Monthly Archives: March 2013

Health Care

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There is a fundamental structural problem with the health care system in the US, and it is one which almost no one talks about: Health insurance is tied to employment. This is true in the US, and in very few other developed countries. Most countries seem to understand what I am about to say very well. In the US, not so much.

You see, my wife has been very, very ill. For more information on her situation, see my post on Seratonin Syndrome. Suffice it to say, she has had a life-threatening illness for at least 4 months, was admitted to UNC Hospital less than two weeks ago as I write this, and very easily could have died. During that period, my job performance suffered, understandably.

And herein lies the problem: One of the principle sources of job instability is health issues, either on the part of the breadwinner (which happened for me as well, more on this later), or on the part of one of the breadwinner’s family members. Yesterday, my boss called me, and basically chewed me out, threatening all kinds of dire consequences if my job performance doesn’t improve. And this conversation occurred, again, less than 2 weeks after my wife was discharged from UNC Hospital after suffering a life-threatening illness.

So here it is: Our system relies on the employer to be understanding, decent, and altruistic. For many, many folks, this assumption is false. It certainly is for me. So therefore this leads inevitable to the most predictable of all personal catastophies: First someone in my family gets sick, then I lose my job, and thus the health insurance for my family. This same scenario is being played out, over and over again, in families all over the US.

I have to say, Obamacare is a huge quantum-leap improvement in this very important area in ways that dramatically affect my wife’s and my daily life. We both have pre-existing conditions that cannot be used any longer to deny us coverage. Also, if I do lose my job, Obamacare makes affordable options available.

Folks who oppose Obamacare seem delusional to me now: Just wait until this most predictable personal catastrophe hits your life. You might have a different perspective at that point.

More later.

Eden

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Many human myths contain the story of an ancient garden, among them the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden described in the Book of Revelation from the Hebrew and Christian bibles. Many other ancient religions contain similar stories, leading to one of two conclusions:

  • The story is true
  • Something else is going on here

Since I am fairly sure that Satan did not literally appear to a woman named Eve in the form of a snake in order to tempt Eve into rebelling against God’s first law, I suspect that something else is going on here. This article tends to confirm what I suspect: The Garden of Eden myth is an echo of our ancient lives as paleolithic humans. While life as a paleolithic hunter gather would have been harder than our current lives in some respects (shelter from the weather, for example), in many ways, paleolithic life was pretty idyllic. Once the agricultural revolution occurred (about 15,000 BC), for humans that embraced agriculture, life became much, much harder: Death rates from disease soared and lifespan plummeted. Although human numbers increased hugely, the quality of life of early neolithic humans was terrible. Thus, early neolithic humans (especially those displaced and enslaved by early neolithic empires like Sumeria, Accadia, Egypt, and, later, the Roman Empire) would have looked back upon the days of paleolithic life with incredible longing and nostalgia. This is the basic idea behind the Shadow World series of posts I have been writing. There is no doubt that paleolithic humans survived in large number into the time of the Roman Empire. (They still survive to this day in some areas like Australia.) Many of the “barbarians” displaced and enslaved by the Romans were paleolithic hunter-gather cultures which have disappeared today.

One such group that has always fascinated me is the Faerie. Yes, there actually were people known as the Faeries. They were described in detail by the American writer Parke Godwin in his exception book Firelord, no longer available in print, unfortunately. The Faerie were likely the original human inhabitants of the British Isles, and were still extent at the time of the Roman invasion of Britain in 43 AD. The movie The Eagle (an excellent film which is annoyingly not available on any digital form I have found) shows the collision between paleolithic humans in far northern Britain and the Roman Empire. I suspect they had the Faerie in mind when they made this film, although the race portrayed in the film is not a pygmy race, as the Faerie apparently were. Arthur was supposedly the child of a Faerie queen (Igraine) and a Roman centurion (Uther Pendragon).

The Faerie were regarded as magical. They lived in holes in the ground, had amazing woodcraft, herbology and the like, and were adamantly opposed to agriculture. They worshipped a Goddess named Lugh who was represented as the Earth. When someone plowed a field, the Faerie regarded it as wounding their Goddess. Also, the term “beyond the pale” refers to the circle of metal spikes that Roman folks would place around their villages to keep out the Faerie, who feared and avoided metal.

