Tag Archives: fear

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Longing 

When I am little
I long to be old

I adore my grandmother
she is wise

when I come to her 
at four months

I am angry 
and turn my head from the spoon

my mother tells the story
I do not remember

my grandmother studies me
and says, "Yes,

you may feed yourself."
My mother laughs and tells

"You lived on cheerios
and chunks of banana

and would not let anyone
put anything in your mouth."

There might be a darkness there
that I don't want to think about.

And the finger thumb skill
does not appear

until nine months.
Before that it is a sweep of the hand

to pick things up.
Difficult with cheerios.

I held the bottle too. 
I am returned to my parents

at nine months
the grandmother gone

1000 miles away.
I do not like my mother

or my father
nor do I trust them

at first. But one must live
and I do

At two I play falldown
tackling my father

like the people on the television
and he falls down

and I laugh
It is only later that I realize

that only men play falldown.
I think to myself

nothing will stop me
if I want to do something

being a girl
will not stop me

if I want to play falldown
or anything anything else.

My grandmother gives me 
the gift of anger

the gift of independence
permission to refuse 

the spoon. Permission
to feed myself

and feel my feelings.
And I never ever stop.

I learn to hide some feelings
from my parents

because they cannot allow them.
Sorrow, fear and humiliation

three monsters that I must hide
or refuse to feel.

On a boat my father says
to my young daughter

"Don't be scared
or go below."

I say, "No.
What are you scared of?"

"I am scared that we are stuck
aground

we can't get to shore."
I say, "Look.

We are very close to shore. 
I can swim there.

We could wait for the tide
to come back in 

and float us free.
But we have two strong mothers

who are trying to winch
us off to float free."

My daughter is satisfied.
Soon another sailor sends a rowboat

taking the four children 
to play on shore

while my friend and I 
continue to use all our muscle

to winch the boat off 
the stubborn earth.

I think it is the tide
coming in 

that finally frees us
and we are too tired to sail

by then 
and return to the slip.

We have entertained 
every live aboard

and they tease us
mercilessly

and we do not care.
But my father's words

"Don't be scared
or go below."

resonate. I chose
to go below 

as a child
to hold my feelings sacred

and refuse to entirely 
stuff them.

As an adult
a friend says

"You feel things too strongly."
I clam up

immediately.
I feel things too strongly

for HER
but not for me.

My feelings are 
MINE and sacred.

My feelings are
prayers to the Beloved.

Your feelings are 
prayers to the Beloved.

My best work 
as a physician

is when I open the door
to someone's feelings

and they let them out
terrifying 

to them.
But not to me.

And when they are done
I say

"It seems to me
your feelings

are perfectly reasonable.
I would feel that way too."

Sometimes I ask
would they still want

the antidepressant?
A counselor?

A follow up visit?
They look surprised.

A weight lifted
for now.

"No.
I will see how I am doing.

I will call if I need 
to come in."

"That's fine."
I say.

Somehow I don't
think the AI

can really do this
as I do.

I may be wrong.

When I am very small
I want to be old

and wise 
as my grandmother

who saves my heart
and lets me feel.

Now I am middle aged.
I don't want to be old

and wise
for a while yet

but it isn't my choice now,
is it?

Bring it on
Beloved.

Bring it on.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: partner.

I think the Beloved is my partner in joy, in sorrow, in wicked humor. Thank you, Beloved.

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Every day

Every day
I am thankful for clean water
water to drink
water to wash
I am blessed
by clean water

Every day
I am thankful for food
Good food
to cook
to eat
to share
I am blessed
by good food

Every day
I am thankful that I can stand
that I can walk
that I can carry things
up and down stairs
I am blessed
that I can stand

Every day
I am thankful that I can hear
voices of friends
voices of my family
all the music
my cat and birds
I am blessed
that I can hear

Every day
I am thankful that I can see
all the faces
all the smiles
the trees, the ocean, the birds
the ever changing sky
I am blessed
that I can see

Every day
I am thankful that I can touch
my cat purring
a vegetable for lunch
clothes and doors
friends to hug
I am blessed
that I can touch

Every day
I think of those
who cannot touch
who cannot see
who cannot hear
who cannot walk
who do not have food
who have no clean water
and some of them
are children

Every day
I am thankful
and grieving
at the same time

And I try to do a little
it’s not enough
yet

Some day I will be gone
or we will all have done enough

And every day I am still

thankful

________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: warning.

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Threat

I am practicing the soprano part of the Brahms Requiem to sing in early May.

