Day: November 27, 2017

“Do all the good you can,  By all the means you can

In all the ways you can, In all the places you can,

At all the times you can,

To all the people you can,

As long as ever you can.: —  John Wesley, on what it means to be a Christian.

All of my life, I’ve read the books of the great Christian  and other moral philosophers – Plato, Arendt, Kant, Smith, Aristotle –  and Christian scholars: Merton, Wesley, C.S. Lewis, Christ, Augustine, even Pope Francis.

Here I am, far down the road, engaged in the life of  a fire-and-brimstone fundamentalist lay preacher who thinks gay people are deviants headed for Hell.  He thinks I’m going there as well, if I don’t wake up and get saved.

It is a strange position for me to be in, apart from the obvious.  I am a volunteer in Art’s home, working to make him more comfortable. My work has nothing to do with faith and Christianity. Except it has everything to do with it, I am coming to see.

As a volunteer, my job is not be anyone’s friend, savior, or rescuer. I am just there to help out when I can. Art, as he is wont to do, is a boundary buster, he has challenged, even forced me, to make some moral and ethical decisions, to decide who I am.

So I am deep in Christian theology and thinking these days – me, a Jew turned Quaker, a non-religious man allergic to anybody’s sacred dogma – and averse to telling other people what to do or judging them harshly for being different.

Art considers himself a pious and devout Christian – our relationship is now officially controversial, judging from my messages  and e-mails – and who am I to tell Art otherwise? It is not my business to argue with him or tell him what to think.

I’m just trying to get him comfortable.

There is a debate raging these days about just what a Good Christian really is, and me, of all people, in the center of it.

I am in a deep and rich dialogue with people I somewhat arrogantly call “Good Christians,” they have found me, and I have found them, I suppose it was inevitable. We share many values.

On November 17th, here on the blog, I wrote a column about my realization that Art is teaching me about what it means to be a good Christian because I am reaching out to him despite the vast and sometimes troublingly different ways in which he and I look at the world.

Today in my Post Office  Box (P.O.  Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816), a letter from Suzanne, who lives in the South.

“Dear Mr. Katz.,” she wrote from Florida, “what a wonderful blog you wrote on Art and Christianity…I grieve for Art and his unhappy view of life. To me, the Christian life is reaching out to the world, knowing how much God loves each one of us in sending Jesus to atone for our sins and to be our companion in our lives. It’s taken 83 years for me to realize this.  I wish better for Art (I have written him before) and I admire you for walking along with him.”  – Suzanne.

I admire Suzanne for taking this walk with me. I like what I know of the Christian life, it seems a compassionate and meaningful life to me.

I am not a Christian, and Jesus Christ is not my God – I don’t really have one – but that doesn’t matter to me, Suzanne and I both believe that faith is about reaching out to people in need, not condemning and judging them and turning our backs because we might not like them very much. To me, that was Christ’s message to the world, and it has attracted good and loving people for centuries.

“To be a Christian,” wrote C.S.Lewis, “means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” In our culture, we forgive no one anything, especially people with different beliefs. Anything is better than them, even cowards, liars and molesters.

Christian Week defines “Good Christians” in this way. “Good Christians are kind and decent people. Good Christians are compassionate, generous and resourceful. Good Christians are relentless advocates for those who find themselves on the wrong end of the score and diligently work to address injustice.”

Good Christians are often to be seen helping the refugees I work with, not running them out of the country.

Good Christians are what I wish to be and try to be, and Good Christians overlook my many faults and shortcomings and offer me encouragement and support in my life every single day, even though I am quite different from them.

They reach out to me, send donations for the Army Of Good. They love the idea of doing good.

Other people who say they are Christians damn and curse me for being different from them. Are they also “Good Christians?”

I look out at the news sometimes, and I wonder who captured the Good Christians and their ancient faith and hid them a way, pushed them to the side.

