Tag Archives: love

by

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.

by

Predicting medicine again: autoimmune disease

Once again here I go out on a limb. Here is my prediction for the next Really Big Thing in medicine, which is already happening. It is slowly rising from the murky swampy depths of our unconscious.

Here are clues: https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/autoimmune-encephalitis

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/autoimmune-encephalitis/symptoms-causes/syc-20576380

Autoimmune encephalitis? Or encephalopathy? What a mouthful. And what the hell?

Well, we have always said that we do not know the causes of depression, mania, schizophrenia, psychosis and all the other psychiatric diagnoses.

And now I think we know, though we don’t have them all sorted yet.

The cause is the immune system. And what’s more, it’s adaptive.

“NO!” (you run screaming from the room). “Not MY immune system! NO!”

Yes, I say, your immune system, my immune system, everybody’s immune system.

WHY? Well, my version shuts me down. I get tachycardia (a fast heart rate), short of breath, accusations that I am manic, my fast twitch muscles don’t work and I get pneumonia. And it lasts longer each time. Two months. Two months. Six months. A year and a half on oxygen and then off but really it took four years before my muscles started working right again. It shuts down my fast twitch muscles but not my slow twitch muscles.

So how is shutting me down adaptive?

Think. If there is a pandemic, or huge danger, or someone is trying to harm me, it isolates me. People think I am very very weird when it is happening. So I isolate, to protect myself. Isolate and voila — protection from pandemic. If I have resources, and luckily I do have resources, I can hole up. Food, drink and a broadband connection.

The book Brain on Fire and movie are about an encephalopathy: antibodies to NMDR that made the author psychotic until it was recognized and treated. I went to a virtual continuing medical education on encephalopathy in 2022, I think. In the US alone, there were already 555 patients identified with NMDR antibodies.

Now there is a whole list of antibody encephalopathies, many associated with cancers. Not all.

Here: https://autoimmune-encephalitis.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/PNK-The-Known-types-and-categories-of-AE-as-of-2022.pdf

I like the addendum “as of 2022”.

and here: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41572-025-00650-1

A physician friend calls me a few years ago. “Have you heard of NMDR antibody disorder?”

“Yes,” I say

“I have a patient with it,” she says. We are a county of 32,000 people. Rural. She is looking it up. I tell her what I know.

In January I see a patient who turns out to have Anti-Caspr2. I have to look it up. Now I see the list of encephalopathies that is rapidly becoming longer and longer.

I think that chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia and long Covid fall into immune system disorders too. Just because we haven’t figured out the mechanism: well, we may. If we don’t destroy the planet first.

I also have reservations about treatment. We are using more and more immune suppressants. I read about one that stops B cells from working. Specifically, the B cells that produce antibodies. Well, that would work for my disorder, except, I already get pneumonia really easily. And destroying the B cells lowers immunity and increases the risk of infection.

I see a patient in clinic who has a skin infection and a fever and an autoimmune disease. They are on an immunosurpressant that I don’t know much about. “Have you called your rheumatologist?”

“No, why?”

“I think you are supposed to stop the immunosupressant. Please call them today. And let me know what they say. Please!” I start antibiotics.

The patient sends a MyChart message. Yes, stop the immunosupressant while on antibiotics. In the future they will call the rheumatology office as well as seeing the clinic for any infection.

I am not saying we shouldn’t use immunosupressants. Sometimes we have to. Rheumatoid arthritis. Hypothyroidism, the most common autoimmune disease, yes, we should and do give outside thyroid hormone. But there is something else we need to do.

The clues for this lie with chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia. What triggers them? One in ten severe infections, severe stress, or a combination.

So we need to learn as a culture, as a world, as humanity, to lower stress. We can’t be high sympathetic nervous system fight or flight high achieving high spending higher faster crazier all the time.

Here is to the parasympathetic state. That is where we need to go. Go down, slow down, be kind to each other and ourselves, be gentle, laugh, fail, lie in a hammock, watch silly cat videos and fat bear week. Then the immune system might calm down and not attack us to save us. I think the immune system is pretty smart, really. Even as it pisses me off and limits me.

Go down, slow down.

Blessings and peace you.

by

Unload 

I write Watching my sister die
a poem
14 years in the making

as usual
the poem goes off
in a direction I don't anticipate

I never know where my poems
will go

I just sit down
with something nagging at me

write me write me write me
NOW

and I've gotten up at 3 am
because the damn poem
won't let me sleep

that one was about
my future ex
a horse of course

Idaho Gigolo

my sister poem
takes me back
and deep 
until I cry

but the ending
is reconciliation
forgiveness
unexpected

that is why I cry

I don't expect reconciliation
from a damn poem
the poems do what they want
I never know 
what they will do

maybe they ARE alive

like a child
waiting for a fetus
waiting for the egg and sperm
to join

waiting to be born

wait

this poem is doing it too
damn it

but after the sister poem
I unload a huge burden
anger
and grief

and then to the facilities

and I unload there
too

so there

__________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: waddle.

Do you think the seal rock is poopy? Do seals and sea lions waddle or is there another word?

by

Watching my sister die 

I wrote this today thinking about my sister's write up "Watching my mother die" here: https://everything2.com/title/Watching+my+mother+die
Her write up is the fourth one down.