The second movement is amazing. It is in 3/4 time, waltz time, but slowed to a dirge, a march, a crawl. And by adding movement on the last 16th note in a three beat sequence, so the 11/12 beat, it sounds threatening and frightening. It builds and builds and then quiets, only to build again. It is terrifying. What an amazing piece of music!

And the words, too. “For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.”

At last it opens into a fugue and glory, but still with intensity. “But the word of the Lord endureth forever. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” There is still the undertow of grief and confusion and fear.

The building is at Fort Worden and is certainly falling away.

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Fear and Finials

The word finial takes me straight to Portland, Oregon and Family Medicine Residency. My grandmother loaned us the down payment for a house and we were in Southeast, on Belmont Street. The neighborhood was coming up rapidly. My son was six months old when we moved there.

Across the street were two houses owned by two couples. All four worked for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in the summers. One woman quit and started a landscaping business. She had six foot tomato plants in her back yard by the end of the summer. She had a gorgeous flower garden in front. She also put up a decorative fence with elegant plexiglass finials.

One day all the finials were smashed. We were all sure that it was Mike. Mike lived in a duplex next to us and was terrifying. Initially it was his mother living there with a potbelly pig that would use a ramp to go down in the yard. The son moved in with his wife and child. His mother and the pig left and then the wife and child did too. Before the wife and child left, Mike knocked on my door and asked about exchanging baby sitters. I explained that we had an arrangement with someone and could not do that. After he left, I told my husband, “Don’t let that man into our house ever.”

As a neighborhood, we discussed what to do if Mike came at one of us. We figured he was on crack, he was terrifying, and we should go for head or knees, because we did not think pain would slow him down. This sounds over the top, right? Nope. My little family was in Eastern Oregon for a ten week rotation. “You missed the fun,” said our neighbors. “Mike threatened to shoot himself, they called out the SWAT team. He shot himself but he missed and only creased his head. He’s in the state hospital for six months.” Except he was back in three months. I’ve also written about him chasing his upstairs neighbor into traffic stark naked, trying to hit him with a five iron. Rush hour traffic stopped dead to watch the show.

We thought the 5 iron probably took out the finials. The owner of the house next door sold it and Mike left. We were all terribly relieved. And that is what the word finial brings up.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: finial.

The photograph is not from Portland, Oregon in the 1990s. It is from London in March 2022.

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I shall fear no weevil

Here is the fabulous model of the Capitol from the US Botanic Gardens.

Made of natural materials.

And here is the 3 by 2 foot weevil.

I have already written to the US Botanic Gardens to suggest that they save all the pollinators and the miniature buildings and reuse them at Halloween. I would fly back to Washington to see the giant weevil attacking the Capitol.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: quirky.

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Welcome dark

This morning I listened to this song and album.

https://thewinetree.bandcamp.com/album/kentucky

I bought the CD over a year ago at the nowhereelse festival in Ohio. I heard The Winetree live and thought it was gorgeous. I bought others for myself but this was for a friend. Today I realize that the entire album, every song, has sorrow and longing.

Which makes it an interesting choice for someone who said, “I am always happy.” The first time he said that, I thought, wow. That is not true. I don’t believe that, so who are you lying to? Himself first, right? Because it seemed so obviously not true.

I never gave him the album because he stopped talking to me.

When someone says an absolute, that is a red flag for me. I wonder if the CD was for the emotions that he is not in contact with and stuffs. I went through a time where I tried to unstuff all the old emotions that I hid in my complex and frightening household growing up. My biggest ones were grief, fear and humiliation. It was not safe to express those: they would be made into a story to entertain people. I started to deal with them two years after my mother died. My sister did too.

