Category Archives: Beloved

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Call

For RonovanWrites weekly haiku challenge #67.

The words are cheer and call.

Calling brings up my sister, calling her and waiting for her to call back. She died in 2012 of cancer. Grief, not cheer.

Cheer and call

cheer and call. I re
member dismember memo
ry no cheer or call

The photo is the Mount Saint Helen’s crater in 2012, with the recovering area below starting to be green again.

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Headache without words

When I was in residency, a staff member brought a young man to see me.

The young man couldn’t talk. He could make some sounds. His head was a funny shape, asymmetric. His mother had rubella during her pregnancy: German measles.

“His head hurts.” said the group home staff member.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“He isn’t acting right. There is something wrong. He’s different.”

“How long?”

“About a week or ten days.”

“Did he fall?”

“We’ve talked about that but we don’t think so.”

I tell the young man what I am going to do before each part of the exam. I look in his ears carefully. His ear canals are odd too and I can’t see well. His exam is basically pretty normal for him. He is not running a fever. He doesn’t have a stiff neck. He doesn’t seem to have nasal congestion.

“If he hit his head, he could have a subdural, a bleed pressing on his brain.”

The staff member shakes their head.

“Ok. I can treat him for an ear infection, though I can’t see that well. If that doesn’t work, we will have to image his head. Would he stay still in a CT scanner?”

“No.” says the staff member.

“Then I would have to set it up with anesthesia. Which is difficult.”

So we treated him for an ear infection. No improvement. He returned. Exam unchanged. The staff was still sure his head hurt. I had never seen him before the initial visit, so I couldn’t tell.

I set up the CT scan with anesthesia. Twice, because they mucked it up the first time and it wasn’t coordinated right. I had to explain to multiple people on both anesthesia and radiology what and why I was doing it. “His head hurts and he can’t talk?” I argued until they gave in.

The ENT chief resident called me with the results. Not radiology. “What?” I said.

“It’s the biggest pseudocyst we’ve ever seen!” said the ENT chief. Surgeon. “He needs surgery!” His voice said “Cool!”

In residency I’d noticed a striking difference between family practice and other residency folks: internal medicine, surgery, neurology, all the subspecialties. They got excited when there was something rare or weird. I always thought, oh, shit, my poor patient.

“What is a pseudocyst?” I actually didn’t ask, because they knew I was just a lowly family practice resident and would probably not have heard of a pseudocyst. A cyst like structure can form of snot in the sinuses and can cause headaches. It can erode through the bone into the brain. His hadn’t, thank goodness, because that can be bad. Bad as in lethal.

Because of the measles, he had some of the largest sinuses ENT had seen ever, and the largest pseudocyst. ENT happily took him off to surgery. Great case.

I got to see him in follow up. He was his normal self. His group home staff member was delighted. “He’s back to normal! Thank you so much!”

But it’s the group home staff that noticed and cared and brought him in. “Thank you for bringing him in,” I said, “I would not have noticed. And some people wouldn’t have cared.”

Differentiating pseudocysts and other things: http://www.oapublishinglondon.com/article/1266

More on pseudocysts: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/6595617

Pseudocyst images: https://www.google.com/search?q=maxillary+sinus+pseudocyst&biw=1366&bih=634&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAWoVChMIoZzWwv_QyAIVUJuICh248gGC

Rubella in pregnancy: http://www.marchofdimes.org/complications/rubella-and-pregnancy.aspx

Rubella, aka German measles: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/rubella/basics/definition/con-20020067

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Full lunar eclipse

Long long ago, when the universe was forming, the Moon fell in love with the Sun.

The Moon was afraid that the Sun wouldn’t see her, because the Sun was so bright. Slowly she pulled herself together. After careful thought, she chose to orbit the Earth.

Now it is another full lunar eclipse. Her face reflects the Sun’s glory back to him. She slides behind the Earth in a three hour version of her usual cycle, from full to only her own light back to full.

“Where are you, Moon?” bellows the Sun. He hates these quick disappearances. He yells and bellows and tantrums. But the Moon knows that he will forget quickly and that he has not bothered to learn and predict her cycles. He doesn’t like to be reminded of loss and endings and death.

The Sun likes it best when he has her full glory, face reflected back to him. He doesn’t see her light. Each month she moves from reflecting his light towards her quiet time when it is only her light that is visible from Earth. She needs this time to remember that she has her own light, even if it is a shadow compared with the sun.

