Category Archives: change

by

Cauldron

2 Ways to Manage the Emotional Cauldron of Anger
Freud’s Theory of the Unconscious Mind

So, the iceberg graphic is wrong, wrong, wrong. Am I right? Icebergs are about 90% below the surface, which is NOT what the picture shows. Regarding the first article, preset timeouts? I think when two people are losing it, that may go by the wayside. My strategy is, “I have to use the bathroom.” It might take a while if I am really upset and want to rip the sink off the wall. But, it lets me cool down, cool off and not say terrible things. Let them stay inside my head until I am calmer and realize how stupid and nasty I wanted to be.

But let’s think about cauldrons, yes? A stew of emotions? Our culture still has little respect for emotions. Just think if we were all nice on the surface all the time and never showed any other emotion. Bunch of AI robots, I think.

Cauldron

It’s not so surprising to look up the emotional cauldron
and have it be about anger. Anger in couples, but the cauldron itself
brings up witches and therefore women. Women in black
women with cauldrons, women boiling angry.

I vacillate between thinking that black men are treated the worst and then, no,
women are treated the worst. Assumptions, useless, toys, pretty, be nice,
true that women don’t get shot as much, but our country found a black man acceptable
in the white house, but not a woman, black or white.

Anger is not nice, I am told. But anger is appropriate at injustice, when people
are discriminated against, treated badly, pushed from homes, jailed, hung and shot.
Much of our country reveres guns to protect homes, a man’s home is his castle,
and what is left for women? Not the workplace, the public, the home.

How dare they take the cauldron as a symbol of anger stewing?
The truth is that men fear women’s anger and rightly. They fear the people
who are enslaved, discriminated against, shot and dismissed, rising up.
Rising angry, anger not in a cauldron, but hot as lava and righteous.

A sermon about fear and abuse and the minister says, this is where anger can be understood
and is right. Anger at the abuse and at the fear, letting people break free.
Energizing a person to leave abuse, to leave an intolerable situation
and no reconciliation without the abuser taking responsibility.

What the cauldron really holds is greed, the people who think they deserve
more than others, more money, more women, more adulation, more more more.
Greed, gossip, lust, and all the other sins. Anger at mistreatment is not wrong
though it may not be safe to show it. Let it be conscious even if not expressed

and fight on.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: emotional cauldron.

The photograph is my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway, in 1945. She was seven. I have photographs of my daughter and me with the same expression. Not anger, thought. I cannot credit the photograph because I don’t know who took it.

And to lighten the mood, both sexes are profiled.

Not all anger is right, though, and it’s often because of different interpretations, different frames of reference or misunderstanding.

by

Birth

I am born today anew. Why does birth feel like a rejection, like a spitting out from the shelter of a womb, a body, a mother, a community, a job? I gasp in the new unfamiliar air, unsure how to use my lungs in this place. This labor was not terrible, not as hard as ones in the past. The air and light are shocking, I open my eyes, what is this place? Too bright, I close them. Hands have me and then I am back with my mother. Not inside but against her skin. The lights are down and I open my eyes. It was dark, dark, dark in that womb, so I open my eyes wide, to take in all the new information. I am shocked and afraid, but my mother’s heartbeat reassures me. I hope I won’t be eaten. What is this place? And now I am hungry and I start to search, not sure how to do it, search for food.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: birthday.

by

Design and build

The Great Port Townsend Bay Kinetic Sculpture Race has some serious designers. I don’t know if they use a forge, but the sculptures have to go in the 52 degree water and come out a few blocks away. They have to move in the water, not just float. They have to have functional brakes, since they go over a significant hill and they are human powered. They have to get through the mudbog somehow.

Some go for power and some try to go light. This one looked the lightest this year.

Many have been in more than one race and the racers and their support teams are happy to lift the hood and explain.

The two bundles under the hood are lifejackets and floats for the water course. They have to carry all the parts on the sculpture. Each team can have support personnel. Our local school kids’ STEM groups had a Maker’s Fair near the water course. We have a group that has made an underwater robot to fish out lost crab pots. If the pot’s line is lost, crabs and other creatures can be trapped inside to die. The robot helps to fish out the trash that traps creatures.

Wikipedia lists ten locations for Kinetic Sculpture Races. Ours has been going for 35 years. Will someone forge a new vehicle that we start using daily? I hope so.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: forge.

by

An ideal death

Death is quotidian, isn’t it?

There is a movement to make death more ideal. I agree that we should talk more about death and find out what people want, but ideal is complex. The VA did a survey and found three ideal deaths. Which is your ideal?