This poem, Butterfly Girl Comes to Visit, is about my sister and my unacceptable emotions. Another, Ride Forth, is about stuffing feelings and then bringing them up and letting them go. I’m not saying we are ever done. I don’t know if we are. I thought of it as going to the depths of the ocean. The trunk at the bottom is full of terrifying monsters, but I had to open it anyhow. And at the bottom or somewhere in the trunk, is Hope, just like Pandora’s box. It took a couple of years of work to get to hope. It was so hard in counseling that my days off were more difficult than clinic, and that is saying a lot, because clinic is hard work.

Our culture is so afraid of the dark and of emotions. By doing my difficult work, I could be present and tolerate patients’ often difficult emotions and say, “Well, I can understand why you would feel that way. It is a really difficult situation.”

I do not want to be happy all the time. I think that is silly. What I want is to feel my emotions, in real time, and be honest with myself about them. As Rumi says, grief may be sweeping your house clean for a new joy. How can we love without grieving?

Welcome to the rain and the winter and the dark, and welcome to resting and quiet, and the hope that the sun will return.

And on the other side: My mom loved me.

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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.

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Xeno or infection phobic?

So is Xenophobia a pathological fear of strangers or foreigners? Like agoraphobia or arachnophobia? The Mayo Clinic site has a listing for agoraphobia but not for arachnophobia or xenophobia. Perhaps agoraphobia is more disabling. Though with our world having more and more people, xenophobia might be terribly dangerous as well.

Current world population: https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/.

Number of people with Long Covid: at least 65,000,000, though the talk I attended yesterday say that’s a low estimate. Nearly one percent of the world population.

This article in Nature: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41579-022-00846-2 is about Long Covid, the research to date and the areas that need research. This is a very fast moving target with information exploding from multiple labs.

I attended an on line continuing medical education about Long Covid yesterday: https://hsc.unm.edu/echo/partner-portal/echos-initiatives/long-covid-fatiguing-illness-recovery/. This is a global monthly teaching session about Long Covid and current research and diagnosis and treatment. Yesterday’s talk was about immune cell abnormalities that persist and evidence is showing up that they are causing some of the problems. However, as one researcher said, the problems are multifactorial and any system in the body can be affected in more than one way.

Essentially some of the immune cells are puffy, sticky and enlarged. The suspicion is that the postexertional malaise is related to these puffy sticky cells. During exercise, or for some people normal activity, the muscles need more blood flow and more oxygen. The puffy sticky cells are stiff and won’t slide through capillaries easily. The muscles send a panic “I need oxygen!” message to the brain and the muscles do not work. The recovery can take a day or two days because of the food/oxygen deprivation. The researcher said that the same mechanism is suspected in ME-CFS (myalgic encephalopathy-chronic fatigue syndrome).

My muscles are feeling normal. My chronic fatigue is comparatively mild and happens with bad infections or with a vaccine that raises antibody levels, as it is supposed to. That’s how immunizations work. Do I have antibodies that shut down my muscles or do I have puffy cells? I would postulate the former but I can’t be sure right now. My home science kit is not quite up to that study.

When my fast twitch muscles are not working, are affected, it is very weird. They DO NOT WORK RIGHT. It is hard to describe: it is sort of pain, but it’s more of a very very strong STOP EXERCISING NOW message. And then I am exhausted for 1-2 days. In contrast, my muscles are a bit sore after a four mile beach walk 2 days ago and then an intense physical therapy session, but I am not exhausted. No naps the last two days. I have returned to my normal sleep patterns, less hours.

One of the researchers presented new technology that can make a movie of the microscopic cells going though a space with a narrowing like a capillary. Video electron microscopy. They are describing the cell shapes and whether they go through a capillary diameter normally or stick, for people with no Covid, diabetics, acute Covid and Long Covid. All are different. It is fascinating new technology.

I think I am more infection phobic than xenophobic. People all have the same basic blood cells inside, even with lots of different genetic patterns. So far infection phobia has not led me to agoraphobia, but the talk yesterday sure makes me want to keep my mask on.

There were over 350 attendees yesterday from all over the world. Lay people can sign up as well and the videos are stored for anyone to watch. I will watch yesterday’s a second time because five different scientists presented in 30 minutes and I ignored the chat which was going full speed with references to look up. Homework. And progress is being made.

Blessings.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: xenophobia.

