Your Diagnosis, Should you choose to accept it…..

Okay – weird place for the past few weeks, disease on the brain and all. Part of me feels like I’m in a place where I am being asked if I want this disease or not. A window of time, opportunity, cosmic connection and karma that will open and it will close, and I will scarcely be aware of it doing so. But I’m pretty aware that it feels open right now.

I’m in a place with a physical disease that they just don’t frankly know shit about. No one does, and so I am on my own to figure out just what they DO know, what I know, and the health paradigm that contains my decisions. Well, the shift has hit the fan, ever so gently, and I’m heading off into the un-medicated realm. Conventional paradigm says take drugs…but it’s a case by case basis with me at this point in my life. Think of it: Simplicty? Or Complication? All the shots are just a complication. I cannot become dependent upon anything that I cannot afford, plain and simple. Paradigm question: “Won’t the state pay for that?” Paradigm answer: “Of course it will!” New paradigm: “Can I afford to become dependent on something I cannot produce, afford, or procure without the aid of some nameless corporation somewhere, and shall I place my very life and health in it’s hands?”  New paradigm answer: “Um….noooo?”

And so I head off into the world, vision all a-shit, dizzy and tingly. Look according the old paradigm like shit. Make-up, you know, has a very small, loving, place in mine…and it’s not for every day. Would rather not be in public except to get the things we need for our simplistic life, which isn’t much. But heading to the bank, I know I have to make an appearance to close out an account and sever ties with yet another financial institution. The old paradigm thrusts guilt, and shame, and less-than feelings for having to close and account that once filtered 6-digits worth of fiat currency a year. I know full well what happened – day by day, in fact. I have no reason for shame. But when a business closes, our paradigm screams “FAIL!” And so, I automatically set about the act the part of a failure. I offer up the reasons as excuses…as twists of fate and poor fortune…of pity and sadness…seeking to engender a sort of absolution for my poor outcome! Yes…automatically. See if that’s not true for you, too. We act the part. Because in my new paradigm, I sat and contemplated the truth of the matter within my own soul, and I’m having a good time, really.

Phil’s surgery and the store, and my relationships coming in to the picture and…and…and…  I went through SO much the years that the store was in operation! WOW! I look back on that whole chapter like the Olympics! How hard it was, but how exhilarating, really. Really tough to go through on a day to day basis…but now that we have moved on to other chapters, these are FINE memories of a life I just fucking LIVED! I dove in, jumped dangerously, got hurt a few times, cried a lot, laughed a lot, worked a lot…it was great, actually. Can I say that already? Or do I have to wait til I’m 70 or something? No…in all truth, it’s all good NOW.

So, back to the bank…I realize that I have a choice here. I can go in there with the old paradigm resting on my weary, shuffling shoulders. I could tell the friendly teller that I’ve come to know that I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable disease. I could remind her that I am the caretaker of Phil, my little quadriplegic son.  I could look sorry, and hungry, and make lamentations about our financial affairs, and how hard it is to be without money. Oh my god…how I could go on!

And in going on and on, I could easily elicit the response that would make my old paradigm ego happy: Pity. Lots of it. Could probably engage the other tellers, too. Boo-hoo for me…look at all the hard shit I have to deal with. I could be what they are thankful for around their TV set tonight…”Gee, honey, there was this really tragic woman at the bank today…I felt so sorry for her!”

Just contemplating THAT scenario makes me sick. I don’t want to be the object of anybody’s “poor-pitiful-person” conversations!! Oh my god…how inaccurately that represents what I really feel inside – what I am really being shown in this PLACE that I am in! No, no, no! Today was like, the happiest day ever! Not for any reason except that I was able to wake up, breathe, become part of the life I live, move, dress, shower, eat, cook, tend to whatever came up…it was all good! Even the bitching in the kitchen gave me reasons to reflect on why my kids attack each other at times, and what I can do to diffuse these personality conflicts…what I can teach in my own actions and reactions.

And then I thought of me again. How, then, shall I walk into that bank and close this account? Shall I come with pity and disease in hand? Or shall I walk in like the Queen who has decided she will no longer play this currency at this institution? The benevolent Queen, who is responsible for an entire LIFE to move in the direction that will ensure it’s survival and the survival of her progeny?  

