doctor is dead.
You are condemned to be free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
p.s.  Put in one more call to the doctor just now.

Both sides now

Things I bitch about:
~ Everything has gone to hell since the fifties. See the ad that opens the video above (though I kinda like the music).
~ I'm addicted to Candy Crush.
~ My mother doesn't clean up after me anymore.  (And that's not the only way I miss her.)
~ My bladder is getting old along with the rest of me.
~ I have to wear custom orthotics and athletic shoes pretty much all the time or my left ankle hurts and I break tiny bones in my feet, which is excruciating.  Worse:  I just can't go barefoot, even around the house.
~ I am allergic to every season.  Spring grass and tree pollen.  Summer ragweed.  Autumn leafmold.  Winter cold (fibromyalgia).
~ There is a very limited choice of dingbats here on Blogger. It makes me -

~ Really bad karma led me to being actively bipolar.
~ And really bad karma makes it impossible to take any of the drugs.  We've tried.  Not that the drugs work.
~ The compression fracture I got from my bad fall this spring hurts most of the time, and gets worse when I drive or wear a bra.
~ This is our front yard today.

from the bedroom window

from the street

~ The new line to the sewer is costing us almost $8,000.  The house has smelled like drains for several days.  We didn't have water or the ability to flush the toilets for two days. 
~ I'm still not completely unpacked since the last move (ten years ago).
~ I keep falling down breaking bones, getting concussions, nobody knows why.  Neurologist appointment coming up, sigh.
 
What, you need more?  I've got more.  I have 83 problems, like everyone else.  But on the other hand, obstacles are also opportunities. . . .
~ The internet!  Candy Crush!
~ Zen in the West!
~ I had a loving mother who taught me hard work by example, and at least gave me an ideal of neatness.
~ I'm still here, aging bladder in place.
~ My insurance covered the orthotics. I haven't broken a foot bone since I got them.
~ Our house has a good HEPA filter on the furnace and central air.
~ Bipolars are creative.  Irish poet karma is not all bad.
~ The sewer problem has led to much neighborly conversation and compassion.
~ I am newly appreciative of flush toilets.
~ Finally, while I hate falling, I've always liked the Samurai motto - 

Fall seven times, stand up eight.

Bad Habits and Dangerous Undandering

Of course, nobody decides to start a meditation practice without a reason, but it usually isn't compelling enough to keep us going.  It takes a lot of effort and self-discipline.  And we run into difficulties that are the standard and predictable landscape of a spiritual quest . . .

Why do I think this is out west? Maybe it's the bullet holes.

but that defeat people who don't have solid relationships with a real teacher and sitting group.

Even when teachers are available, records show that most people drop away from practice when it starts to get difficult or boring, and it does both.  I only mean to say, if you're not committed to a practice, you've got a lot of company.  On the other hand, the day does come when you wish you'd been practicing all these years. 

On still another hand, so to speak, practice does not make perfect.  You may practice for years and years and still find yourself shaking your head at some mindless moment.  There are big ones, like the time not long ago when I fell off a step stool and got a concussion and a compression fracture in my spine.  Then there are the little ones.  You can make an endless stream of those without trying.  I made two little ones so far today, and it's just noon.

1.  I injured my lower back and set up my sciatica giving the cat her daily dander treatment.

2.  Thinking morosely how I injured my lower back, I went to take a Tylenol from my pillcase, but instead took my 2:00 pm immune-suppressants two hours early, which they really caution against. 

Allow me to explain.

What do you mean, your table?

When I ramped up my own practice a couple of months ago, I did become more aware.  One day, petting Tashi, I  realized that I was deathly allergic to her.  Maybe her soft blue-gray coat, with its fine, tiny undercoat, is a special offender in this regard.  Tashi is a shelter cat, but much the type of the Russian Blue (see left).  The darn immune-suppressants have let my allergies go wild.  So it's been deep cleaning around here, and also spraying the carpet with special pet-allergy stuff, and wiping down the poor cat every day with other stuff that controls her dander, and does help.

This morning I had experimentally driven my little car around the block, as the doctor advised, and was pleased that it didn't hurt my back.  Maybe I felt big and strong as a result, because then I did the undandering of Tashi alone.  This means wiping down pretty much all her surface with a paper towel moistened with the stuff.  She does not like this, though she does not hate it, so she tried to squirm  away, but I held her and finished the job.  When I straightened up, uh-oh.  Pain across the lower back, and that sciatica in the right leg.  Just another case of live and learn.