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I took the photograph two days ago from East Beach on Marrowstone Island. The distance between the sea lions and the container ship is much further than it appears, and this is taken with a Canon PowerShot SX40HS zoomed most of the way out.

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You will be labeled

If you get sick
with something the doctors don’t understand
you will be labeled
unstable
mental
bipolar
crazy.

They will try to drug you.

How do you tell
when they are right
and you are crazy
brain on fire
and when you aren’t?

Don’t ask me.
I’m a Family Practice doc
and I’m rural
and I’m a girl.

I’m the one they make fun of
in the medical schools.
“The rural doctor
transferred this patient.”

Yes we did.
Because we knew it was something
different
that needed more
than we had
in our small town
in our small hospital.

Once a neurosurgeon says,
“You are transferring the patient
because it’s Friday
and you don’t want to work
on the weekend.”
“She needs an MRI,” I say
“and we don’t have one.”
and transfer her anyway.
I call two days later.
After the MRI, she is in
the operating room
for a tumor in her spine.
He doesn’t call me back
but I hope he remembers.
I certainly do, after years
and years.

If you get sick
with something the doctors don’t understand
you will be labeled
unstable
mental
bipolar
crazy.

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Perchance to dream

I have been dreaming regularly since mid-January, nightmares. The cause is my sleep apnea machine. I got it in December, but two days before I flew east to my son’s for Christmas. I did not take it with me. I delayed getting back for nine days to visit an ill friend in Michigan and help out. On January 11, I took the class on how to use the machine.

My initial “mask” was the “nasal pillow” one. I go to sleep by slowing my breathing and using the Zen Buddhist and Jon Kabat Zinn’s body scan to relax. However, if I slow my breathing, the CPAP will start to blow pressure when my breath out drops below a certain volume. Then I was breathing against pressure and it woke me up. Also I would sometimes open my mouth, which lets the air out and the machine instantly increases pressure and is much noisier.

I got another mask within ten days. This is a face mask. It did not have one strap around the head, but four. The hose is attached to the top of the head. The main pressure point is where the four straps meet right at the back of the skull.

The dreams started. Nightmares every single night. About being trapped and trying to escape. An octopus grabbing me by the skull. One dream about trying to rescue a man from a building that was under attack or going to blow up and he kept saying, “But I’m not READY. I have to PACK.” I’m arguing, “You can get more stuff! We have to go! We’ll get killed if we stay! Come on, I am here to rescue you.” He keeps looking for his stuff because he can’t believe that a 5 foot 4 female could actually be a heroine and there to rescue me. Dumb male. I wake up and laugh. Even men in my dreams have little respect for me. That is a pretty sad illustration of my lifetime experience with the other gender.

Anyhow, to have the insurance pay for the stupid sleep apnea machine, I needed 21 out of 30 days with more than 4 hours on the machine. And I have to do this within 3 months of getting the machine. I got it in December, remember? So I was motivated and hella grumpy with it. At least twice a night I would wake up from a nightmare and rip the darn thing off my head. The cats do not like it when it hisses.

I took to using it during naps too. Since I was NOT sleeping well on it, I was sleeping longer. Nine or ten hours a night, at least three or four OFF the machine. Pretty pathetic.

Last week I had my visit where I am blessed and the insurance will now pay for the machine. I begged a little to talk to the mask guy. They said no at first and then yes. He gave me another octopus headdress. This one also goes around the back of the skull, but the hose is hanging from the front. That means the weight is more in front.

It still took three or four days before I got to four hours on the new one. It works better and I am not dreaming about escape rooms twice a night. Phew!

The interview to have the machine paid for was pretty amusing. The insurance wants me to say I am sleeping better to qualify for the machine. I answered that I was sleeping longer. There are a bunch of questions. Mostly I could be positive except for the “are you waking up less?” “No, more.” “More? Why?” “Because the octopus has me by the head or I am dreaming I am trapped.” I had the nurse laughing at my answers, but I still qualified.

Anyhow, if I can invent a different mask that doesn’t feel like an octopus, I could probably be a gadzillionaire. I think I will look at some bondage stores, seems like they have various masks that could be adapted. Then they could do double duty and I will be a double gadzillionaire!

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: dreams.