If I come in the diseased peasant – then the diseased peasant is what I shall be. I wiil be seen as such, remembered as such, leave sad little ripples in the water as such. Because in the old paradigm, I suppose, that’s just what I am.

But I’ve been offered – thrust into, actually – a New Paradigm. Here, I am not the diseased peasant. I am a Queen – a Princess – a Ruler – a Leader. I am a mother, and a sister, and a daughter.  I rule over an entire household! I am a manifestation of GOD as I understand it…genius…emanating from a vibration of pure love. Wow. I am amazing. I am profound. I am part of this Universe, and as such, important, and powerful, and blessed.

My walk into the bank was a decided rejection of the disease. No…the energy that would encompass me about if I presented anything other than my personal truth in there would have sucked life out of me. Like a big green, fluffy, cloud. All comfy and shit…but horrible for you! An anesthesia of sorts, to cope with all the pitfalls of a disease process. Ugh. No thanks.

No…I shuffled into that bank with the most comfortable steps possible for the queen, on my king’s arm. Three doors were opened for me, which made me smile! I sat in the chair and helped myself to a complimentary chocolate with a comment of gratitude for the perk. An explanation from the reigning ME consisted of straight to the point issues, an exchange of signatures and pleasant comments from me about the truth of the idea of simplifying life, and how amazing it is. Without intending to, I made no room for topics of strife or pity. I left no fodder for “that-poor-woman-at-the-bank” talk. And I left this institution with a smile for my casual acquaintance, and a pleasant farewell. I got into the car - door opened for me by my king – happy in my new paradigm.

As we drive home to meet Phil, I feel confronted gently with the choice again. I have two life paths in front of me, and I can choose which one I live on in a moment by moment basis. Part of me IS tired. I have wrestled with my life to such a degree that I am partially exhausted. I’m aging. My body is in a state of decay, as a mammal. My energies feel quite used up at times. The thoughts of dying and going home are not at all unpleasant to me. I am not afraid of that. But I don’t feel I’ve finished my homework here, and am therefore in no way ready to make my exit. But how much more is here? Again…I feel a subtle choice. How much do you want there to be?

Do I want a much, much slower life? A pace that accommodates a crippling, aging body? Where running is no longer something you even attempt? Seeking of cooperation with others for the things I can no longer do? Surely this is what we all have to look forward to as we age and die, but already? Shit, I’m only 48. Or do I want to look forward to my life of self-sufficiency, with which I am NOT unfamiliar? It’s a LOT of work…a LOT! It’s tedious…it’s intensive. Simplicity and complication are only interchangeable to a degree. I am aware of the laborious nature of staying alive. Do I want this? To accept and embrace this diagnosis as I have Duchenne is to have a built in reason NOT to do it. I’m too tired…too sick…to infirm. Case made, case closed. In a few years, we wind her all up and head out the door! Not a bad life…not a bad life at all.

But is that what I want? Or do I want to be strong again? Recover? No more pity card to play. No disability check from Uncle Sam. No drug benefits. No Sorry Sally shit. No more “inspiring” others with my tales of woe. Just a seeking in the second half of my life to become less and less important, and pass along secrets to the new paradigm that is coming whether we like it, believe it, prepare for it or not. I will have said my peace, and hopefully watch while my kids and the generation that I have helped into consumerism makes it’s way out of the worm-hole created by it and begins to see that I’m not talking nonsense when I tell them that they must get back to the earth from whence they came, and take care to prepare a place for any people of the future, so they can have a future. (“If there are people here in 200 years, they will not have the life that we are living today.”) Urge them not only to NOT make the same mistakes or continue in our folly, but to show them a legitimate way to do so, within the confines of their own lives, and be a demonstration of how to spread that knowledge. To live in a world of LOVE, and not money, where value is as value does. To teach them to tend a seed with the same fervency with which they currently seek a fast-food joint during a half-hour lunch break.

One of these choices will prevail in my life. Both have an appeal. I’m tired. But I’m restless, too. I have worked hard and played hard most of my adult life. I’m not a type A, by any stretch, but I’m a worker. Maybe it’s time to just be a grandma.

But maybe it’s time to start over. Maybe, it’s time to move again. Maybe in the details of each day, here in this new paradigm, I am getting stronger and stronger…moving toward a longer life than perhaps is appealing when you are wiped out on steroids. But maybe the reward there, according to mission control, is well worth the effort. Maybe the story will be more interesting at the end of it if I pursue the quiet life of simplicity and self-sufficiency with more gusto than less. Maybe.