The people I see all the time on the news and in our political life talk a great deal about God and Jesus and Christianity, they are nothing like what Lewis and Wesley and Christian Week or Augustine or Merton  – or my friend Suzanne – write about and describe. These angry  Political “Christians” better hope God is distracted and busy elsewhere, because it won’t be pretty if he is real and comes back to check on things.

From my strange perch out in the country, I think of the Good Christians and I know they are out there. But I sometimes think their faith has been stolen and that they are hidden away, waiting for a safer time to come out. Or perhaps they are just working quietly, like me, choosing to try to do good rather than fight about it.

They are the real deal.

In that, I have faith. I believe it will happen. I believe the Good Christians are more powerful than the opportunistic and hypocritical ones. They are a fad, a cult, the Good Christians have been out there a log time.

To me, hypocrisy is the lowest form of life, and people who hide behind Christianity or any faith to hurt and persecute those who find themselves on the wrong end of the score – those who practice injustice rather than fight it – are among the worst hypocrites of all.

Can I excuse the inexcusable?

No, I think, not yet. But I can’t claim to being a Good Christian, I have no right.

That’s the thing about the hero journey. You are always on the path, you never will get there. I excuse Art fully, and openly. Because although he would angrily deny it, he is on the wrong side of the score and needs some help.

Although he was shocked to hear it ( I have told him,) it is Art that has caused me to believe this. Because in reaching out to him, and standing with him at this lonely and angry time in his life, he is teaching me what a Good Christian really is.

 

Cassandra and Dr. Fariello gave Red an IV for dehydration and then carefully placed needles for his acupuncture. As long as he can see me, he stays still. Red is a special spirit, I am focusing on his recovery and rest, I know he is not only my dog, he belongs to many people.

Some dogs, spirit dogs, are like that.

Red is sick again, he has a fever just over 105 degrees and we are scrambling to get ahead of his sickness.

This morning, Red vomited early in the morning, and was very still. He didn’t eat the first meal of the day, at 8 a.m. I made him some hamburger and rice, and he ate most of that, so I relaxed a bit and assumed he just ate something yesterday that made him ill.

This afternoon, he refused to touch or go near his evening meal, at 4 p.m., and due to his recent severe illness – he tested positive for four different tick borne diseases – I became concerned and called the Cambridge Valley Vet.

Dr.Suzanne  Fariello told me to come right over and we took Red’s temperature there. I have never owned a dog who got a temperature that night, and I could  see Dr. Fariello was concerned. As she always does, she came up with a plan and presented it to me.

She always asks me if I am okay with her plan, or have any ideas or suggests about it. I didn’t.

First, she and Cassandra Conety, who just returned this week from maternity leave,  put Red on an under-the-skin intravenous IV to get some fluid quickly into his body. Then, Dr. Fariello did acupuncture, which has become a mainstream healing tool in her practice.

She placed needles to reduce the temperature, she said and support his immune system, which may have been compromised by the tick-borne diseases that were so serious. I think they almost killed him. Sometimes, she said, they recur.

Red and the other dogs were boarded at a nearby kennel. It’s possible he picked up something there. Or may be sick from something else. we don’t know. I do know his immune system was weakened from the tick infections. Firs, the fever has to come down.

“I want to be aggressive,” she said. “Are you okay with the plan?” I said yes, I was.

So we also force-fed read 300 mg of Doxycycline.  I brought Red home. Total rest for now, he is sleeping right under my feet as I write this, where he always is when I write. No sheep herding or therapy work for now, the Mansion residents will want to know where he is. I’ll tell them the truth.

And Red needs rest.

Tomorrow morning, at 9:30  a.m. we’ll go back to the vet to have his temperature checked and see if the doxy and acupuncture has worked. If it hasn’t, we’ll do some emergency blood  work and figure out where to go from here.

Red was patient and accepting as he was poked and prodded, as always. He is the sweetest and most accepting of creatures.