The fate of the Faerie was annoyingly typical: They were wiped out. Their genetics still survive in the descendants of Romans whose children were stolen and replaced by Faerie babies, a term known at the time as fostering (from which we get the term foster child). Since the Faerie were remarkable as midwives, the Roman women who lived in the British Ilses would often use them for helping with child birth. In lean years, the Faerie midwives would secretly kill the Roman baby and replace it with one of their own, knowing that the Romans would raise the child and feed it. Arthur’s mother, Igraine, was supposedly one of these foster children. Other than that, though, the Faerie, like most paleolithic cultures in the world, are all gone.

More later.

Normal

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I have been watching a lot of the HBO mini-series The Newsroom lately. It’s interesting how these shows can connect with me. It’s kind of like they become my friends. I did the same thing with the shows Brothers and Sisters, Jericho, and Commander in Chief.

Anyway, the main character is Will McAvoy, a news anchor for an imaginary cable network. While in a therapy session, Will is confronted by his shrink about something odd he had done (I will avoid saying more to avoid spoilers). His therapist claimed that Will’s action was not “normal”. To which Will replied:

There are two kinds of people: Those who think they’re normal, and those who know there’s no such thing.

Which is my point exactly: Like Will, I fall into the second category. I am definitely not a “normal” sort of guy, and most likely, neither are you. But that’s OK. The folks that think they’re normal are the deluded ones.

More later.

Seratonin Syndrome

by in Family, Medicine and tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

My wife is also a blogger, and I certainly do not want to tell her story. She is fully capable of doing that for herself, and I earnestly hope that she does. But I will tell my own story.

My life has been basically derailed for more than a year by a shocking (at least to me) medical issue. It seems that two of my wife’s doctors (a psychiatrist and a gastroenterologist) failed to effectively coordinate with each other well enough to avoid prescribing two of the same class of drugs called SSRIs. The result of this medical error was a well-known, potentially life-threatening problem called Seratonin Syndrome in which you have excessive amounts of seratonin in your brain. Effectively, these two physicians prescribed a potentially deadly toxic overdose of prescription medications to my wife.

In the process, my wife and I have spent thousands of dollars (still counting), innumerable hours, and enormous emotional energy for about 17 months, none of which we will ever get back. The stress on me was incredible at times: There were moments when I completely cratered and fell apart. Thankfully, our friends and family were there to support us. Otherwise, I don’t know what we would have done.

The emotions going on inside me right now are complex. As a result of the diagnosis and treatment (consisting of tritrating off of the offending meds), my wife is now feeling a lot better. She is eating, resting, and all that perfectly. She is fine. The way I respond to that is ebullience: I am giddy with happiness.

My other emotion is a bit darker, though: Rage. Two medical doctors, a psychiatrist and a gastroenterologist, committed serious malpractice, and in the process they severely injured my wife. In fact, if I had not gone completely postal in the shrink’s office last week, it is entirely possible that we would still be stuck in this quagmire, and my wife might very well have died. My response to that is wrath: You cannot hurt me, or my family, without incurring a great deal of of my rage. And these two doctors have certainly done that.

More later.

Strength

by in Family, religion and tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

I have had several transformative conversations with my wife recently. One had to do with strength. She wanted to know why I have it, and what well I am drawing from.

You see, my wife is very, very sick. Her situation has gotten serious, and we are now trying to figure this out. In the process, my resolve has been tested, that’s for sure. I will say, amazingly, that I am holding my own. I do cry a lot. I won’t lie about that. However, crying is not necessarily so bad. I am kind of getting used to it.

Anyway, I used to have a pretty pat answer for the question of where my strength comes from: God of course!. Now, I am not so sure.

It is kind of like prayer. I pray a lot these days. I guess it goes with the territory of being a spouse of someone who is seriously ill. Oddly, in the process, I have kind of figured out why prayer works, and what religion is all about, at least for me.

You see, to me at least, prayer is not for God. Prayer is actually for me.

Since I have lived in a state of total doubt for some time now, I am not sure if God even hears my prayers. That’s another one: My wife asked me recently why God was a mystery. (I replied: “Wait! I know this one!”) Eventually, I did come up with the answer: Since God is completely unknowable, He / She is a complete mystery. Every experience I have ever had with God (and believe me, I have had some doozies) has been completely subjective. I mean, how can I be sure that my subconscious mind didn’t simply make it all up?