Either way this is going to go…and I am not sure at all, but I think there is  a chance that the choice might just be mine to make.

Paradigm Shifting...Again

So I suppose that I am finally ready to write something about all that has been going on lately, because today I have a good perspective. And I just had to wait for that, or things of this nature just become another complaint, whining and crying, and certainly don’t add to a positive thought pattern or outcome, now, do they?

My situation, when compared to the life that one plans for oneself in the way of ease, comfort and pleasure is just not turning out as I had perhaps imagined it should be. At this age, I supposed I would be in a much different position as I made choices through my life. But many of my choices have lead to circumstances that I did not anticipate. How could I? And I have no regrets about such, when I take my own advice and view my life as a book in the writing, it’s quite the read, and I am a better person for all of it.

But there have been several situations that I did not choose that have not been the result of any choice that I made. The kind of things that no one signs up for. The life changers, that cause a necessary paradigm shift in all that you previously thought and believed to be true. We don’t choose to miscarry a child. We don’t choose to have children born with birth defects. We don’t choose to have a child born with a genetic incurable degenerative disease. And we certainly don’t have a big choice in the matter when another scary acronym for one of the same shows up on your own tests: MS.

My story starts a long time ago, I suppose, with weird symptoms here and there. But many of those were like asking me if I had a ghost in the house. With this many kids and this much to do, who would know? I would blame any paranormal activity on the normal actions of an active household. So I had a twinge, or a dizzy spell, or a bizarre ache or pain…that’s life. So what? Being well schooled in home medicine, I’m not one to run to the doctor for every ache and pain. But the few times I went in, I was assured that I was fine, and that’s what I wanted to hear, so it was all good.

But a few months ago, the vision in my right eye just up and quit. No pain, just no vision in the upper half of my eye. For a week or better. That sent me to the ER with a probable diagnosis of detached retina – until they saw my retina was fine. A date with the MRI machine and an ophtho- neurologist found me to have lesions on my optic nerve and brain consistent with optic neuritis. Simply stated, the coating on my nerves has been chewed through in places – courtesy of my own immune system – and are causing inflammation of the nerves in those places, and as a result, it shorts out my vision. The only treatment at this time is a course of extremely high-dose steroids with a two week taper, which my body had no intention of accepting gratefully.

During the first course of this stuff, I began to suffer a myriad of other symptoms, the worst of which were a gross imbalance in my gait, and something that I can only describe as mini seizures, which would cause me to stop everything, while gravity pulled me down to the left. My speech would slur (if I tried to talk through them) and if I was not careful, anything in my right hand would hit the floor. During this time I had a lumbar puncture to see what was going on in my spinal fluid, and sure enough, oligoclonal bands are there – and they are not supposed to be. Unless of course, there is a disease process of some sort going on…specifically multiple sclerosis.

The worst symptoms gradually abated – but not all. My vision field was full, but the color and contrast was all off – a bizarre combination of too light (requiring sunglasses) and too dark – couldn’t differentiate a damn thing. Another MRI showed some more shiny spots in my thoracic and cervical spine, where the the immune system mice have been hard at work.

On December 21^st, the neurologist told me what I had pretty much already figured out, and gave me a book-bag full of drug company literature about the treatment options available to me, and a week to decide which one I might prefer. All of them are injections – daily, every three days or weekly. In a conduit of Chinese hamster ovary DNA, one primary side effect is depression, and the best test results in double blind studies show an increase in time between relapses could be increased (by how long is not certain) is up to 39%. Now, if I told you that the chance of rain today is 39% tops, would you bring your umbrella?

Off to the internet, where my medical transcription training has served me well in finding the reputable stuff. But surprise, surprise…most of the drug company literature is so very favorable. Other drugs are available in other countries, in off-label usage with safer drugs with less side effects – but good luck finding these here, or a doctor willing to prescribe them. I find that in the generic information on MS in general – it’s just that…general. Generic. Could be, would be, might be….

