Month: February 2018

Whatever I do, I need courage. Whatever path I take, there is always someone to tell me that I am wrong. There are always more difficulties than I anticipated, and I often stumble and think my critics must be right.

It is not courageous to think I am always right, it is courageous to go forward even if I might be  wrong.

I do not associate courage with myself. It is most often invoked in combat or in extraordinary heroism, the kind suggested by the teachers in Parkland, Florida. But courage is broader than that,  deeper than just physical courage, I think.

To choose a meaningful life, to map out a course of action and follow it to the end requires some of the same courage that a soldier needs, wrote   Ralph Waldo Emerson.  “Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to live them.”

I don’t believe the purpose of life is to be happy or free of trouble. For me, it is to be useful, to be honest, to love, to be compassionate, to study and learn empathy, to have made a difference. I do not see myself as courageous, yet I know that I have needed to be courageous to live my life and to change my life.

Courage is defined as the ability to do something that frightens me; to show strength in the face of pain or grief.

Psychology Today lists six attributes of courage:

l. Feeling fear yet choosing to act.

2.Following your heart.

3.Persevering in the face of adversity.

4. Standing up for what is right.

5.Letting go of the familiar.

6. Facing suffering with dignity, grace and faith.

I have felt fear and even terror almost of my life, fear shaped my life, opened and closed doors, hurt the people around me and finally, nearly destroyed me. I did press on, I resolved that fear was just a space to cross, and I crossed it almost every single time. I acted, no matter how frightened I was.

I have followed my heart, I am learning to trust my intuition, to speak my truth. It takes courage to endure the sharp pains of self discovery rather than accept the dull pain of unconsciousness and obliviousness.

I have persevered in the  face of adversity. At every step of my hero journey, i faced danger, disappointment, confusion and terror. A hero, said Emerson, is no braver than any ordinary man or women, he is just braver five minutes longer. Along my path, I met magical helpers, sometimes in the form of animals, sometimes people, who guided me back to my ordinary life.

I have learned late in life to stand up for what i believe is right, even though I often am not certain what right is. I have followed my heart. Standing up to evil and injustice is sometimes as important as defeating it, because it tells me who I am, and tells me I am strong.

I have let go of the familiar, leaving behind everything I knew and loved and understood. My greatest heroes stand up not because they believe it is right to do so, not because they know they will win. Today, my greatest heroes are the students in Parkland, Florida, their selfless courage is a victory all of its own. When my moment comes, I  hope to be as brave.

I am learning to face suffering with dignity, grace and faith. I do not speak poorly of my life, I am devoted to learning the practice of empathy, to stand in the shoes of another human being, and thus affirm my humanity. Everyone faces greater struggles than I do.

Empathy is central to my moral universe. It is the hallmark of a noble spirit, a pillar of social justice, and the gateway to reaching our highest human potential. It takes courage to see a murderer, even a mass murderer, as a broken human being rather than a demon or monster. It takes courage to walk away from the mob.

Do I have courage? I don’t yet know, really. I would not describe myself as courageous.

It is not for me to say.

I have not yet been tested in the ultimate way.

When I had open heart surgery for years ago, I remember rolling into the surgical suite, handing on to Maria’s hand for what might be, I thought, the last time. I went in smiling, I felt I was being carried along by angels. I felt no fear, I felt the angels were riding on my bed along with me.

And me, who has felt fear all of my life, felt no fear at all that day, I felt the terror turning to mist and rising out of my body and up to the sky.

I let go of it, I bowed to the fates. Emerson said to be  yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

It requires courage. Whatever I do, I need courage to keep me strong.

I am myself.

 

Allan has been attending my reading workshop, he has been answering the workshop questions, he has volunteered to act in our “Night Of Four Skits” performance in April. In my volunteer work, I’ve rarely spoken to Allan, and he is a man of few words.

But there is a spark in his eyes, and a curiosity and alertness, and the acting and reading seems to have opened him. He needed winter caps and I brought him some, and we began talking to one another.

Yesterday, at the Mansion during a rehearsal for the skits, Allan suddenly began singing an old song, Lavender Blues, by Burl Ives.