  1. The Hallmark Death. In hospice, surrounded by family and friends, making peace with everyone, visitors from all over. My mother died of ovarian cancer. We had a hospital bed and a baby monitor and when she was awake, she would say, “I am ready to be entertained.” It lasted for 6 weeks and my grandmothers bones rose out of her face as her weight dropped. I was so tired by the end that I couldn’t see straight. She did not want us to cry, so my sister and I did not cry. Afterwards I wished that I had cried.
  2. No warning, sudden death. Take me, in my sleep, or suddenly, with little or no warning. The heart is the number one cause of death. My father went this way, in his home. I was the one who found him, though I’d expected it for over a year. He was a bit of a hermit and had horrible emphysema, was on oxygen and steroids, but he stayed at home. That’s what he wanted and I did not fight it. It was not much fun finding him.
  3. Fight every step. There are some people who remain full code, who have end stage cancer and want dialysis, who will not give in. My sister was in this category. She was a truly amazing fighter and refused hospice until the last week. This can be about believing that one can continue to hope for a miracle or it can be about social justice or about a promise to one’s family. Some families have said, if father had been able to access care earlier, he wouldn’t be dying, so he wants everything done. I can understand all of those feelings.

So which would be your ideal? Ideally we would talk to our parents and our children and explore these different ideals. I did that with people in clinic. There are interesting openings. A patient would say, “I don’t want to die of cancer.” I would say, “How do you want to die? What is your ideal?” They would be surprised and I would explain the three different scenarios above. “Put in your order, though we do not have any control.” I would say.

We do not have control. I did prenatal care and deliveries for 19 years and didn’t have control there. I always preferred to intervene as little as possible and only if I had to for mother or baby’s health. Once our surgeon went to take out an appendix and it turned out to be something else, so took three hours. I had called a cesarean section, but had to wait. The baby had a fast heart rate and it rose in those three hours. We finally did the c-section and the baby promptly looked completely fine. I have no idea why the heart rate rose from 140 to 180. We were all hugely relieved. Sometimes the cause was obvious: a short umbilical cord or a cord wrapped four times around the neck, but sometimes the cause is a complete mystery.

I talked to a person yesterday who has a frail 90 year old in their life. They said something about keeping them from dying. I said, “Well, they are going to die eventually.” Then I thought, I wonder if they have had the discussion: what is your ideal? Do everything, which may mean being in a hospital? Hospice? At home? And I sometimes see families fight, because siblings have different ideals and may not even be aware of it.

Blessings.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: quotidian.

I took the photograph of the neighbor’s flowers while I was walking the cats in the dark. I like it.

by

Diversity

This is the Trevi Fountain. We can curate the photographs so that we can’t see the crowd. Here is the crowd.

There are lots of changes from 43 years ago, 1980, when I traveled there. More people. We were traveling in January and February 1980, so that’s not a fair comparison. But the crowd is more diverse. At that time we ran into Australian travelers, the same people in hostels as we traveled. We were mostly Caucasian. Now the crowd is much more diverse and I also do not know what language a person will speak. Race is a messy construct anyhow, very unscientific, but I really like the diversity and not knowing what language a person will be fluent in until I hear them speak.

Here is the Vatican Museum. Also crowded and diverse.

Here is a park near the train station in Rome with some “Olympics” for both kids and adults.

We were staying in hostels and only did one formal tour. I wonder if the expensive hotels have the same diversity.

Let’s end with the fountain again.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt.

by

Evil squirrels falling change

The Ragtag Daily Prompt is change. Lots of that here, since I was gone for two weeks!

  1. The evil squirrel has destroyed the third bird feeder. I was not home to chase it out of the yard yelling and it shredded the latest feeder. I am going to try one of those feeders that shuts when the squirrels weight lands on it. More expensive, but nearly equal to the three I’ve had chewed up!
  2. I left in summer and return to fall. Leaves are down, colors are turning, it is cooler in the morning and evening. We had a high of 64 F yesterday. That feels cool after northern Italy.
  3. I am stronger and slimmer. Carrying a loaded pack daily or every other day really made a difference! I was not sure my right shoulder would hold out, but it did, just. I went through PT earlier this year. I am doing my exercises again.
  4. I had some wonderful time with my daughter. Not that that’s a change, but she is stronger too!

Sol Duc tongue out.

Looking big-eyed, like a Keen painting.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: change.

by

The next stage

It is hard to build a new life after pneumonia number four.

Running my own clinic and seeing patients and keeping track of a business for eleven years, along with two children, now adults done with college and masters and jobs, I did not have an enormous amount of time.

During covid, I started beach walking with a person. Two years into covid, they say, “I have to get back to my real life.” Oh. They say, “You need your own life.” Um, yes, and clearly they are not in it, by their choice. That was a year into pneumonia four and I was still on oxygen. The person bailed. I was a detour to get them through covid. Ugly, but I am trying to learn everything I can from them. About myself and who and what to avoid!