And in that interesting way things do, one mistake led to another.  I always take my Rapamune when I open the noon pillcase, which is usually at 2:00, after my phone alarm reminds me.  I didn't mean to take it at noon, but did, by habit.  Habit is sometimes my friend (I scrape the catbox every night) and sometimes my enemy.  Awareness is the opposite of habit, now that I think about it.  But aware or not, sometimes you misjudge things, and there goes your back.

It pleased me no end to learn a while back that Zen has a term for living your life as a continuous series of mistakes.  (You can read a little about it here.)  Shoshaku jushaku.  Actually, that will happen unless you're in a very tidy rut.  When I saw that term I thought, If I ever get to go through the process whereby you are given a Buddhist name, this might well be it.

How to Watch Your Back

Here's the thing - pain medications are awful.  They don't eliminate the pain; they just move your brain away from it by putting down a soporific white fog.  But you really want them after, oh, abdominal surgery and childbirth.  Maybe you want them when you are dying.  And I wanted them after I fell a couple of weeks ago and compressed my poor T8, which has been giving me intimations of mortality for about 20 years.  I have not quite bird bones, but the long, thin bones characteristic of Airy poetical types.

There's that, and the slow bone erosion that comes with kidney failure.  And I hated to drink milk as a kid, hated it even when I was pregnant, and nutrition didn't get much attention in the press back then.  In short, I had bad karma.  Born with my father's bones instead of my mother's.  You can only do so much to protect yourself against your karma.  It's a real mistake to think otherwise.

My Good Doctor (a DO who does not himself do surgery, and therefore tells the truth about it) agreed with me that back surgery is a very bad idea in general, and on me in particular.  I am a Cranky Old Woman (I hear you thinking of the acronym for that) with a heart rhythm disorder and only one kidney.  I have to take  immune-suppressants, which make infection a real and present danger after any wounds, including surgery; and, of course, the best place to get an incurable infection is an American hospital.  You could google that.

In response to my pathetic condition, Good Doc prescribed Baclofen for the back pain.  It is prescribed for  spinal nerve pain, and it was serious back pain, augmented by the spasming in my neck from the fall. The disc was compressed by the fall, and I have some scoliosis in the lower spine anyway (maybe a mild, undiagnosed case of polio when I was a kid).  My back does not hurt at all in these situations:

• lying flat on a big heating pad in the afternoon and at bedtime
• lying curled fetally on my side to sleep
• sitting in the perfectly balanced upright posture they teach us in Zen
• cautiously lifting something light, using my legs 
• using one arm to wash my hair 
• doing 12 minutes (today) on the Nustep at the health club

Then there are things that make it hurt a lot:

• carrying over two pounds, such as my purse or an art book from the library*
• driving a car
• reaching up to clean the microwave
• some of my routine chi gong movements
• getting dinner plates out of the bottom of the dishwasher
• carrying more than one dinner plate to the table
• lifting my chin to watch HGTV while on the Nustep

~~~~~~~~~~~
* I gave a young man the opportunity to do a random act of kindness, and asked him carry it out to the van for me.  He was a little startled at the request, but seemed to enjoy it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I know - you feel my pain (and Tom's, because he had to clean the microwave).  I feel my pain, too, again, because after a week on the Baclofen I was so confused I could hardly get my teeth brushed.  So, I quit it.  When I started on it, I had stopped the low dose of oxycodone I usually took at night, because sometimes pain from my torn rotator cuffs would keep me awake; I did not resume that.  It interferes with sleep, always a problem for bipolars.

So far, so good.  My system of digestion and elimination is glad to be rid of the opiates, and I love having a clearer mind.  The other advantage is that being alert to the pain helps me stay careful. And in a way, all of this is Zen.  A balancing act.

Still Practicing

My favorite cat-not-living-with-me, Henri, le chat noir, sent me this this morning ~

I miscalculated when jumping from the floor to a chair today, and tumbled to the floor in a heap. I immediately began licking my paw nonchalantly, so I'm pretty sure no one noticed.



That's what I do when I fall, or my human version, which is running my hand through my hair to make sure it's okay.  But I am not okay from this last fall two weeks ago.

Yesterday I had my follow-up with my Good Doctor. . . .
~~~~~~~~~
Actually, that was Wednesday.  It's Friday now.  I just saw another doctor.  But before I launch into these stories, I'll just comment that I may have post-concussion syndrome from that fall about two weeks ago, and that could last the rest of my life.  However, that might not be very long.