We were all startled, I’ve rarely heard Allan speak, let alone sing to the people in the Mansion Activity Room.

Everyone listened intently, and I was moved and surprised. I think our reading together and rehearsing has opened him up, the staff is shocked that he is going to be in one of our skits. Come and listen to Allan sing “Lavender Blue, Dilly, Dilly.”

Allan has started wearing necklaces, I’m bringing him one I got in Iowa tomorrow.

A few weeks ago, I knocked on the door of an 86 year old woman at the Mansion who I had never seen or met in more than a year of working there as a volunteer. An aide suggested that she might like to see Red, she spends most of her time in her room reading. I think she might be lonely, said the aide.

She was lonely, and depressed too, I think. And for good reason. Her husband still lived in her home and would not move to assisted care with her, she saw her grandchildren once or twice a month – they came for short visits, and were always eager to leave. She missed her church and her friends. Well, she said, I miss my life. She told me she was well treated at the Mansion, far better than she expected.

But still…”I  feel lonely here. I miss my cats, my neighbors, my own kitchen. I don’t control my life any longer.”

Psychologists say being a passive recipient of care in itself fosters loneliness and depression And she wasn’t yet even willing to venture out of her room, she often ate in her room. I told her I knew life in elderly care could be lonely, but I did see that people who joined in activities, drew on peer support, went on outings, did find pleasure and connection, I witnessed it.

I could see she was depressed. She had left everything she loved behind, and was adjusting to the loss of freedom and autonomy.

Researchers and doctors and aides all tell us that loneliness and depression are two of the greatest concerns in residential care for the elderly, from nursing homes to assisted and retirement living.

Typically, the treatment in elder care for depression or loneliness is medication, and what specialists call “light” social events, such as games, trips and social gatherings, all planed and supervised by staff or volunteers. I’ve seen that these activities do provide enjoyment for many of the residents – I remember the Boat Trip in the Fall, still being talked about, we’ll do it again in the Spring.

But much of the loneliness and depression in elder care facilities is beyond the reach of the staff or other residents. It has, I think, more to do with having lost so much of the meaning in their lives. Puzzles and trips can’t remedy that. It is, in fact, often depressing, to be at the edge of life, unable to stay in your own home with your own friends, neighbors and family, your own dogs and cats.

In our culture, the loneliness and sadness of the institutionalized elderly are noticed by staff, and sometimes by family, but the outside world doesn’t seem to want to know too much about life inside of elder care facilities. Doctors come and go, and write prescriptions, family comes occasionally but you will almost never read about the isolation people feel when they are shut away, out of sight and mind of the rest of society. We can prolong life, but we don’t seem to care  how it is lived.

I think the world treats the elderly in a paternalistic way, much as they treat small or helpless children. We change our voices, slow our speech, exaggerated our language. “People talk to me like I talk to my grandchildren when they were young,” one resident told me, “they don’t think we are very bright.”

I read one research paper that argues that “programs fostering engagement and peer support provide opportunities for residents to be socially productive, emotionally stimulated and to develop valuable social identity. I think the idea of peer support is interesting for me, but I also see that it’s easy to publish research papers, hard to carry out new programs in facilities that don’t have lots of money to spend.

Medicaid facilities like the Mansion don’t have lots of money to spend, although they tie themselves in knots looking for outings, interaction with the community and a wide range of activities. Activities are find, but they can’t offer meaning to people in assisted care.

I remember how important it was to Connie when she began making caps for new-born babies and people with kidney disease on dialysis. She was proud, engaged, alert and enthusiastic.

I see  how thrilled the residents are to rehearse for our skits. They simply light up, and feel useful.

Connue  had meaning in her life, thanks to the Army Of Good. in my volunteer work, i always listen for requests for tools for meaningful work. This week, i distributed two crochet kids, a score of notecards for eager letter writers, stamps for people who with to send messages to wildlife preservation or animal rescue organizations. And four mysteries and two books of poetry for enthusiastic readers.

Art has found new meaning in the intellectual stimulation he finds in playing chess with Tim. I’m getting him a chess set with Biblical figures. I think my job is to support the search for meaning.