“You should orbit me!” says the Sun, but the Moon knows that if she orbited him she would be burned and barren and dead, no rest and no light of her own. One night a month the Moon remembers who she is and is alone. She lets her quiet darkness shine. The Earth whispers, “Why do you love the Sun so? Don’t cry, Sister.” The Earth’s salt water tides move like tears.

Sometimes the Moon longs for ending, but she remembers: all love, returned or not, is longing and praise for the Beloved. Maybe she will not be loved or seen as she longs to be in this life, but she too will return to the Beloved and be One. And after her time in the dark she slowly returns to reflecting the Sun.

And the Sun loves her in his way. He loves to watch his reflection grow on her face each month, preens in it, until she is full. He is more irritable in the second half, as she turns her face away again. She wishes that he would look past his own light and see her.

Now the little eclipse is ending and she is rapidly becoming full again. The Sun is cheering up.

“It’s silly of you to hide your face.” says the Sun, fondly.

The moon does not smile. The Sun sees his own smile reflected in her face.

 

I took the photo in 2009 at Joshua Tree.

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Moon song

Another poem that I adored as a child and still do is Moon Song by Mildred Plew Meigs.

Moon song

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon–
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe;
The moon man fishes for some old song
That fell from a sailor’s pipe.

And some folk say that he fishes the bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slid from the slippery sky.

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

This poem is the mystery of the moon and of the moon’s light path on the sea. With any little waves the moon path looks like a net. And again, this is a poem that plays with the sound of the words and the rhymes with moon and sea and waves and water, fashioned into beauty….

Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say when the great net gleams
And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for two little dreams
He lost when the world was new.

And some folk say in the late night hours,
While the long fin-shadows slide,
The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide.

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the gray gulls dip and doze,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

At church two weeks ago our minister talked about people standing on the shore at night under the moon. Each person sees the moon path leading right towards them and the people on either side appear to be in shadow and the moon path does not appear to lead to them. This is a Unitarian Church and he was talking about the idea of the sacred and about fundamentalism: maybe it is all moon paths. Each group is seeing a clear path to the sacred and wonders why the others are standing in the dark.

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon–
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say that he follows the flecks
Down where the last light flows,
Fishing for two round gold-rimmed “specs”
That blew from his button-like nose.

And some folk say while the salt sea foams
And the silver net lines snare,
The moon man fishes for carven combs
That float from the mermaids’ hair.

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

We had the Golden Book of poetry and I also loved the illustration by Gertrude Eliot that went with it. Little mermaids, combs floating from their hair, the moon and his gold spectacles in the depths….

My sister and I both loved this poem and both meant to memorize it. I haven’t yet.

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Pink and blue

This is for Jithin’s Mundane Monday Photo Contest. I took this in the evening last week when I had a cold and was lying on the guest bed at home. I was nauseated when I stood up, so spent two days at home. I saw one patient on the first day and called the rest myself. If the doctor calls and sounds horrible and says they are contagious, most people are willing to reschedule….

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Tickle me, dear

One of my favorite halloween and nonsense poems ever is The Lugubrious Whing-Whang by James Whitcomb Riley.

I don’t remember the first two stanzas very well. I think that someone, my mother, my father or my maternal grandfather, would read it to me starting with the third stanza. I loved the sounds and the mystery of the rhymes from very young. When we are very young, many words are mysterious. At some point I gathered that the Whing-Whang was a monster and was imaginary, but to a small child it’s hard to tell what is real and what is not. And then there is Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and the Great Pumpkin and religion and what is one to believe?

The rhyme o’ The Raggedy Man’s ‘at’s best
Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,–
‘Cause that-un’s the strangest of all o’ the rest,
An’ the worst to learn, an’ the last one guessed,
An’ the funniest one, an’ the foolishest.–
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

I don’t know what in the world it means–
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!–
An’ nen when I _tell_ him I don’t, he leans
Like he was a-grindin’ on some machines
An’ says: Ef I _don’t_, w’y, I don’t know _beans!_
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!–

Out on the margin of Moonshine Land,
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand,
Writing his name with his tail in the sand,
And swiping it out with his oogerish hand;
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

Is it the gibber of Gungs or Keeks?
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
Or what _is_ the sound that the Whing-Whang seeks?–
Crouching low by the winding creeks
And holding his breath for weeks and weeks!
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!
‘Tis a fair Whing-Whangess, with phosphor rings
And bridal-jewels of fangs and stings;
And she sits and as sadly and softly sings
As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings,–
Tickle me, Dear,
Tickle me here,
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

I love the idea of lonesome ribs, longing to be tickled. And the Whing-Whang is a monster or something lonely and frightening, but he too longs for love, even with fangs and stings. He longs for a monster to love him, even with mildewed and dead wings. Aren’t we all afraid that we are monsters and that we cannot be truly loved?