A fever that hight is serious, but hopefully quite treatable. There’s no point in speculating, we’ll no more tomorrow. As always, I’ll be open about what is happening. I have full confidence in Dr. Fariello, I like the way she thinks and listens.

I’ve never been in a barn without a can of Pennzoil somewhere, ready to oil tractors, manure carriers, switches and gears. There are two Pennzoil cans and a more recent Mobil Oil can in our red barn, and in the afternoon light, they are art all of their own.

Saint Anthony said, in his solitude, he sometimes encountered devils who looked like angels, and other times he found angels who looked like devils. When asked how he could tell the difference, the saint said that you can only tell which is which by the way you feel after the creature has left your company.”
– Elizabeth Gilbert.

Change is perhaps the greatest creative task. Although it often surprises and discourages us, it is one of the great constants of life. Change is life itself.

I see Karen Bruce every three months, and I call her my Health Care Angel. Health care in America is fraught with complex decisions, insurance companies, politicians, regulators, unpredictability and helplessness. Most people complain about it.

I have learned not to complain about my life, taxes, health insurance, old age or politics. I do not speak poorly of my life, although it breaks my heart to stand in the pharmacy line and see people walk away in tears because they can’t afford their medications.

My experience with health care has changed my life, in good ways and bad. In recent years, I was diagnosed with diabetes (my grandfather also acquired this disease later in life),  and then heart disease, I had open heart surgery several years ago.

When you have heart disease, the tendency of health care professionals and many other people is to assume you can drop dead at any moment, which I supposed is true. If  you tell anyone at a cardiologist’s office that something hurts, or you were dizzy or short of breath, or have a cold or cough,  they will tell you to get to the hospital quickly.

Almost everyone I meet looks sorrowfully at me, and asks in a whisper, “how’s your health.” Strangers online write to beg me not to shovel snow or lift firewood.

It is true that there is a boundary in life between people with chronic illnesses and people without them. Life is suddenly different.

These experiences have caused me to take better care of myself and learn more about nutrition, the heart and general health. I manage my medications, my diabetes is very much under control, my heart is functioning well, my blood pressure and cholesterol levels are fine. I know which doctors will speak to me openly, and which ones will not. I have identified a nurse-practitioner in every medical office I go to.

But these issues are complex and have challenged me to manage my health and medications carefully (I have retinal issues relating to diabetes also and will soon undergo injections into one eye monthly to heal the eye and to safeguard my sight.)

As I entered this bewildering and fraught world, the Gods were smiling on me. I started seeing a nurse-practitioner, my health care primary, her name is Karen Bruce. The big lesson about health care for me is to avoid men whenever possible and if you have any questions, get to a nurse.

I have the greatest trust in her and affection in Karen Bruce, she has been my primary care provider since the beginning.

My male doctors do not know how to speak to people, or choose to do it, and she always does. Like the best primary care doctors, she oversees my treatment and translates the indecipherable language of medicine to me. She thinks about cost too.

She not only monitors my health, but my medicine, suggesting new or different medications, explaining the tests that others have taken but cannot explain.  She asks about my life and answers my questions. She gives me a sticker when I am good, and chews me out in the nicest and most articulate way when I am not.

She is a family practitioner and has also gotten her degree in psych nursing. She is blunt, funny, caring and a fierce advocate for her patients, including for me. We laugh a lot in our examinations. She takes no prisoners when necessary and is sweet when appropriate. I do what she says, and what she says has kept me focused and productive. She told me today I am doing great, that I will be around for a good long time.

A few months ago, a nurse found that I had a heart murmur, something new, it seemed. I declined emergency care,  had exhaustive  tests done, and the results showed the murmur was real, but my heart was strong and in good shape. Nobody called me or told me about the results, Karen went and dug them out and let me know right away I was fine. No one else would have told me.

I have never had a male doctor bother to tell me that I am healthy, they just present me with data. Karen seems to remember that I am a human being, not a blood test. That has made an enormous difference to me.