When I saw the Good Doctor Wednesday afternoon, I got bad news from the x-rays he took after the fall.  I'll quote from the imaging report:  "an apparent compression deformity at T8 with loss of central and anterior vertebral body height of up to 30%."  We discussed this.  No physical therapy, no.  No surgery recommended, no.  He prescribed a pain pill specific to spinal nerve pain, and it helps.  He talked about not doing things that put my arms behind my back, or reaching up high.  I'd already told him about how some things like walking and carrying a purse make it hurt much worse.  So does typing.  He said meaningfully, "Don't fall again."  Rest, etc.  I felt he had a look in his eyes like he was talking to a dead man.  You know I'm fanciful.

I didn't tell him that the night before when I showered I was puzzled by a feeling of thick skin in one breast.  It looks odd too, and so on.  I knew about skin like orange peel; my sister-in-law got it when she had cancer.

Just now we saw the Substitute Internist. (Mine was scheduled up.)  He seems intelligent, did a professional exam.   He said, yes, a mass, we will schedule a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound at Riverside, and then.  That will be next week.  Of course, we can't even schedule it until Tuesday.  You wouldn't want me to forget to complain that all the doctors will be taking a long weekend.  Monday is Memorial Day.  My peonies are in full bloom.


I almost don't want to post this because it is exactly don't know whether to laugh or cry.  I keep getting sort of silly and I love posting dumb things on Facebook and being in touch with people that way.  Went to the museum with a friend last night for a talk, and just loved it.  It's up/down anyway, you know me. Not long ago that was my worst problem.  Another thing - all my life I got through unbearable things by keeping up a front, which meant not telling anyone.  But I don't think that's a good idea, now. So in a way, posting this is practice on bearing witness to the truth of life.

Nothing is Ever Simple

Thinking about collage

So says my coffee mug, with a charming Boynton cartoon of a cow draped sadly over a crescent moon.  Today I looked at it and thought, "Yes, everything is complicated.  But that doesn't mean it has to be hard."  That is, you just follow one thread patiently.  Then another. 

Yes, there are a lot of threads, and boy, are there a lot of errors and problems along the way.  I am so grateful that Zen Teacher Dogen said, "My life has been a series of mistakes."  Of course it has; you're always doing something for the first time.  Even if you've done it before, be prepared to be surprised.

Then there are the bigger problems we run into with our neurosis.  I'm using that word in the way the Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Trungpa Rinpoche, used it, to refer to this kind of mixed-up conditioned self we are; psychiatry aside, we're all neurotic until we awaken fully. As I understand it, you are still you, and your neurosis will rear up at times, but if you're fully conscious and present you can invite it to go sit down in the other room while you make some tea.