I took the photo in 2006, our family summer cabin from the early 1940s in Ontario, Canada.
Also published on everything2.com.

 

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safe enough to have a fence and roses

A friend said that he observed me for a long time before we got to know each other a little.

I asked what he observed. He said, “Thoughtful, deliberate and shy.”

I started laughing and said I am not shy. But….that is not true. I am guarded all the time with people. Even with him, still.

So what am I guarding and what is shy?

I have a little girl self that is very very shy. Hidden for a very long time. Now I have felt safe enough that she can play. I see her as playing in a wild place. Sun and a forest and a stream and a field. Sometimes it rains. She plays alone in the sun with rocks by the stream or runs in the field or climbs the trees.

I think many people have a small child hurt and hidden. I think it’s common. I think sometimes it’s so well hidden they can’t even reach it.

At any rate, my small child can’t be reached by any sort of force or intimidation. She could only be reached by gentleness. Another small child with daisies and even then, trust would take a long time. At first she would run away and hide. And I don’t think it will happen and I have given up, but I can still love her and protect her. And she is happy in her wild place, lonely sometimes, but happy.

Every time I see the pink soft romantic roses in my front yard I laugh, because those roses are for that little girl part, shy and romantic. She feels safe enough to have a fence and roses.

the photo is from my front yard and the rose is Betty Boop

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Cat Collapse Disorder

Boa cat is 11. We got her and Princess Mittens when my daughter was 7.

Last summer Princess Mittens was killed by a car in front of our house. We were looking for her the day after she went missing. A neighbor said, “There is a cat dead across the street. I’m sorry.” Yes, it was Princess, all stiff. We put her in a box and brought her in the living room. Boa came in, and went stiff legged, arched and fur on end and backed out of the room. She had been crying and looking for Princess and she stopped then.

The next morning we dug a hole and buried Princess in the back yard. Boa joined us and watched. She avoided the living room for 24 hours and then was ok.

Without her companion, she is more social. Princess was the one who would come into the middle of a party and lie down as equidistant from all the people as possible. Boa would rarely venture out in company but now she is social.

In January she started dropping weight. She didn’t look right. By March I worried. I changed her food first, to an all protein, no corn, no GMO one. In May she went to the vet. She is an indoor outdoor cat. I let her out for a while when I am up writing in the hour of stupid early and the hour of insomnia and the hour of convalescence. Both cats would return when I clapped, because that meant I was locking the door and might not open it again until I returned from work. No cat door. We have a family of raccoons and they can get a bit exciting in the house.

The vet said fleas and parasites and maybe we should do a whole bunch of things including antibiotics. I negotiated by phone from Portland. My daughter promised to pat Boa while I was gone. She’s a bit cat allergic, so usually she doesn’t. She said, “Can I wear your clothes if I am going to pat Boa?” Well, good idea. She wore a cat-patting outfit and then promptly changed.

Anyhow, Boa is still thin but better. And so why would she have fleas and parasites and general awfulness after we’ve pretty much managed her the same way for 11 years? Grief, I think. I got terribly ill after my sister died and then after my father died. I think that grief lowered her immune mechanisms and she was just prone to everything. And why did I switch her food? I don’t think that cats normally eat corn or much vegetable filler, and so I wanted her nutrition to be as normally cat like as possible. Also, this spring she caught and ate 7 mice and two birds and she has never done that before. I think she had realized that the cat food I had for her was not ok. Since I switched foods, she has not brought in any catches. She also thinks I’m a bit dense, but you know….

I used to think those people who bought organic for their pets were nuts. But I can change my mind.

But reading about honeybee collapse disorder, it’s not one mechanism: http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0006481. It looks like it’s multifactorial. Do GMOs bother honeybees enough that then they are more likely to get parasites and mites and whatever? Or maybe the bees are grieving…..

The picture is from 2005. Boa is the black one and Princess Mittens is the black and white tabby.