WordPress and the blogging community helps sustain me through this! I can write when I am ill (at least so far) and when the pandemic closed down. I am so encouraged that people contribute from all over the world. A small candle of hope.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to do a limited clinic or not. I am hoping so.

Meanwhile, I’ve been getting to know more people outside clinic and going to live music and dancing and doing open mikes. I am doing the poetry open mikes. A friend in a band says, “But you don’t come to mine!” “That’s a music open mike.” “We need poetry,” he says. So I’ve gone twice and it has been really fun and I am getting to know that community as well. Last Thursday someone said my poems are weird. “I don’t mean bad, just from a different angle.” Meaning unusual, I think. Perspective.

I have been here for 23 years. I know many people in the music community from singing in chorus all those years, I have a church community, I know many people in the dance community, my father and I were in the Wooden Boat community, I have both good and not so good connections in the medical community. The legal community knows both my children, through Mock Trial competitions. I was in the Rotary for ten years and that is another wonderful community. The exchange students going all over the world and people giving back also give me hope!

Suddenly I am busy. I will have to start choosing between things. I still have the aftereffects of Covid-19. I had mild chronic fatigue before it and still do. I think I am stuck with that, so I have to build in rest and quiet time. At least, physical quiet time. My brain doesn’t really do quiet, but that is ok.

Hooray for every day and for building the next stage.

________________

I took the photograph this week from Point Defiance, Mount Tahoma, aka Rainier.

Limited:

by

Forever or not?

Once someone has cancer, do they have it forever?

I think that is a complex question. But one example comes to mind.

An older woman, in her early eighties, is seeing me. She wants to go back on hormone replacement.

“But you have a history of breast cancer.” I say.

“That was six years ago. And I took that horrible tamoxifen for 5 years and I still am having hot flushes after a year off it and I am sick of it. Give me hormones.”

“Hmmm.” I say. “Let me do some research.”

I call the oncology group south of us. This is over ten years ago when we had no oncologists in our county.

“How old is she?” Her oncologist is digging up her records. “Ok, got her. Hmmm. Well, she had a stage one cancer and a lumpectomy and five years of tamoxifen. THAT cancer is gone, for sure. If she wants hormone replacement, it puts her at a bit more risk for a new breast cancer, but the old one is gone. As long as she understands the risk.”

My patient is back and we negotiate. “Ok, the oncologist says your previous cancer is truly gone, but hormones put you at risk for a new breast cancer. At least, raise your risk a little.” Age is the biggest risk in women, if they do not have the abnormal BRCA I or II genes. “Also, if we have you on hormones, you have to do your mammogram, because I’d want to catch any cancer early. That’s the deal.”

“Fine, I want the hormones.” She signs a consent that I’ve prepared and we put her back on her hormone replacement.

“I want to hear from you, ok? Whether it works?”

She calls in a week, delighted. “No more hot flushes! I feel great!”

__________

I took the photograph at Mats Mats Bay last week. There is a sign about osprey nests. I look up and think, oh, yes! Pretty obvious if you look up!

__________

I don’t remember her exact age and I don’t remember if the five years was tamoxifen or one of the other hormone blockers. She could have been in her seventies. At first I thought, no way back on hormones! Then I thought, quality of life is important. Maybe I choose this photograph because the nest is out on a limb.

Some cancers ARE currently forever, especially those that are stage III or IV and metastatic. Maybe they won’t always be forever.

by

Fear

When someone tries to hit me
I fight back
I didn’t worry much in clinic
even when patients yelled
it indicated they were upset
and usually I knew why

Not much fear there.

So what do I fear?

Abandonment
and lies
the one who says they care
that we will be friends
even that they love me
and later walk away

But that has already happened
more than once
and I survive
and the Beloved is still here
and there
and everywhere I am
and everywhere you are
and everything is connected
so there is no fear
and even a chance
that abandoned
I still thrive

____________________

The photograph is from Marrowstone Island in July 2022.

by

Refusing to yearn

Today I refuse categorically to yearn
I miss stupid things: that you rise early too
still this morning it’s annoying to learn
no one to talk to at the hour of stupid, no you
Impatient with my feelings, I wish you ill
hope you wake and want to whine and moan
hope you wake early and feel over the hill
but have to be quiet and grouse all alone
hope your mind buzzes like a hive of grumpy bees
while you spy on the internet and feel superior
hope you gather more facts piled like logged trees
and wonder why the piles don’t make you merrier
I hope you slowly open and become aware
you think you know everything and nobody cares

_____________________________

Sol Duc is playing a game alone, capturing her back foot with her front, claws out on both. When she realizes I am watching, she puts her head down and pretends to be asleep. She isn’t asleep, I can tell by the claws and the ear tilt.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: yearn.