Progress, Diet and Humility
painting, m/m
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Out of the blue came this recognition: THE PROGRESSION OF CATHY’S MS SEEMS TO HAVE STOPPED PROGRESSING!
I am so used to being in the center of the storm and feeling the worry and watchfulness about which direction some new symptom would choose for it’s entry.
But for months now I been a’ sittin’ here expectant-like and no one’s showin’ up at the door.
Being in a state of ‘on guard’ for so long with all my weaponry neatly tied together on my back just in case..
I seem to have forgotten all together what it feels like to put the weight down.
The cause of this stasis are my dietary changes as I have made no other alterations in my regime.
My primary doctor has healed herself back from death’s door and she knows of which she speaks as she certainly did 10 years ago on our first meeting following my diagnosis.
She preached diet, diet, diet…
“Vegetables are your friends,” she tells me.
I thought: “Just give me a g-ddamned pill and let’s call it a day.”
I was in no mood for depriving myself of comfort food in the middle of a crisis.
Sooooooo… 10 years into this partnership with PPMS, I changed my diet.
This refinement has come in small increments.
Drop dairy.
Then wheat.
Then sugar.
This clean and health-fostering diet of mine has taken years to slip into it’s solid gear so I know it works.
I eat no grains. Pretty much just vegetables, fruit and good protein.
The dropping of all grains was the last change I made after looking at this.
And it clearly is the next step for me.
I do fall prey to an occasional cup of coffee or my favorite chicken mole’ wrapped in corn tortillas meal.
But I pay.
And pay hard the following day.
Like I can’t walk.
And so… 10 years following my doctor’s advice I am taking it.
And here to tell you that dietary changes and the miracles they foster are real and available to everyone, challenged by illness or not.
Here are a few favorite support sites I have in my arsenal:
SPECIFIC CARBOHYDRATE DIET; SCD
GREEN SMOOTHIES
Hungry
detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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HUNGRY- a poem
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My heart is tired.
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And hungry. She needs the best food.
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But the shelves are bare.
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CA 2010
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Detritus
DETRITUS:
Loose matter resulting from the wearing away or disintegration of a tissue or substance.
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Each time I make changes in my life or transform, I forget about what lies in waste in my shadow as I walk away..
I have changed so often that the process of flux is the air I breathe.
And I continue to marvel at the courage and gumption I manage to call forth to keep moving forward.
But, alas… I do not seem to remember that for each movement toward wholeness one needs to at least pick up the broom and look down and back as we sweep away the remains of what was and step into our new shoes.
For a law of change seems to be that to pass GO we must tend to each and EVERY pesky little particle related to the past we are divesting ourselves of.
Because those little left behind and forgotten dustbunnies will roll out to get ya unless we give them their due.
Projects, relationships, past ways of being which no longer serve must be looked once more in the eye and gently (or not) shown the door.
The only time I really worry that I am being a ‘BITCH’ is this process of standing up for myself on the other side of change.
My voice changes.
No more ‘making nice.’
Darwinism at it’s best as the survival of the fittest shows it’s colors.
I WILL be whole.
And occasionally it looks less than nice.
I have no apologies.
Because cleaning up after a job well done is usually messy at best.
And I left my starched and white pinafores at the gate a long, long time ago.
Pushin’ Through
I had a day yesterday that actually scared me a bit.
I miraculously had enough energy to grocery shop.
A sweet, young teenager has been doing my shopping for me recently as well as a few saintly friends.
But yesterday was Sunday.
And I had no food.
I made my list, grabbed the dog and off we went.
I was sailing through the aisles feeling happy and strong.
Come time to pay and I realized my credit card had expired and the new one was at home.
I left the groceries in the store and drove home to get it.
Took every energy reviving thing I could think of: electrolytes, lots of water, other concoctions…
Drove BACK to the damn store and was grateful someone had left a cart by the handicapped parking I could hold on to as I went back in the store.
Collected my groceries and headed back to the car.
Drove home in a (not dangerous) fog, but a fog non-the-less.
In my driveway, I opened the hatchback and swore a hundred times at the bagger who had made each parcel over 75 lbs.
Hung bags on my walker like a Christmas tree and dropped a bottle of sparkling water on the ground.
Bend down to get it and my knees won’t let me get upright again.
I was stuck.
The options were to fall down and start over or…..
My LANDLADY pulls into her driveway and comes to help!
Whew….
I get all groceries inside and put away and hobble over to bed.
I am so tired I can’t even get my entire body lengthwise on the mattress and I surrender to sleep as my dog licks my face with worry.
I stay there motionless for four hours straight.
And the day is gone.
Why do I do these things to myself?
Granted, I got caught in a series of events I felt I HAD to push through or I would have forfeited the groceries.