When something is awfully difficult, that's your neurosis kicking up.  Or mine.  They are fond of saying that's exactly where your practice begins.  I hate that.  I'm glad I'm not a Teacher and I don't have to be nice and positive about that...............though I do believe in trying to be nice.  Last Saturday night after a funeral I was introduced to a man in a beautiful Indonesian shirt was as "The Dalai Grandma," (a first for me), which led him to quote his favorite saying of the Dalai Lama:  "Try to be nice."
Time for a breather.
~~~~~~
next day -
The great news from my musculo-skeletal doc is that Friday's MRI shows no compression fractures in the spine.  The unspoken news is also no tumors or cancer.  He is confident I irritated a nerve, and it will heal over time, and I won't be as limited and in pain as I am right now.  But what I have to do - are you ready? - is pamper myself.  Yes.

And next time I start to hurt while driving, stop driving.  I know exactly when the injury happened a couple of weeks ago.  I was driving the van on a highway, running late, spine hurting like crazy but I didn't want to get off and change drivers; and Tom didn't feel great anyway, and had asked me to drive.  Well, I am not yet too old to learn.  Meanwhile, no PT just now and stay as active as I can. While pampering myself.  So I'm off to do that now.

How to Do a Hospital Visit

I do have a post in progress on attachment, a concept at the heart of Buddhism - or to be exact, detachment (from our desires and delusions) is what we vow to awaken to.  But today I had a post from faithful reader Karen that I am going to respond to instead.  Here are pieces of it:

Jeanne, I'm sorry I'm out of the loop, and don't know what's "up" with your back.......I hope you do write a post on how to do a hospital visit. I cringe away from them too often I think......Have you read "On Vit, On Parle" by Victor Hugo? I think of that poem so often as it brilliantly sums up all the big and little things we do everyday and ends with "Puis, le vast et profond silence de la mort."

I am glad to say I do know today that my thoracic spine (mid-back) does not have a compression fracture or tumor; nothing to worry about, then.  I see that doctor Wednesday to explore options for decreasing the pain.  His usual options are physical therapy, exercise.  Meanwhile I'm reading about how rats are cured with vibration therapy to the spine, things like that that my insurance probably won't pay for.  As for now, my relief is incredible. I am very attached to this body, in fact, that's what I was going to write about.

Last week I did not pay a hospital visit to my friend Tina, who had let the hospital know she did not want visitors, and had not called me when she went in. I imagine she is too tired and sick (COPD, heart) to want to entertain anyone.  So I put together a basket of foolish things, including a pretty little book of haiku with paintings that even a very sick person could lift.  And a rather fun card that didn't say "Get well" or any sentimentalism.  Tina is not a sentimental person.

I have had the unwelcome privilege of countless hospitalizations these last years.  I probably could count them if I sat down with Tom and tried, but who cares.  Here's what I learned from a patient's point of view.

1.  Please don't expect me to entertain you.  Don't sit down in silence in my room looking tired and bored. I can't rest while people are doing that.
2.  Don't come empty-handed.  A good thing to bring is something light to read, a tabloid, a Reader's Digest, I don't care.  Maybe I don't have the daily newspaper.  It doesn't matter if you bring the right thing; it's the thought that counts.
3.  Don't worry about my diet.  The hospital is already imposing grim dietary regulations on me.  Bring me chocolate.  Fritos would be acceptable too.
4.  Or bring a flower, best if it's from your garden, in a little throwaway vase. Or a little cucumber facial cream.
5.  Stand by the bed where I can see you without effort and entertain me with light anecdotes about the news, what the kids did, whatever you and I talk about, thrift-store sales, whatever.
6.  Ten to fifteen minutes of this is probably enough.  But maybe I'm animated and want to talk a lot, or have you walk me in the halls, be willing to do that.  It is rather insulting to be visited briskly by someone who has an appointment for cocktails at six and is just crossing you off their list.
7.  Feel free to lightly hold my feet or massage them.  I mean, if I know you that well.  If I know you that well you could bring a little fleece throw or something for a gift.  Hospitals are always cold.
8.  If I am conscious, talk to me, not my spouse, friend, whoever else is there.  At least in part.

So, the idea is, just pay attention to the fact that I'm sick and probably tired and scared. It is wonderful that you visited at all.  All you have to do is the three things that characterize Zen:
Attention
Attention
Attention

And while you're paying attention, notice if I say the TV remote doesn't work, or the nurses never answer the call (does it work?) or I can't get another pillow.  Maybe there's a little something you could do.

You will, of course, feel obliged to ask me how I am doing.  I may very well not have much of an answer besides, "I'm bored, they won't let me sleep, I hope to go home."  Or I might want to ramble on about my MRI.  In general, it really is the thought that counts.  When people visit, it makes us feel like we still have a place in the world, like maybe when we die it will matter.  And as to your own anxiety making a visit like this, well, there must be people who are so used to it (ministers, maybe) that they don't get a little chill when something reminds them of mortality.  As the guys say, suck it up.

And that takes me back to the Victor Hugo poem Karen mentioned. Here is a link to it in French, with English translation between the lines.  It is a very beautiful summation of this crazy life, and the final peace of death. Which may not necessarily be the dark.

The Fast Lane

Over the last couple of weeks I have had to face the condition of this body-mind - I don't say "my" body because it's pretty clear I'm just renting it from the universe.  I'm getting afraid of getting that final eviction notice.........
And of course, it's not just about that deteriorating spine, cervical, thoracic, lumbar, the osteoarthritis has covered every base.  It's -

Distraction.  Did it take me half an hour to figure out how to put the Google calendar gadget on my home page? then, how to add to it?  And why was I in my e-mail anyway, that caused me to see it?

Actually, that is not off the point at all.  The point is, I'm old.  I'm not just getting old - you could say I'm getting older; I'm old.  Case in point, why do I still have my regular glasses on?  I need to wear my computer glasses when I'm at the computer or I make my neck hurt trying to look through the screen at exactly the right angle.  I can't do that bifocal tilt.  Like I said.....
~~~
And now it's an hour or two later.  1:00 pm, to be exact.  Lunch at 2:00 and I haven't worked on my collage for this week, except in my mind.  It was more important to catch up with my friend Laurie, and to pack a hospital survival gift basket for Tina, who is in intensive care in the heart unit, I'm sorry to say.  She is 76, I believe, and has struggled with breathing problems for years now.  Death will be a relief from that.  She doesn't want visitors, so I'll drop the basket off.  Someday I'll write to tell you guys how to pay a hospital visit.  I do know how.  But I am not only respecting Tina's stated wishes, I also know hospitals are danger zones for me, on immunosuppressants.  So I don't insist.