And so now it’s off the chat rooms and MS groups. These places are not to be poo-pooed, as it seems they are by the medical establishment. In my experience with Duchenne muscular dystrophy, I have found these to be an extremely valuable resource. This is a disease that has a generic course, also – and it fluctuates wildly in its manifestations. There are men in their 50s with it – some boys go home as young as 13 or 14! No cure – but hundreds of treatments. Some quite controversial…but there is no substitute for conversing with people in all camps and finding out what worked for them, what didn’t, and comparing the similarities to your own son. Many things could be avoided, many things could have been implemented – and you only learn this from sharing with people who are on the same road. There are even lots of variables within the disease – such as differentiating Duchenne from Beckers, a milder form of the same thing. Now I need the input and support of those who have gone before me on this particular journey – and the results have been sobering. Suddenly DMD seems rather stable, because  it seems that for as many people who have been diagnosed with MS, there are as many experiences – and they are all over the map.

The most common form of this particular disease falls into a category labeled RRMS – Relapsing-Remitting multiple sclerosis. In other words, you will have a string of symptoms, which can range from bothersome to incapacitating, which spontaneously resolve, and go into “remission” for an inderminate period of time. If the uglies show up again, they can show up uglier than before, or bring friends, or not be so bad at all. Sometimes they can leave parting gifts of permanent nerve damage. Sometimes not. Enter the pharmacueticals, which are supposed to put a bigger gap in the sequence on the side of the good days. Sometimes they do…sometimes they don’t. Sometimes with no drugs, you go years and years with nary a symptom. Sometimes a few years of your life get eaten up with a persistent series of relapses. You just never know. And sooner or later, it catches up with you and takes you down – but hopefully not until you’ve already pretty much lived out your years anyway. 

But then there are other types, progressive MS, which come to stay. It sets up housekeeping, and your immune system embarks on a seek and destroy mission of in intensive nature and thrives on all the myelin it can consume. And your symptoms progress from one form to another – new challenges appear daily, until you can’t function. Then I suppose it’s time to put your affairs in order, and begin your paradigm shift once again.

On my diagnosis date, I tell my doctor that my left eye is now losing its vision. Most of the field is there, but it’s very dark and smeary. He says nothing. What can he say? Tell me how it is in a week. In a week, it’s worse. I cannot read for more than a few minutes. I have no peripheral vision at all, and big spot of black light in the center. My right eye is okay, but we are binocular people…our eyes see two images and then send the signals to the brain, via the optic nerve, to make a singular picture out of it. Except my nerves are not in a cooperative mood. The result is a frustration that leads me to wanting to rip off these clown-distorted glasses – but they are not glasses. They are embedded in my head and cannot be removed. It is the way that it is. Deal with it.

My options are limited. Wait for it to go away. Try another dose of the heavy duty steroids that kicked my ass and turned me into a “sick” person for two weeks. I wait. And wait. Another day. Each day I wake up and hope I can see. Each day I wake up and I can’t. Then more fun symptoms show up. Each time I look down my nerves treat me to my own personal taser attack from my head to my toes – something called Lhermitte’s sign. Then the skin pain…oy vey. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a considerable area of my body tattooed, and this pain makes that feel like a massage. Gotta stand up slowly so I don’t get dizzy and go right back down. But mostly – it’s my eyes.

I finally spend a few days shaking hands through the cycle of grief. I know all you stages so well. Rather than grievous freak outs, I spend some time in the living room of each stage, talking things out with the occupants there.

Hello, Denial! How’s it going? Yeah…this is not that big a deal. Just a hand in the deck of cards. We’ll play it, make the best of it…we have so many other things to deal with, right?  Not much to say – so yeah… I’ve got to take care of Phil now, so hey – keep it real, right? Just a bump in the road! See ya later!

Next stop on the trip is anger. Went to visit one day upon awaking – sure that I would be able to see better. I can’t. Fuck! This sucks! God damn it! Can’t I just stop this shit? Tear off these fucking 3-D glasses and blurriness and darkness and turn the lights on and fucking SEE?!?! I have a kid to get off the school…and food to cook…and shopping to do! I have no time for this! I’m sitting in angers living room venting, and he’s just staring back at me with a half smirk on his face. Don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. I have a big barf-bucket here – I can take it…just let it all out. And I do. And I’m thankful that Mark is willing to let my pieces fall to the floor, and pick them up later and offer them to me when I’m able to put them back together with a bottle of glue. No condemnation.