______________________________

Watching my sister die


I know before she does
but maybe not
maybe she knew
that last year

brave front
while soliciting money
on the internet
as the cancer progresses

she describes new treatments
I forget
how many rounds of chemo
she endured

eight years
from diagnosis 
to death

I stop visiting
for a year
after she bullies 30K more
from our father

and he calls me crying

I give myself permission
to change
to be a physician
more than a sister

because as a sister
my sister is 
cruel

she destroys my reputation
with my mother's family

or maybe they already
don't like me
because I think the family rules
are ludicrous and stupid

and I won't follow them

I suppose each generation
has someone who says
wait
these rules make no sense

why are we following these?

I think she will die
by February 2011
but there is another death
unexpected

the death of my hope
for a sister who loves me
for a sister who treats me well

for a sister who loves me

and I let that hope die
and I rise from the ashes
and I choose not to visit

and she uses this
tells people I won't visit
though I don't say I won't

people sent me checks

I sent them back
with thanks
saying

it is too soon 
to leave my nascent business

my sister
stays in touch 
this year

at last 
in February 2012
she calls me

my oncologist 
referred me to hospice
but I am not going

yes, I know
you are refusing to go

I don't saybut the cancer 
is progressing
and like it or not

you will go

my sister 
applies for a clinical trial
miles away

and at last
her enthralled circle 
refuses

they say
we are so tired
we cannot drive you there

daily

I fly down 
for a long weekend
and the hospice interview

I am excluded
but ask to step in
at the end

I ask the nurse
is this like where I live
that if there is a stroke

or a blood clot
or bleeding 
or whatever horror

hospice will keep 
her comfortable 

but will not treat it?

yes 

says the nurse

my sister stands
pushing away from the table
NO she says

I AM NOT READY

yes, I knew that

you are not going

I don't say
but you will go
willing or no

I fly down a second time
and as I leave
she cries

I am surprised

we have not talked
really

there are so many people
in and out
and I've been portrayed 
as a villian

there is still time

I fly down a third time

she is angry, angry
now in hospice
angry that she is dying

I start to sing a lullaby
and she says NO

I study her
I sing Samuel Hall

To the gallows I must go
I must go 
I must go

To the gallows I must go
with my friends all down below
saying Sam I told you so

damn their eyes
damn their eyes

saying Sam I told you so
damn their eyes

she smiles
a vicious secret smile

she is in renal failure
strange
says 

I have to take a trip

I say yes
you do

I don't know how

You will figure it out

How will I find you?

I am surprised again
the connection is still there
buried deep

You said I can take the dragon home
the one I made in college 
and gave you

You are born in the year of the dragon
you will have wings
find the dragon 

and you will find me

oh, good
she says 
relieved

she speaks of a bad pig

I say maybe it isn't bad
maybe it's done some bad things

she shakes her head

I say shall I take the 
bad pig away?

she still is not satisfied

I guess: do you want me
to keep the bad pig
from hurting anyone else

yes
she smiles
yes

again we are alone

I am Bad she says

You are not bad
I say
You have done some bad things

Very bad

She is crying

I say I love you anyway

and she blooms
like a rose
soft in a dark orange blanket
with matching lip gloss

forgiven
and reconciled

flying home
I name the dragon
Bad Pig

and gird myself
for death

three days later
she dies

and then the fallout
and the aftermath
begins

_____________________

I will attach this to the Ragtag Daily Prompt "escapade", though I think of escapades as fun.
The escapade is the photograph. She and I were dancing before my wedding, in 2007. 
I am the short one and clearly I was teasing her about something. 

Sorrow never dies, quite.

Neither does love.


by

Old woman 

In middle age
I acquire a new skill
along with invisibility
middle age women
are ignored 
by almost everyone

and I am gifted with power
to be invisible 
and to curse

I could already curse
aloud
but this is something more

a hand gesture
and a rhyme

fingle fangle
what a tangle
dingle dangle
it won't work

for all the Epstein players
and other men
who use 
mistreat
rape
abuse
imprison 
women

Viagra
has nothing
on me

and all the other
invisible 

middle aged

women

_____________________

The photograph is my grandmother, Katherine White Burling. I took this in 1979.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: cone. Just add an r in the word.
by

Eating sunlight

Beloved
I don’t think I can bear this
It’s a good plan
To work five more years
And retire in better financial shape
House paid off
But it hurts so

My tattered bruised and battered heart
Already patched so many times
And to see so many people each day
Hurting

Why, Beloved?
Why don’t we mature?