Under her watchful eye, I have managed my diabetes so well she said I was the most conscientious diabetic in her practice.

I remember when I first saw her I had been trying to handle my diabetes entirely holistically, no medication or insulin or blood work. When I met Karen, she sat me down and told me what would happen if I didn’t take care of myself. She was persuasive. I started taking insulin and re-casting my ideas about nutrition and diabetes.

There are some things Western medicine can do, and managing diabetes and taking my heart out of my body and repairing it are two of them. I would probably be dead now without those skills.

When I told her one summer day that I thought I had asthma, she looked me in the eye (I can’t repeat the language) and she said no, you are having a heart attack, you are going to the hospital. I gather she saved my life.

Open Heart Surgery was a stunning surprise and shock to me, I had not been to a regular doctor in years. I swore I would never become enmeshed in the country’s chaotic health care system. Hubris pops open like a Pinata sometimes.

I was nearly overwhelmed with the insurance, medications, and details of my heart disease.I was plunged into the world of specialists, pharmacies, insurance companies, medicines and side effects. It is a cliché, but Karen was with me every step of the way, guiding me, grounding me, teaching me, sometimes yelling at me.

I don’t know if it’s true or not that I am one of her best patients, but she helped me navigate this new thicket. And I don’t recall Karen every bullshitting about anything.

She told me I was doing great, doing what I needed to do, learning what I needed to learn.

We became friends.

She briefly joined my writing workshop and wrote some wonderful poetry.

She is a gifted writer and also has wonderful stories to share.

She was always available to me, and she has always lived up to Elizabeth Gilbert’s definition of an angel: I always feel good when I leave my tri-monthly examinations, as i did this morning. I always feel encouraged, inspired and even proud of myself. That is the very definition of health in many ways. I’m always smiling, and not too many people walk out of the health center smiling, usually with  sticker on my shirt.

Karen told me months ago that she is leaving the health center where we meet. She is moving to the Adirondacks where she can help people with psychological problems as well and medical difficulties. She and her husband are building a new home, there a new and richly-deserved chapter in an adventurous life..

I told her I am proud of her,  she is, like me, open to change and challenge. She has great faith in her religion.

She is not one to stand  still and mildew. She has no use for pity or old talk or excuses. I am very happy for her, and so grateful for her helping me learn how to deal with these new realities in my life. For a while, I felt I was drowning. I can handle it now.

Three days after my open heart surgery, I was home working. Even Karen was shocked.

But I heard her voice over and over again in my head: get up and walk. So I did.[Saint Anthony] said, in his solitude, he sometimes encountered devils who looked like angels, and other times he found angels who looked like devils. When asked how he could tell the difference, the saint said that you can only tell which is which by the way you feel after the creature has left your company.”

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, said one philosopher, or rejoice because thorns have roses.
Health care is a controversial mess in many ways, but Karen teaches me that it is really, after all, about people. People who care make it work. Karen said she was afraid to tell some patients at first that she was leaving. She felt guilty leaving them behind, I wonder if she knows that there are not too many people like her, it is a tough business to work in.

I can handle it now. I know the drills, understand the process, know who I can talk to and who I can’t. I know how to take care of myself, and I do. My heart is strong and I am determined. Angels, like spirit dogs, appear when they are needed, and leave when their work is done.

I told Karen this morning that she need feel no guilt about me. I am nothing but grateful to her, and I am also excited for her. She is undertaking a profound and wonderful change in her life, it is exciting and inspiring. She always grumps when I try to take her photo, but I insisted this morning (the Iphone X).

I’ll have one more visit with Karen early in 2018, and then she’ll be gone. I told her I’ll drive up to the Adirondacks and take her to lunch. She accepted.

I did not want her to slip away without a photo. Thanks Karen,  I have always believed in angels who appear on the hero journey, magical helpers who guide us to safety. I was lucky to have one when I most needed that.

I feel good, I told her as we said goodbye.

“You are good,” she said.