Off, then, to the bargaining table. I don’t spend a lot of time here. Because the person in the other chair is just me. A better version…my true version…my Spirit.  The best example of what happens here is reflected in the Garden of Gesthemane, when Jesus, face to face with the magnitude of the task before him asks His Spirit if they could, perhaps, switch to a Plan B. But the conversation is spelled out for us. This was the plan…from the foundation of the world…remember? He doesn’t want to remember, but has learned in his 33 years trust His Spirit. This is decidedly NOT what his physical body wants to experience – but before the world began, they planned this out, and it made complete and total sense in that space of perfection. And he concedes…”Nevertheless, not my (physical) will, but Thy will be done.” And “THY” was His own Spirit.

In my own case I am reminded that I did nothing to bring my life into this world. For nine months I was totally taken care of. I gave no thought to my eyes, my hands, my form. It was crafted and created by loving forces in secret. I was born, and for some reason my consciousness decided at some point I had to do it all myself. But I’m mistaken. The same forces that formed me in secret are still at work, doing the work that was contracted to do in my Life between Lives, making no mistakes, screwing nothing up. It’s in this I must place my trust. And there is no bargaining conversation. Just a few knowing looks, a few tears, and handshake, and a long, loving hug. I am dismissed to discuss the situation with depression in the next room.

Upon arrival there, I am no longer angry. I have nothing to say. Crying kind of gives me a headache, so I just sit and contemplate my paradigm shift. In case you are at all unclear about what I mean by that, your paradigm is the way you think before you think about something. If I tell you that I let my daughter leave “formal” education at the age of 15 and go 2000 miles away to train with a horse trainer, your paradigm will immediately suggest that this is a mistake, and that 15-year-old girls belong in school. Why? Because your society has told you that. This is your paradigm. And you could give me a long list of the reasons you have held onto that. I, on the other hand, six years later, can tell you that my paradigm shifted, and that it’s perfectly okay to pull a kid out of “formal” education and send them into the world in the area of their obvious talent, and that unlimited success can be the result. I can tell you that in my new paradigm, the results can be extremely gratifying, and that while all the choices for “good” or “bad” are still there, they are of a different style and caliber. And an education is decidedly NOT limited to the cinder-block walls of our factory-education system, and her education is still an education! In fact, this child has an education that most of us can only wish we had pursued.

Well, now the paradigm that needs changing is one that assumed that when you are the caretaker of a handicapped child, your own health is assured for the duration. Kind of like a “Get out of sickness” FREE card. You are needed, and surely the powers that be will keep you free from disease. My paradigm is an assumption that my health has been mine to maintain, and that I actually have control over it. But I don’t. My body is reminding me daily, that for all my great ideas about maintaining a healthy lifestyle, it remains quite out of my control.

I invited Acceptance to join Depression and I, and he graciously agreed to do so as I made my decision to go for another round of the steroid therapy. Whatever it takes, I want to see clearly again. Bracing for the worst, I put my life on temporary hold for two weeks. I am currently on my third day of the Methylprednisolone grenade IV, and to my delight, I have had almost none of the wicked side effects…yet. The 17 days of Prednisone is yet to come. However, each morning I wake up and still have no improvement in the vision in my left eye.  

I conference with my friend, Acceptance.  Where is the remission? Am I ever going to get one? It’s been three months now. Is this permanent? Is this NOT relapsing-remitting? Is this the start of a downhill run for the old body? Will I ever see right again? Will my vision ever come back? I don’t know. And today, I’m partially okay with that. I don’t want it, but I didn’t want Duchenne as part of my life, either. But what I’ve learned in the years of dealing with that is that was HAVE been healed. We have been healed of the need to be healed. We have accepted that this is the way Phil is, this is what we can do, this we can’t do…carry on. LOVE him…every day, in every action. Ta-da! Instant cure. No need to kick against the goads and bloody our feet with attempts at making his body like everyone elses. He's got what he's got – we can’t change that, and I’ll not spend our lives in the futile attempt to do that. We have today, and the sun is shining, and he is capable of smiling, and we are going to do everything we can to accentuate that. We are going to smile when he wakes up and make gross 13-year-old jokes about getting out of bed, to the toilet and dressed. We are going to cuss at the Hoyer which I have to use since my arm is tangled up with an IV line, and laugh some more about how his butt hangs down in it. We are going to spend way too much time getting him adjusted in his chair to his comfort level, and adjusting his pants to that they look just-so. I’m going to change his games for him, and cut up his food, and help him eat, and criticize his finicky-ness while he criticizes my cooking. We’ll laugh at the dogs, and be sad about the lack of friends that he has in school, but then we’ll knock off early and watch some movies together, have some popcorn and hot chocolate. It’s just our life…and we have accepted that.