And my e-mail just beeped to inform me that Sarah's funeral is next Saturday....I can't figure out how to add it to the Google calender now.  Pause to add it to my phone calendar, at least.  It will send me an alarm to remind me, too.  How does any old person get by without a smart phone?....

And got an e-mail from the museum about a lecture on Degas' dancers next week, and I have the perfect friend to go to with it - an artist and a dancer (though no longer dancing on her feet).  Left a message with her.

I was going to say, it's been very very very very hard to accept being this old, as if it happened all of a sudden, though it didn't.  The back thing has scared me, that's the truth.  MRI this Friday eve, so we will have you know, more information.  Then options.....And I think maybe this post ends up showing not only how it is to be old in your body, but also how you begin to constantly lose people you love, and that will go on until all your friends and family are dead, though I dearly hope never to lose my daughter and grandson (still, it can happen).  It's constantly acclimating to the changes in yourself, which feel right now like a snowball rolling downhill.

You can't get there from here

A spontaneous thought this morning - aging is not an obstacle unless you're trying to get somewhere.  Shared this with Tom and he said, "You can think of it as sightseeing."  We have been married so long this made sense to me.  And we both remembered the one thing we remembered from one trip to Canada.

We don't remember where we were going, but we pulled off at a small town, walked into a bakery, and saw something we'd never seen before, butter tarts.  They melted in the mouth in a lovely confusion of pastry and buttery custard. They were heavenly.

So now I said, "We could make them for the holidays." I have many good ideas.  I have now printed out two recipes.  The one with more butter, more egg, more vanilla, and no corn syrup is more promising, though my shoulders are not up to rolling out pate brisee, and it will have to be refrigerated pie crust.

Well, just pausing along the road as I think about the news that came the slow way over the last couple of days.  And it is that the trouble in my spine is advancing.  Pain overriding the oxy, making it hard to sit at the table and enjoy a game.  The "severely damaged" vertebrae described by the lumbar MRI in June are now pinching nerves; I'm limping, and more often slightly dragging the right leg.  Headache.  This is called spinal stenosis, and when it's the result of osteoarthritis the treatments are exercise, build supporting muscles, and pain control.  There are a couple of antidepressants that help pain and sleep in some people.

I stopped here earlier today, but I still haven't thought of any way to wrap this up. Yesterday I felt better after crying a couple of times and deciding to go exercise.  To get serious about it.  And we did, and I did my back exercises as well as 17 1/2 minutes on the Nustep, stopping this side of exercise-caused pain.  I'm a believer in crying, having read that tears wash out certain chemicals, and having learned that my parents' ideas about what was strength were woefully misguided.

I'm thinking often about how wisdom is one thing, it is a sort of deep knowledge, cognitive, and emotions are another thing.  Surely you have a certain amount of grief as you lose strength and function.

And another thing - I don't have forever to wait for both rotator cuffs to heal so I can play guitar again. Began looking at digital technology for something I could play in much the same posture I use to type.  Maybe a Q-Chord.