Maybe I’ll be a tree again
Living wood
That bends and moves with the wind
That eats the sunlight
Drinks the rain
Endures the snow and drinks it as it melts
Until spring comes
And I stir and start to bud
Deciding when it’s time
To uncurl leaves in warm sun

_______________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt illusion. Or should it be delusion? Or survival? Or beyond that to peace?

by

Perspective: beneath the clouds

Beloved why?
I am glad for your love
and warmth
and connection
and my cat’s
and my adult children
friends
family
patients
work
and why? Beloved

A high Adverse Childhood Experience Score
Two alcoholic parents
One sick with tuberculosis through pregnancy
Letters from the hospital to her mother
After birth
Never mention me
As if I do not exist

She told a story that she dreamed
she gave birth to kittens
played with them
and gave them away

Not a dream of joyously welcoming her new baby
Me.
Yet I didn’t hate her or my father
My damaged parents
My damaged sister
Who followed their path, not mine
There was nothing I could do
Only three years old when she was born
Try to shield and mother her
As best I could

Why Beloved
I have tried so hard to grow
to love
to forgive
and yet I have no human lover

My cat jumps on my notebook
And interrupts this writing
She is happier to welcome me home
Than any man I’ve ever dated

My daughter’s boyfriend picks her up
at the airport and has made her dinner

If I am a failure at love with a partner
Or too smart or damaged or difficult
To love
For humans
At least my children have both found love
And if I were to choose me or them
Yes, I’d choose them

Is that why, Beloved?
Sacrifice to heal the next generation?
It is worth it.

And yet, that small child part of me
That even as a toddler thought the adults were unpredictable, dangerous, mean when drunk as they laughed.
She is angry at them, Beloved
She is angry at you, Beloved
Or at people
Or at the universe
She still believes in every cell, in her bone marrow, in the vast universe in her mind

that she too could be, should be

loved.

by

Dissolution

I am sorting, Beloved.

I dream that my sister has drowned
in the ocean. A sailboat went down.
There were others on board.
Two friends ready me to dive and find her.
I don’t want to scuba dive, I am not trained.
I don’t know how to use the equipment.
I am afraid I will drown too.
I see her daughter, who is four.
Her daughter knows from my face that her mother is lost.
My friends say, “You will be able to find her.
You can find your sister.”
“But she is dead,” I say.
“I don’t want to find her.”
I know that they are right, I could find her.
But I might be separated and lost, in the depths.
I don’t want to die too.

I wake up.
The dream sticks.
My friends wanting me to wear a borrowed wetsuit
and scuba gear and go down untrained.
My sister floating in the depths, dead eyes open.
But she has been dead for years, I think.
And this is the sea of dreams
my unconscious
the greater unconscious
everything.
So why isn’t my sister’s body dissolving?
Changing to a skeleton.
A skeleton coming apart over the years.

I don’t need a wetsuit
or scuba gear
to dive in the sea of dreams
I can breathe in the unconscious
I have been to the bottom of the sea
many times before.

My niece is four in the dream.
She was thirteen when her mother died.
I think she was lost to me long before that.
The dream knows.
Her mother was lost to me
when my niece was four.
Drowned.

When the dream returns
I will say yes to the dive
I love the sea and the ocean and going deep
I don’t need a wetsuit
I don’t need scuba gear
I don’t need to find my sister’s body
She is gone
Dissolved
I let my past go.

I have not dreamed of the ocean

since.

__________________________________

I really don’t know where my sister is, because of the family schism after she died. Are her ashes somewhere?

This poem wanted to be born. For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Who knew?

by

Concord

my heart is broken
love doesn’t conquer all
unselfish love
unreturned
unrequited
opens me to wound after wound
some turn from love no matter what
cling to the lies they tell themselves
cling to the poison they embrace
turn from love into the uncaring bottle
turn from love into the insensate smoke
turn from love even to the grave

I wish my heart would let them go
and heal

__________________

My friend Liz took the photograph, half way through the Rainshadow Chorale concert last Sunday.

by

Friends forever no matter what

My small child self is happy
Happy inside
She loves who she loves
Living or dead
In contact or fled
Distant or close
She loves who she loves
And I hold her close

My adult self is happy
Happy inside
I love who I love
And the world is so wide
Living or dead
In contact or fled
Loving forever
No matter what happens
I love who I love
My heart holds them close

My small child grieved losses
I hold her close
She loves them all
I guard her from most
She stays friends forever
No matter the grief
She is happy in loving
Her loves shine as stars
The ones who are hurtful
Are loved from afar
She’s held and she’s loved
And her love sings unmarred

_______________________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: dogwood and for Mother’s Day. Mine died 25 years ago.