Now it’s my turn to go and do likewise. Whatever is up ahead, Acceptance reminds me of the choice that we made before the “foundation of the world”. This is all part of bigger picture. I need to back up and look at the book in my Spirits hand, which reads, “The Life and Times of Sally Molitor”. The ending is already in there. The first 47 chapters are amazing. They are interesting. It’s a great read. It’s like a movie – and all the crap you watch a character go through in the best movies ultimately leads to a wonderful and climactic ending – where all the pieces end up fitting – and you finally understand. Even when the hero dies in a fashion that we deem was too soon, you feel like a better person for watching/reading it. I am the author of this book to the degree that I will either choose to spend my life trying to fix what I cannot, in all it’s desperation, heartache, and disappointment, or I will accept what I’ve got and make the most of it. I will look at the sunrise and sunset, and be about the business of living.

I’ve got a new wood cookstove to play with. Our financial status has us down to living on the very basics of life, and that can be very gratifying, going back to a life of simplicity in the midst of a paradigm that tells us more will make us happier. News flash: It doesn’t. Still another paradigm shift I’ve accepted. 

I have children who are healthy and happy, and currently scattered about the country writing their own biographies – and what grand stories they are! I talk to them almost daily, and am happy to have graduated from parent to trusted advisor and friend with most of them. Parenting is, after all, a spectator sport after a certain age. I have grandchildren to consider, and a pack of pooches to love the stuffing out of. I have the love of my life to take care of me – and I him, who understands the ups and downs of the whole dynamic here who encourages me, and inspires me daily. Sure, we have a whole package of problems that may seem insurmountable…but none of us can do anything more than live one moment at a time – and it is enough. And when I open myself up to trusting my Spirit, I realize the truth of that. I have a small cast of characters who have touched my life in ways that have altered the course of my life in such wonderful ways. And today, it’s that gratitude for ALL THAT I AM that gives me a smile, and a peace, and an acceptance that this IS my life! And life is for living – whatever that looks like in any given moment – that’s what we’ll do…is LIVE.

Not By Sight

An interesting thing happened on the way the way through life this month. Learned another good lesson about things and the way things are. I have learned that you do not see with your eyes. The eyes are just a physical lens through which information is filtered through to your optic nerve, which sorts through all the electrical impulses and makes some sense of the physical world around you for your brain to tell your hands and body how to respond. You really can’t see with your eyes any more than you can read these words on a monitor detached from a hard drive. You have to be connected.

Now, I found this out because one fine day, my nerves decided to take a sabbatical. No vision, upper right eye. No pain. Vacation weekend…hmm. Probably a migraine – let’s forget about it. Go on to have fantastic getaway up north, albeit on ¾ vision. However, having to drive in the dark in the rain on the way home was terrifying, not being able to see, and with the lights doing funky things in my remaining vision, and it was decided that we should probably get some medical input on the situation. Sunday evening, then, after arriving home and getting Phil in bed, we head out to the local ER.

Detatched retina. That was the diagnosis that evening. It was after midnight, and so they set up an early morning appointment with an ophthalmologist in Milwaukee. Upon arrival, it was pretty much agreed that this was the problem, but upon exam the evidence turned up otherwise. My retinas a fine. Field of vision test. MRI with gadolinium. Fifteen vials of blood. Yes, I’m making a long journey short.

After looking at the MRI, the actual diagnosis is optic neuritis. Apparently there is some inflammation on my optic nerve, causing shorts in the system. While my vision is a complete field again, it’s cloudy at times, too bright at others – kind of like a flash went off in your face and you can’t see real well? Sometimes there are very interesting flashes of light and bouncing balls. The fun part, however, is when my perfectly healthy eyes are taking in information, and my nerves decide to scramble the information coming in from each eye. Some information goes this way, some goes that way, and some just disappears from the screen. Signals are sent to the brain and body that register as spinning and twirling. My hands will drop what they are holding in a vestigial response to falling. If I am talking, my words begin to slur, as it feels for a brief time that I am in a centrifuge, and the gravity is pulling my tongue and brain off to one side. I figure it’s best just to shut up,because I sound ridiculous. Much easier if I just close my eyes and let it pass. Which up to this point it invariably does. And then I recompose, pick up what I dropped and carry on with my regularly scheduled life.