The blog readers send hundreds of messages to Mansion residents each week, and I believe this has  greatly diminished some of their loneliness and a sense of isolation for many. They often tell me the stories in the letters they get, and see letter  writers as valued friends.

More than anything, they thank me for coming back again and again. Every time they see me, many assume they will never see me again.

You can help ease some of the isolation and loneliness that comes with aging by writing the residents c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue. Every day, Julie Smith, the Activities Director, walks through the halls delivering letters, it is an exciting time of the day now.

Here are the names of the residents who wish to receive your letters: Winnie, Jean A., Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, John, Diane, Alice, Jean G., Madeline, Joan, Allan, Bill, John K., Helen, Bob, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dottie, Tim, Debbie, Ben,  Art, Guerda, Brenda, Wayne, Kenneth, Ruth.

I’m thinking ahead to Easter and if you are so inclined, decorations, banners, gifts and messages would be wonderful.

I get schizophrenic some times, my own fault.

Some days it seems that people are either assaulting me or consoling me.  Emotion unnerves people, it seems to me that it is just a part of life.

The truth is, I don’t really think i need being told what to do, or comforted by people for being criticized by nasty people. I am not traumatized and going to pieces over Gus, nor do the many messages of unwanted advice or criticism bother me much.

I’ve been writing online for decades, I’m a big boy and have a hide now that could withstand the bite of a Tyrannosaurus. The reason I like to write about this is that I have always been fascinated by the social and cultural implications of this new technology – I was present at the birth, and writing about it then –  it is a fascinating thing for me to write about as I watch it evolve, and live it.

And Gus, of course, is a good story, up or down, that was never lost on me for a minute.

If I took things that personally, I would be long dead. Please, sit back and let me take care of myself, I have gotten better at it. Whatever finally brings me down, it will not be online messaging.

The presence of large quantities of vomit and slime have altered many things about my dog philosophy. At the supermarket yesterday, I bought $30 worth of bleach, odor remover and disinfectant spray. I will need more in a few weeks, a bottle used to last a year.

Red has never vomited, Fate very rarely. And they almost always try to get outside. Megaesophagus regurgitation is spontaneous and instant, it comes flying out of Gus’s mouth like a bullet out of a gun.

Because eating textured food – wood bits, kibble, sheep or rabbit pellets – causes Gus to spit things up, we usually muzzle him when he goes outside, or we stay with him until he does his stuff. Today it’s a gorgeous day, and I was remembering pre-winter how much fun Gus and Fate have running around in the backyard.

This kind of play doesn’t really work with a muzzle, Gus can’t play tug of war, grab a ball, or steal a toy, his favorite things. I had this thought. Am I really comfortable with Gus never going outside on a beautiful day to sit in the sun or play without a muzzle.

Am I willing to accept a certain measure of vomiting once in a while, or even on every beautiful day?

Can Gus still be a dog sometimes, and not always a megaesophagus dog? How much vomit can I tolerate? Should he live the life of a Bubble Dog because he’s sick? I think I already tolerate more vomit than I ever did, you get used to it, like having a baby who isn’t toilet trained. Maria handles with matter-of-factly, it’s just life with Gus. Unless he gets one of her favorite blouses or sweaters.

Today I took the plunge. I wanted Gus to enjoy this fine Spring day too. I let him out in the back yard with Fate for a half an hour, and then brought them both in. Ten minutes later, he spit up at my feet, on the rug and a part of the ottoman.

I got up, grabbed a Chlorox spray, some paper towels. I wiped up the slime and various debris from the yard, sprayed the rug and ottoman, got some disinfectant and odor remover.  It took a minute, if that. The nasty smell was gone in a flash, the mess was in the trash, there was no  trace of the regurgitation.

I felt good about it. Once in a while, Gus can get to be a dog. It’s not the end of the world. In the Spring, I think we’ll get the rugs cleaned.

After dinner, Robin volunteers to help clean up. She enjoyed it very much. I hope to see her soon, she seems to change almost every day. Come and see.