Category Archives: rural doctor

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On meditation and breathing

In college at the University of Wisconsin, I dated a gentleman who was following the Zen Buddhist tradition.

He meditated daily, for forty minutes, facing a wall.

I was quite intrigued. I did not think I could do that. I am a fidgety person and can’t sit still. I promptly tried it.

Forty minutes is a long time facing a wall at age 19.

I would fall asleep. I would start tilting to one side or the other on my zafu and jerk back up. I knew I was not supposed to follow thoughts, but I couldn’t not think. It is more subtle than that: I slowly figured out that I can let the thoughts pop up from the toaster brain, but try not to follow them. Wave at the thought. Let it go.

One day there was a small hole in the wall when I faced it. A tiny spider came out and went back in. I was very happy about the spider.

The next day the spider came out and waved one leg at me. Then it went back in the hole. The end of the 40 minutes is signaled by a chime. I got suspicious afterwards and went back to the wall. Not only was there no spider, but there was no hole, either. I did not see any more holes or spiders.

I meditated regularly daily for two years. After that I would return to practice intermittently. Meditation trained my breathing: my breathing slows way down during meditation.

I use that breathing when I have pneumonia. In the worst episode, I was in the hospital and disbelieved. I slowed my breath way way down to calm myself and so that I could think. Eight counts in, eight counts out. Then ten, then twelve. I needed to focus and figure out what was causing sepsis symptoms. And I did figure it out. The provider sent me home that morning, septic and 6 liters behind on fluid, but I was able to survive.

Now the pain clinics are teaching slow breathing. Five seconds in and five seconds out. Start with a few minutes and work up to twenty minutes. “Almost everyone goes from high sympathetic nervous system fight or flight state to the parasympathetic relaxed nervous system state.” I think we need more of that, don’t you? This is being taught for anxiety, for chronic pain, for fear and depression. I asked a veteran to try it. His response: “I hate to admit it but it works.” Also, “I’m not used to being relaxed. It feels weird.” I laughed and said, “I think it might be good if you get used to it.” He reluctantly agreed and continued the practice.

Peace you, peace me.

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peace you peace me

I forgive you faster then past trauma
choose to let go of all the drama
you told me that I should let go
I am letting go of you and want you to know

I am letting go of all the past trauma
family fighting, intolerance, stupid drama
breathe in love, breathe out love
peace be with you, olive branch and dove

let the fight or flight gently fall away
breathe in peace and air all your day
breathe slowly, five out, five in
muscles relax and face in a grin

sending love whether you respond or not
forgiveness for harm and grief and loss, all rot
I am choosing peace and choosing to breathe slow
your friendship is deeply valued, I hope you know

peace you peace me peace all our friends
kindness is contagious and laughter among friends
I still have hope in the earth, breathing in and out
peace earth, moon, sun, peace within and without

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on the line

The photograph is why I didn’t bring the laundry in the other morning. This buck and a young friend were in my back yard.

Here are the laundry lines.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: laundry. I may have to stay buck naked as long as that buck is out there.

That brings up this song:

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float

I took this with the zoom all the way out. We’d argued about whether it was a log. I said it was not a log. I was correct.

This creature is definitely bouyant but is not floating in the picture. He or she is lying on a high sandbar or piece of rock. There wasn’t room with the others, or perhaps he or she eschews the crowd.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: bouyant.

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Vape

First, the definition of vapor:

noun

  1. The gaseous state of a substance that is liquid or solid at room temperature.
  2. A faintly visible suspension of fine particles of matter in the air, as mist, fumes, or smoke.
  3. A mixture of fine droplets of a substance and air, as the fuel mixture of an internal-combustion engine.

So vaping is smoking. It can be called vaping, but that is to trick us into thinking that it is not smoking, that we are not sucking chemicals into our delicate lung tissue. We only have one set of lungs. Lungs are like a tree, either the roots or the leaf parts upside down. Air is drawn in by our muscles expanding the chest and diaphragm, down the trachea, the bronchi, the bronchioles and at last to the alveoli, where tiny veins wrap each alveoli, trading carbon dioxide for oxygen.

I think of smoking as every cigarrette distroying an alveolus.

Vaping too, vaping is smoking. The nicotine is suspended in a solution and the vaporizer heats up until it is in vapor form. I started reading about vaporizers at least a decade ago. There were over 500 different types, mostly made in China, and there are all sorts of solutions. I was horrified to read that ethylene glycol was one of the solutions that held nicotine. When a dog drinks antifreeze, ethylene glycol, it is poisonous to the brain. Does anyone think that we should inhale smoke with antifreeze and nicotine in it? Really?

There is no control of what is put in the solutions. We don’t know what they will do long term but we know that nicotine is addictive and damages the lungs. Some of the vaporizers get so hot that the metal is also vaporized. Heavy metals are clearly bad for the lungs and poisonous as well.

Here is an article from the U of Colorado Medical Center with further reasons NEVER to start vaping. Because vaping is smoking: don’t let the term fool YOU. 4 reasons why you should stop vaping.

For the RDP: vapor.

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betrayed by my own brain

I took a very long nap after pulmonary rehab yesterday, pushed myself on the treadmill. I was tired. So then at midnight I can’t sleep, feel sad and sappy, get up, write Sorrow.

Then my own brain starts making fun of me.

It plays a soundtrack:

Yeah, ok, so my OWN BRAIN is making fun of me feeling heartbroken. Ok, ok, I am over it for this night. Let’s move on, I think I will manifest this instead. Yeah. I need a skintight dress and some heavy makeup, so there.

The header photograph is from Centrum’s Blues Fest on Saturday. Fabulous and fun!

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sorrow

Most of the time I am fine (I miss you I miss you I miss you).
I am busy during the day (You said I needed my own life).
What shut you down, I wonder (the family event).
You said I always try to learn daily (you say you refuse to change).
I have friends that love me and my kids (you say you do not love me).
I don’t think I know what love is (your actions felt like love sometimes).
Mostly I don’t think about you (sometimes it is very dark).
I hope that you are well (I wish I wanted you to be happy without me).
I am patching my heart again (for you I use elk sinew).
The deer remind me (life goes on, even when one doesn’t want it to).

A previous poem, when my sister died: The deer remind me.

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bear

I make friends with a bear. Or really, the bear makes friends with me.

It is when I am very sad. I know I will work for another year then close my clinic. Then I will work somewhere else and either make a lot of money or get very sick. Sick being likely. And scary.

The bear lures me out to walk. By offering food.

The bear tells me things, many things. The bear asks me questions. Sometimes I don’t want to answer. I say, “Do I have to answer that?” The bear knows that those are very dark places, when I don’t want to answer.

“What do you want?” asks the bear.

“I just want to be loved.” I say.

“I don’t love you,” says the bear. “I want to be left alone.”

“Then why are you walking with me?” I say.

“People don’t listen.” says the bear.

“I am listening,” I say. The bear shakes his head. We go on walking, often. The bear is both shy and brave, angry and scared, dangerous. “I am very very dangerous.” says the bear.

“Ok.” I say.

Time passes. The bear keeps saying, “People don’t listen.”

“I am listening,” I say.

“People don’t listen,” says the bear. He leaves. Back to the woods, to hide or hibernate or do bear things.

I stand on the beach alone.

“I am listening,” I say.

But the bear wants to be left alone.

So I leave him alone.