So the treatment for this is a three day IV cocktail of methylprednisolone, followed by an oral prednisone taper for 8 days. Wonderful stuff! (not). After the fun of an IV, you get a burning pain in your arm, a mouth that tastes like you are sucking on a penny, a response in your gastric system that is completely foreign, fatigue you have not known since childbirth, and night sweats that have you waking up with your fingers pruned up like you’ve been in the tub and sheets that need to be changed before you can go back to bed. Throw in a spinal tap mid-treatment and call it a week. When will this end?

So, what exactly do you do when your nerves decide to take a holiday? Or get inflamed?  Go on strike? Not perform as expected? Suddenly I’m on the shocked side of what I take for granted every day. Nerves are supposed to WORK right. How dare they not! I mean, whose side are you on, anyway? Where in my control center do I tell my nerves to knock this shit off? Get back to work and do it right! I’m giving you all you need, I’ve got a clean bill of health, I eat right, I exercise – all the good stuff. I can still dead-lift 120 pounds out of a wheelchair for heavens sake. Carefully at that. What’s with the slacking off?

As I interrogate my nerves, my poor eyes are like, “Hey, it’s not our fault!”. And I realize it’s true. Got great eyes. Yeah, they are nearsighted and farsighted, but they are 100% functional. It’s that pesky nerve. And so I’m standing in the kitchen, washing dishes. Cleaning out the pan I cooked the granola in, scrubbing the bottom of it. Suddenly the dish soap bottle doubles, as does the scrubbie next to it. But instead of just stopping, I begin to think: This is NOT as it seems. The room is not, in fact, spinning. Gravity is still functioning the way it was just a second ago. I am still in an upright position. There is only one bottle of Dawn sitting in front of me. My eyes are seeing things the way they are, but my optic nerve is telling me lies. So I take these thoughts, and I close my eyes against the false information, and I concentrate on my hands. I can feel the crumbs and debris of the baked on wheat germ on the bottom of the pan. I can feel the warmth of the water. Despite the fact that my hands want to drop the rag and wait out the spin, I am forcing little bits a pieces of my brain to focus – focus - focus – on what I am doing, and how I am doing it. Slow down if necessary, but push forward. Make other parts of your brain connect and put the pieces of information in the correct context. And in a few seconds, it’s over, and I feel like I’ve just taken a tiny bit of control back from my impish nerves. Wait until it happens again, and practice – maybe I don’t need my eyes as much as I think.

Maybe this is the concrete example of what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. It’s more than a little disconcerting to realize that all may or may not be as it seems. That while your eyes cannot deceive you, your nerves sure can mess with you and your whole concept of reality. It can distort and twist and bend your perceptions, and cause you to make decisions based upon what is not, in fact, happening or true. To what do you turn when you realize that what you are seeing could all be a lie? What, then, is true? Where then is your faith, and what exactly is it in?

Monopoly – Game Over

Here’s a personal interest question: How many of you have ever played Monopoly to the very end of the game? I’m currently running a poll to find out just how many people have ever done so. If you have never done so, here’s how it works.

Everyone gets allotted the same amount of money at the beginning of the game, and a token to represent themselves. You then roll the dice, cruise around the board, buy up as much property/assets as you can, proceed to build on it, screw the next guy who lands on it with rents that keep going up and up until people can’t afford to stay on your property. They then go into debt, mortgage off their properties, until they are totally out of money, at which time they auction off what’s left, pay what they can on the debt, and are declared bankrupt and leave the game.

No, really – this is a GAME, and it’s called MONOPOLY…it is not, in fact, a brief run-down on American economics.

While I am supportive to an extent of the protests on Wall Street, might I make a gentle suggestion that you pack up your torches and tents and go home? We really need to think about this.

Travel with me, if you will…way out into space and time and take a good, hard, objective view of what has happened here. It’s all been a grand game of Monopoly. The whole American Landscape is littered with the slums of

Baltic Avenue

and the opulence of Boardwalk and

Park Place

. You have all the properties in between, including the Utilities.  Despite the fact that you are not supposed to get anything on the “Free Parking” space, we have integrated a Lottery into the mix, too! Keeps you in the game a bit longer, that’s for sure!

