A Travel Story

Frances and I boarded a plane for a 5 hour flight and we chose, very specifically, two aisle seats.  My last cross continental flight bordered on torture, and the aisle seat was a very intentional choice for me.

As folks continued to board, there were fewer and fewer seats available - and no seats together.  But there was an open seat next to me...  and one in the center of the row in front of me.

A couple got on the plane, walked the back (where we were) and realized that they were going to have to split up.  The guy asked folks if they would be willing to move so that he could sit with whoever the woman was.  He received a lot of polite, but very clear, NOs.

The woman (25 - 30 years old)  took the seat next to me, began to tremble and started to cry. The fellow took the center seat a row up and wished us luck in dealing with her.

Now...  what to do?  These are grown adults who, if there was a legitimate health concern, had several ways of proactively taking control of their seating.  I wasn't feeling sorry for them.  But I WAS feeling (a little bit) bad that  my butt was not budging from my aisle seat.

Ultimately, a 6ft. 4 inch man gave up his aisle seat and came to sit in the middle seat next to me.  He had a VERY long flight.  I was impressed by his generosity and I guess I still feel a bit guilty that I couldn't summon up the same response.

Once they were seated next to each other, the young couple had a pleasant and  uneventful flight.

Thoughts?

Overwhelmed

I am studying Mayan culture this semester..  The culture is beautiful, although it is very different from what I know and how I think;  it is difficult to stretch one's brain to accomodate a new way of seeing the world.  I don't really understand the class readings, but I find myself congratulating the authors for their elegant prose.  Whatever they are saying.

I am subbing as much as I can.  The consulting gig is dying but it isn't dead yet so I have to attend to it everyday.  The consulting gig won't die before a major speaking gig in March that I am not in the least bit prepared for.

My blood pressure is too high.  I am trying to exercise everyday, and I am fairly on track.  Cooking is taking on a new priority and I am becoming very well aquainted with my crop pot.

I am attending to spirtual life with some intention. 

My art projects are strewn about with little accomplished.  Yarn?  Check.   Paints?  Check.  Charcoal, ink and kneaded eraser?   You betcha.  I have got it all.   I just haven't done much with it.

Lunch dates are set and happily anticipated.

Frances and I are travelling this weekend and hosting guests next weekend. 

And I wonder if maybe I am moving in too many directions.  The pace is fine, but perhaps I am too scattered.   It's as if I think there is a new skill or a new habit that is going to infuse my life with deep and abiding peace.   

In my brain I don't really think that peace is found in self made distractions.  But evidently my heart still needs some diversion. 

Trainer?

I am thinking about doing some fitness testing with an exercise physiologist. 

After several years of loss and pain and stress, the news will not be great.  I am sure the trainer will be very professional and will deliver the results with compassion; undoubtedly, some attempt will be made to find the bright spot (my, you have GREAT hair!).   But by and large the message will be similar to my Wii Fit telling me, very bluntly, that I am overweight.

One of my goals for this time off has been to exercise more, eat better and basically get back into shape.  I have done a fairly good job of cooking healthy meals and exercising, but the results have been less than stellar.   I probably do need some professional help.

The thing is, and maybe you can relate to this, I have plenty of folks willing to point out my weaknesses; I really shouldn't have to pay someone to point them out! 

But maybe I am willing to hear what someone has to say - to learn from it - and make some changes.  I just don't want that someone to be my mother - or my neighbor - or my sister!  A cool and collected professional who I never have to see again is probably better for me.

So that's the plan.   I'm getting my fitness tested this week.  And I am going to try to listen to what I am told with an open mind.

Healthier lifestyle, here I come!

Blood Work

Please look me in the eye before removing blood from my body.

I have a health condition that has to be monitored, but impacts my daily life not at all.  So, when I go to have blood drawn I am not overly concerned.   I don't like having blood drawn - I can think of any number of  better ways to spend my time - but it is a relatively routine occurrence for me and I am not terrified about what the results will be.

For many people, though, lab tests provide life changing news: they confirm a tough diagnosis or lead to enormous relief after a long period of uncertainty.  The results lead to changes in medications and are the basis of medical decisions.   I arrive at the lab inconvenienced; others arrive terrified.

So why is going to the lab such an impersonal experience?  If your lab talks to you like a human being as oppposed to an insurance card, count your blessings.  I know it happens, but I just can't imagine what it feels like.

"Insurancecardplease.  Writeyournamedownontheformandwaitforustocallyourname." 

Maybe it was the fact that I was still fasting, but I couldn't stand it.  So I smiled at the girl, who was looking down at something much more important than me,  and said.  "Good morning.  May I please have a pen?"  The girl looked up at me. She did.  And she even smiled.   But I should not have had to shock her into taking me seriously. 

For all she knew, the results of what her company was doing today would tell me how long I could expect to live.

Of course, once we were actaully looking at each other, she gave me a urine cup to fill, and of course I had to walk across the entire waiting room with the damn thing.  I am not a prude, but architecture matters.  Everyone in the entire place did not need to know that my urine was being tested!