The answer is probably close to something like: “it gives me a sense of accomplishment”.
But if I’m dead, who will be there to enjoy it?
I don’t know.. I see us all moving faster, doing more and doing it alone.
And I wonder…
Wouldn’t the time and energy be better spent in gentler pursuits?
Sigh…………….
Witness
detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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A few days ago I was honored to sit with three women I respect and feel safe with.
Safety is the key word as I knew without a doubt they would keep a confidence and not judge me.
The woman I call my ‘teacher’ is wise beyond knowing and has shepherded me through many hills and valleys.
Her recent request that I choose two women to witness a disclosure on my part challenged me.
Who DO I feel safe enough to invite to sit with me as I say aloud something I feel deep shame about?
My task was to make public something I had kept hidden for so long that I really did think I had forgotten.
And yet.. it still had me.
Had me in a stranglehold choking off life that wanted to come in.
And my teacher knew that unless I unveiled the secret I could never be free.
And so she asked me to speak it.
And let the three other women in the room help me hold it from that day forward.
The time leading up to our congregation was charged with release for me.
I found myself afraid to speak the thing and tearful at the thought of being so exposed after 20 years of hiding.
What would it be like to tell the truth?
It doesn’t really matter what the subject of my shame was.
We all have something wrapped tight and hidden in some secret corner, it seems.
The thing is, when I finally spoke the words; sent them out into the light of day,
The weight of them was far less than my private stronghold.
After my companions witnessing my admission, the core of it was still with me.
But all the charge was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
And I was free.
I look different now.
My skin is a little more pinked.
And where all that shame was is now ready to hold something else altogether.
And I trust it will come in it’s own time.
But I won’t hurry it as this space feels awfully fine.
Very fine, indeed.
Rain
detail of painting, m/m
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New Mexicans love rain.
Because we hardly ever see it.
And yesterday was wet.
I mean borderline torrential.
I have mixed feelings about rain because of my driveway.
It is dirt with a generous grade to it.
When the rain comes, a giant river of run-off begins eating away my carefully constructed (and re-constructed) smooth access to the street for my wheelchair.
A friend had generously and lovingly laid bricks in at the bottom of the drive hoping the rainwater would flow OVER them and leave me access.
But nnnnnnoooooo..
Water weaves it’s own course of least resistance.
And I know when I go out this morning for my roll around the ‘hood’ that I’ll be marooned and unable to cross the gulch that inevitably formed last night.
I checked with the city to see if I could install a culvert and found the cost prohibitive.
So the bricks will have to be relaid.
And so..
Today I exercise patience.
And I’ll drive the dog to the park.
And just smell the deep and musky scents left hanging in the dampness by the reigning power-that-be.
Who slaked the thirst of every green thing and forgot to cover her tracks as she left in such a hurry.
Equinox
Today is the beginning of Autumn.
There is a full moon as well.
Tomorrow the days begin to shorten.
I absolutely love and need to live in a place where the seasons are obvious.
They help my inner tides ebb and flow so I make sure I don’t become stuck in the reflection and hybernation of Winter or
the push and electricity of new life in Spring.
Each are so seductive.
And I’m glad to see them arrive.
And leave.
I need the change they provide.
I am interested to watch myself become more and more tuned to natural cycles.
The apartment I now live in is a place where the weather and moods of Nature are mere inches away from me as I sit in the bay window during a big black storm or drop the shades to searing heat and sun.
I like the feeling of having ‘just enough’ shelter and no more.
In Michigan, where I grew up, the air was always choked with humidity.
You were hard pressed to even find the moon and stars were out of the question except on rare and clear nights.
Sometimes, I write and wonder what in the world this has to do with MS and HEALING THROUGH it?
The only answer I have to that question is the fact I continue to gain in health.
And that fact has me pay close attention to what I am doing, thinking, not doing, eating, revering, shunning, picking up and putting down.
This immense refinement of a life I am inside feels horrible
AND PRECIOUS.
How weird.
And so… something is working.
And I watch.
And listen.
And tell the tale.
As I wobble on down to the door that takes me into the next hall of mirrors.
And I charge myself with making all the adjustments necessary to get a grip on the shifting landscape.
And keep my lipstick looking fresh.
Too Tired
hand-painted textile, pigment on wool flannel
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Sometimes, I start feeling so good
That I forget.
It happened yesterday as I literally soared through my day.
It was a full one, to be sure.
I got up early, wrote, meditated, rode my new exercise bike, take Olivia for a roll, take lots of supplements and make a smoothee.
Take a shower, make myself beautiful, go to meetings and appointments, deal with disability stuff, rifle through unfiled papers to find something.