Sound familiar? Now bump it up a notch or two – fast-forward and guess where we are sitting? Yup – close to GAME OVER. Look around the American Monopoly Board.  There are the haves – the few left playing the game. I believe they are referred to as the 1%? And even though the banker (The Fed) has had the freedom to print the money they are playing with, the fact is, when someone has ALL the money, then the game is over. And according to popular statistic, we are down to 1%. That means 99% of us are now the have-nots; out of the game, sitting on the sidelines with nothing to show for our efforts but debt.

So what happens next? Well, you tell me? What DOES happen next? I’ve played Monopoly to the end many times. Sometimes I’ve won it all. Sometimes I’m out of the game fairly early. But I do stay and watch, having a morbid fascination with it. But here’s what happens next: The Game ends.

The money only had value as we were squabbling over it. As soon as we were all out of the game, Uncly Pennybags ended up with all the money and suddenly, it was worthless.

Yes, imagine that! After all the cut-throat wheeling-and-dealing, now that someone managed to get a hold of everything on the board…no one wants to play anymore. We want to put the paper bills and tokens back into the box, put it on the shelf, and walk away from the debt that was so important an hour ago, and enjoy the rest of our evening.

I have realized this by sitting down, looking at my financial life closing up over me and swallowing me whole. Holy Shit! I feel like DeCaprio on the Titanic as she goes down for the last time…”THIS IS IT!!”. Wise instructions follow in the monolog: Take a deep breath, hold it, keep on kicking, and don’t let go of my hand.

So, say it with me: Money only has the value that WE ASSIGN TO IT, both collectively and individually. Think about that for a minute. Supply and demand. When everybody WANTS it, the value rockets up. Think Cabbage Patch Dolls. When nobody wants it anymore, watch the value plummet to the point where you can’t give it away. Think Beanie Babies. Imagine 99% of us not wanting the paper dollar anymore. Just imagine that.

Survey Says 1% of the folks have most the money. Why the hell do the 99% still want it? At this point there are surely more of us who have been evicted from the game – our lives, actually – and yet still place value on this paper shit? Why? Isn’t it about time we start a new game, with a different valuation system? Perhaps one which is a better reflection of the 99%?

I know – (all too well) – the immediate “whys”, like I’m kind of fond of living in a home, with heat and electric and eating food…little things like that. Things which we are all trained to believe we have to pay for…rather than do for ourselves, like our grandparents only a few generations removed had to do.

But realize this! Do you see the freedom in being let go from the game? You don’t have to play it anymore. You don’t have to think about it anymore. It’s no mystery to those who have filed bankruptcy in real life – the relief is palpable.

But what if 99% of us just decided that we don’t WANT that version of money to have VALUE? What if we just said, “Fuck it…you want it - you keep it. I quit.”  What should we do instead? What would we place that VALUE ENERGY into, rather than money? Why wouldn’t we invest it into PEOPLE?  Into PLACES for people?

I submit to you that as we approach GAME OVER, we can either change the platform we are standing on right now, or it will be changed for us when the game ends – and from the looks of things, it’s not going to end well either way.

Face it – 99% versus 1%?  Great if you are 1% with a chance of winning the game. Not so great if the losers are pissed off. And trust me, 1% - they are very, very pissed off. And when the game is over, and your money is found to be Monopoly money – there’s a bunch of very disgruntled 99%ers who have not realized it was all a Game in History, and they will be gunning for your ass. Cover it well, my 1% friend...cover it well.

While this Food For Thought has been abbreviated to the very core and lacks detail, please ponder it. And while this may seem overly simplistic, to pursue such an objective is no more pie-in-the-sky than picketing Wall Street thinking that it will change the way things are.

While watching my boat sink into the cold waters of the North Atlantic of the American Dysfunctional Economy, I have had lots and lots of time to think about the nuts and bolts of how we can rebuild what will be left of this fragile nation once the gold turns to ashes. I’m not about the throw my ideas about it out there like pearls before swine. What I’m looking for is people who see this for what it is – and have something inside their very soul that says, yes…let’s do something about this. I am looking for those who understand that we need to think of a new “Game” to play – one that ends financial competition, and brings the inhabitants of this planet together in concrete, intelligent and tangible ways. A game in which all men are indeed created equal, and they maintain equality through the mutual respect which is fostered in a reciprocating, need-meeting energy system.