Well, and thus.  You can't fix everything.  Just keep going - you'll come to -

You'll know it when you see it.
(There really are a number of these exits around the world.)
~~~~~
Here is an article about how emotional crying releases stress toxins, and more assurance that women are superior to men - at least, we have larger tear ducts.

Things are always going to hell

"In human life, if you feel that you have made a mistake, you don’t try to undo the past or the present, but you just accept where you are and work from there. Tremendous openness as to where you are is necessary. This also applies to the practice of meditation, for instance. A person should learn to meditate on the spot, in the given moment, rather than thinking, “...When I reach pension age, I’m going to retire and receive a pension, and I’m going to build my house in Hawaii or the middle of India, or maybe the Gobi Desert, and THEN I’m going to enjoy myself. I’ll live a life of solitude and then I’ll really meditate.” Things never happen that way."

The above quote by Chogyam Trungpa made its way to my inbox this morning, a salvation from an aggravating payment mixup on Ebay (don't you wish something would go right once in a while?).  It was titled Accept Where You Are and Work From There. It's the first two sentences I'm interested in because I just got a lot to accept. I wish they didn't keep me so busy accepting.

The title of this post is an unofficial but right-on definition of entropy I once read. It is true of all made items, or forms, and super-true of the human body.  It is running down all the time, and often you just don't know it yet.

I had the lumbar MRI a couple of weeks ago. Last Friday I talked with Chad, my physical therapist, about it, but not in detail.  I did have that underground feeling while we talked that he felt compassion for me. Yesterday, though, I met with the doctor and we talked about it, and I got a copy of the report.  Reading it over I got the message - severe degeneration of all the vertebrae down there. A mess.

For this, the doctor didn't even talk about surgery.  We did talk about why I'm not electing surgery on the rotator cuff, a decision he agrees with.  He did warn me clearly that the pain may take a long time to fall away.  (But that is also true if you get the surgery.) He is quite okay with my use of Vicodin at night, more or less said, "You can do that forever, it's fine."  I already found out I can't not do it, or I am wakened often by the pain. Yesterday evening I took one early.  The back can hurt in several places at once.  Maybe I had done too much driving (though using the left arm very little, and being cautious about how I wore the seat-belt), or maybe I was somewhat depressed by this news, and that mysteriously makes pain worse.

What is there to say?  Suzuki Roshi has summarized Zen like this:  "Things change."  When you first hear that it seems meaningless.  Yes, trees lose their leaves, nations rise and fall.  But as you go on experiencing your own life and becoming more aware, you see that it's the profound truth.  You change all the time, accidents happen, people suddenly die or leave you, most things are beyond your anxious control. If you can stay right there with what is you can work on adjusting to it - accommodating to the actual body you have.  Being aware that your good luck (being alive) can change any moment.

Hitting a wall like this one is a good example, I think, of why it is important to practice being with reality.  I've done a varied lot of spiritual practices in my time, and all have benefited me, but meditation has done the most.  And it is time to go do it now.  But I want to mention that at the bottom of this blog you will find an ancient chant called The Five Remembrances. I don't recite it in cemeteries at night, as some Buddhist monks do. But I have said it enough to learn it by heart, and it pops up at times to remind me that I knew this, I'm just experiencing it more deeply now.

Imagine my surprise

I didn't think I had posted this morning's long bad mood.  Went to acupuncture at 11:00, and my Chinese doctor simply reversed it.  He agreed with my observation that pain is worse when you're depressed.  Anyway, to cheer us up, here are some kitties in paper cups, a photo that came my way this morning on a little gadget I have on my home page.

Pain Hurts

I am confounded right now by a cascade of problems with pain.  Not just a torn rotator cuff that looks like it would not be amenable to surgery, and besides, I have a more important surgery to do.  Back pain. Sudden physical limitations.  Limited use of left arm.  Limited ability to pick things up off the floor.

I was almost unable to get off the floor today when I lay down to meditate in the most painfree position, flat on my back. Driving hurts the shoulder.  Typing hurts the shoulder.  No wonder I'm depressed.  Here's from Wikipedia on the subject -

Experimental subjects challenged by acute pain and patients in chronic pain experience impairments in attention control, mental flexibility, problem solving, and information processing speed. Acute and chronic pain are also associated with increased depression, anxiety, fear, and anger.

So at least I'm normal.

And about pain medications . . . There is a whole raft of things I can't take as a kidney transplant patient.  No Nsaids, no fancy things like Celebrex.  No steroids since these problems seem to be weakened tendons.  I have opiates, limited Tylenol, limited Neurontin.  I am willing - grateful - to use things that help.  But I was still awakened early this morning by pain.  The more you hit pain with opiates, the wierder your mind feels.  I like a crisp, clean mind, able to perceive, to think.  This is a strong preference.

In my fashion I have done things I could think of to do about this.  Ordered a big moist heat pad for my back.  A hot or cold pad for my shoulder.  Figured out a way to wear a bra for a limited time without further hurting the shoulder.  That's progress.  Made an appt. with my wonderful acupuncturist, the doctor who brought me flowers in the hospital, he and his nurse.  All excellent things.  Oh, and joined a health board where a forum on pain looks promising.  Yes, and wrote my transplant e-list and figured out that my new hot flashes are probably caused by the Vicodin. None of these actions have lifted today's depression.  Which may in fact be caused by the Vicodin.

I certainly know more than I did about chronic pain and deep pain and disabling pain.  This is serious.  This is aging.  It happens to everyone who lives long enough.  I don't know any guidelines to offer other people.  I am walking in the dark, one step at a time.  And I guess all I have to offer today is my experience.  I could say some Buddhist things about it being an inevitable part of life.  I still don't like it.