So I am really frustrated by the time I meet up with the woman who is going to remove the blood from my body.  I will give her this - she was very skilled at blood retrieval.   It has gone very badly for me before, so I apprecaite the skill - but she did not so much as  look at me either.   "Nameandbirthdate" was all she could muster.    So I looked at her - mostly to drive her crazy -  and said,  "Hello, my name is Kate and I was born on June 26th."   Naturally, a complete sentence shocked her out of her coma.  So she looked at me, but could not be bothered to smile.

I would have left in tears if my testing had been about a serious matter.

It seems so simple.   It is not okay to forget to look people in the eye; it is not okay to forget that everybody is fragile in some way; and it is absolutely not okay to put paperwork or convenience ahead of personal interaction.  

So there.  Thanks for listening!

Vegas

There is no right way to mourn.   

During the first six weeks after Molly's death, I spent a lot of time with family and friends; I stayed in the Hamptons and walked for miles on a deserted beach; I let people come visit and take me out to lunch.  And I went to Vegas.

Yes, Vegas.  Frances had been planning for months to play poker in a tournament and one of the first decisions she had to make after Molly's death was whether or not to play.  Her decision process went something along the lines of, "I can stay home and be miserable and lonely, or I can go out and do something and attempt to get back on my two feet."  She chose the latter with my complete support.

So my choices were.....  stay home by myself (NOT a good plan); ask her to stay home (which she would have done, but why?  So that we could both be miserable?); or go with her.  I chose to go with her.

For me, the trip was healing in a really weird way.   I slept for the first time since Molly's death, I spent tons of time alone in  whirlpools and saunas reliving everything I knew about Molly.  I journaled; I had some great meals.  There was even some laughter with friends who joined us.  I still remember the laughter; it felt so right and it felt like Molly was right there laughing with us. 

There were tears too.  There will always be tears.  

Indigo Girls have a song with a line that just keeps replaying through my brain, "We're better off for all that we let in.".  It's true.  I don't want to mourn on someone else's schedule or according to someone else's belief system.   Part of this whole experience  has been staying open to experiences and people and letting them in to my life.  I have been enriched every time.    (http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/indigogirls/allthatweletin.html)

Sunrise

On an intellectual level, I knew the sun would come up the day after Molly died.

But on every other level of my existence, sunrise was a total shock.  WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE WORLD IS STILL SPINNING?  My world - my emotions - my body  had all come to a tragic halt.  Sunrise was my first teacher that somehow - someway - I was going to have to find a way to go on.

I am stunned that there is life beyond this loss.  I would have never guessed that Molly's death would challenge me to be a better person, or that in some ways I would feel closer to her now than when she was alive.  I could not have anticipated how my relationships with so many friends and family would deepen or that Frances and I could bear losing Molly without losing each other.   

Parents should not have to make funeral arrangements for their children.  And if I could have avoided this, I would have taken any other road.  But if you are on this road with me, I am grateful for your companionship, I offer you mine, and I hope that you, too, are facing the sunrise.

Leeching

When it comes to mental health treatment, we have – maybe – reached the leeching stage. Leeching used to be a recognized treatment for any number of physical problems and I imagine it was comforting in a way – at least the doctor was doing something. But we know today that leeching was not an effective health treatment.

From my experience with Molly, it seems that a lot of mental health diagnosis and treatment is based on what the patient says. “Are you hearing voices?” Molly was asked. “On a scale of 1-10 how do you feel today?” Really? That’s all we’ve got? This was a really smart kid – she knew (and fairly consistently provided) the socially correct answer to those questions, even though I now believe she was tormented by voices and felt somewhere south of -2 most of the time.

Mental illness doesn’t always look or act crazy. Molly was well groomed and a good student; no alcohol or drugs. She tried a cigarette once and I now believe that she thought it might calm the voices in her head. Her most consistent symptoms were hyper sensitivities, mood swings and headaches. Once, she seemed to be in some sort of catatonic state. She was a loner – but our family had wonderful times together. Did we know something was wrong? Yes. Could we pinpoint what it was? No. At one point a doctor suggested that dehydration might be the problem.

Molly was very stubborn and she made an intentional decision to hide the truth of what was really happening in her head. Without a definitive diagnostic tool like a brain scan or a blood text to call her bluff, she gave professionals – and her parents - very little to go on. In her final text to her therapist – moments before she took her life – Molly apologized for lying about just about everything.

We need more information, less shame and significantly more funding for research.

OBVIOUSLY, my primary interest in mental health is teen suicide and how suicidal tendencies might be addressed and treated. But my personal loss is part of a much, MUCH bigger issue.

It is mental illness that gives us Columbine, that gives us Tucson, that leads to Oklahoma City. It is mental illness – and surely not criminal activity – when a mother kills her own children.

Mental health is one of the most significant public health issues of our time. Our mental health professionals need better tools, our society needs to recognize the illnesses for what they are – illnesses, and we need to remove the stigma of mental health concerns so that those who are most intimately impacted will cooperate with their own care.

That’s my screed for today; I’ll attempt a lighter topic tomorrow.