Go to storage unit and pray I can find one special photo to send to high school chum putting together a memorial for a friend, get dirty, dirty, dirty, find the photo, too filthy to do anything in public so go home.
Need gas in car to go further.
Hold my head in hands as I sit in car and wonder if I have it in me to do this.
Don’t cry but want to.
Save it for later.
Open car door, get out the walker, put in the gas while leaning up against car for support, get dirtier, put walker back in car.
Energy dangerously close to gone so stop at MacDonald’s for an iced tea to re-hydrate.
Pull over to side of road to be safe and rest while drinking tea.
Let seat all the way down to rest while I reclaim myself. Dog sits on chest.
Finally feel good enough to go home.
Pull in driveway and say prayer of gratitude I made it.
Unplug phone and computer and crash.
This kind of tiredness does not happen to me too often anymore.
It used to be my constant companion for years.
So, in a way, days like yesterday are good as they help me remember what is easy to forget:
That I AM HEALTHIER to be sure.
I could NEVER have pressed through a packed day like yesterday a year ago.
But I have got to take care.
Take extra good care of the health I’ve fought for and won.
Not squander it willy-nilly in undeserving corners.
I slept and slept and slept and slept last night.
And this morning I seem to get a reprieve..
Another go at the ‘life-in-moderation-for-the-moment’ thing.
It is another opportunity to refine my precious life.
A wake up call to my own value.
I want to live.
And live well.
So.. I’ll use today to begin again.
And thank God I can.
Moon
In New Mexico the moon can get so bright that it’s almost frightening.
When this happens like it is now I just can’t help remembering that Nature is so much more than we know.
We like to think we have everything all figured out.
But when I went out into the darkness last night to sit on my patio
IT WAS’NT.
Dark, I mean….
I could see my shadow.
The air was not soft and enveloping and ‘hide within’ black.
It was decidedly ELECTRIC and STUNNING with the light.
It was the kind of light the wise men may have seen and were compelled to follow.
Something unnatural about it.. and portentous.
So I sat there in that light.
And my heart was beating faster.
I wondered what it wanted me to know?
Because I felt oddly urged beyond complacency down unknown and winding paths.
I had wanted that little ‘patio-sit’ to be a lullaby.
A soft entry into dreamland.
But instead, it WOKE ME UP!
Grabbed the scruff of my neck and shook me.
I haven’t figured it out.
And really am so very glad I can’t.
Priority Parking
detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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A friend suggested a switch from HANDICAPPED PARKING to PRIORITY PARKING.
When he said that it made me laugh really hard.
First, because it sounds more exclusive (in the good way).
Almost red carpet-like.
Just the two words seem to erase any of the ‘WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?’
And magically turn it into: “What’s so darn RIGHT with you that you get to park here?”
But the more I thought about it the more I realized the ambiguity we’d be introducing into an already pretty charged arena called: “I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU THE EVIL EYE AS YOU GET OUT OF YOUR CAR TO SEE IF INDEED YOU ARE ACTUALLY DISABLED AND IF I CAN’T SEE ANY SIGN OF IT I WILL SEND DAGGERS OF SLIMY POISONOUS ENERGY YOUR WAY SO IF YOU AREN’T DISABLED NOW YOU WILL BE AFTER I GET THROUGH WITH YOU!”
You see, only by hanging one of those coveted glossy blue and white cards on your rear view mirror can you ever imagine how much energy is silently directed at those of us who ‘priority park’.
I have come to realize that the scrutiny I get thrown silently at me as I park and get out of the car is generated by well meaning people who have that inherent protective instinct that signals humanity.
But the thing is, the gene seems to have mutated into some weird sort of “James Bond-esque” gun slinging showdown conducted from 20-50 feet away from me.
And always in silence as no words are ever spoken.
They watch me with eagle-eyes to see if I actually have a visible disability and I hear the collective sigh of relief when I open the back door to get my walker out.
It feels like this whole “CARE IN RESERVE” thing like the fierceness of their remote protection of the handicapped parking place happens in lieu of the unwillingness to look disability in the face.
I love that you all are watching out that no one misuses my parking place and it is there for me when I need it.
I also love it when you open the door for me and look me in the eye.
A smile from you will probably make my day.
One time this week a woman with a watchful eye saw that my grocery bags were really heavy and walked over to ask if I needed help putting them in the car?
She walked clear across a row and a half of the parking lot to do that.
And you can believe me when I tell you I’ll NEVER forget that kindness.
It is good to watch out for one another.
And funny we’ve gotten so out of practice that we silently jive and jostle with one another as mute sentrys protecting the handicapped parking places for those who REALLY need them.
I am a PRIORITY PARKER… and I thank you for standing guard.
But I’m not terribly scary except when I need food.
So next time, please say: “HI” and I will love you for it.