You get the idea. Since I don’t have much of what religious folks would call faith (which I regard as uncritically believing  propositions that are at best harmless lies), it may surprise you that I pray. But, again, I realize now that prayer is not for God. It is for me.

You see, when I pray for my wife, I let go of the problem a little. Since this is a problem over which I have absolutely no direct control (much as I would like to!), I simply must let go or I will take the problem onto myself. Therein lies the path which I cannot tread.

So, in a sense, I need divine help and guidance. I need the Strength of The Goddess. I rely on Her now. Even if I am not sure She hears me.

More later.

Lopo

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Lopo was old. He felt his years. They were beyond count. His village had little use for an amount that large: They simply called it “many”. He had lived for many years, and he knew it. He squatted before his fire pit, stirring the thin soup he had made with the squirrel Hana had brought him. Poor enough gift it was! He was hungry, and this squirrel was small. Still, it was something. And she was so grateful when he gave her son back to her, fully healed.

He was a Shaman. It had not always been so. Before, he had been one of the Young Men, hunting and chasing girls. That was how he met Lelu, his Other, curse her! She had become his Other, and born him six sons and four daughters. But when the village chose him as the Shaman, she became angry, and she left. She thought the village had little need of two shamans. And so she took her brood, and moved up the hill. She hated him now, may the Goddess curse her!

When he became an older man, but younger than he was now, Lelu and he had been happy together. He had been one of the Elders, and he sat in the Place of Meeting each night. When they could find the Sacred Herb, they burned the flowers and inhaled the smoke. Otherwise, they drank the Water of Life until they became stupid. Sometimes they would laugh so hard! The Water of Life was strong medicine! But not as strong as Sacred Herb. The smoke of the Sacred Herb burned, but it awakened the True Self, and touched the Real World.

And that was how it happened. He was at the tent of meeting, and Ralo had told them that the Water of Life that he was fermenting was ruined. Some monkeys had gotten into it, and broken the skin. Now it would be many days before they could drink the Water of Life again. Lopo had thought hard upon this. He asked this question: “Shouldn’t we then seek the Sacred Herb? Since the Water of Life is denied us, why not inhale the smoke of the Sacred Herb?”

After a shocked silence, the Elders had begun debating this question: Could they actually use the Sacred Herb without the Water of Life? They did not remember any time in the past when they had had one without the other. The Water of Life was such a daily part of their lives, that it was many days since anyone could remember being without it.

In the end, they decided to search for the Sacred Herb. Lopo was proud: His question had led the Elders to a new Path! This was the first time that he could remember them taking anything he had said seriously.

He knew where there was a patch of Sacred Herb, but it was beyond their range, and into the area that was used by their rival village: The Punta. For many days, the People and the Punta had lived in peace, but occasionally Lopo would venture onto the lands blessed by the Spirits of the Puntas and take Sacred Herb, possom, squirrels or some other food. He knew this was wrong, but since no one else knew about what he was doing, he did not care.

He found the patch. The Sacred Herb was there! It was flowering! He began to pick the flowers and stuff them into his loincloth.

He felt the spear hit his head behind his right ear. He did not know it then, but it pierced the hard part of his head, and his True Self began to leak out onto the ground. The Punta hunter who had attacked him ran away. He knew that the Punta would be very afraid of a blood feud if Lopo died. When the People found him, he was senseless and raving.

For weeks he hovered between the Shadow World and the Real World. He wandered on many strange paths and saw many visions. The People were afraid of his strange and delerious cries. After a while, he got better, although his eyes did not work anymore. Instead of seeing the things in the Shadow World, he simply saw a grey mist, and occasionally he had more visions.

Ultimately, the village Elders met and decided that there was nothing to be done except to make him a shaman. He was useless for anything else now. So they threw him out and made him live in the cave in the hillside overlooking their spring campsite. And then they began to bring him patients who they expected him to heal.

At first, he was completely useless: How ashamed he had been when he had failed to heal Shiro! The poor child simply had a case of pox. He knew how to heal that now, but at the time he had been completely stupid. Shiro’s mother Lina had come to him after Shiro died and had thrown dung at him. How his face had burned! She had walked up to him in tears and had struck him across the face. He stood and wept with her, feeling her loss, and knowing that he was the cause of it. He was ashamed.

It took a long time, but finally they had brought more patients, and he had improved. Now he was as good a shaman as Lelu, and maybe better. But Lelu still hated him for taking her place, and he doubted she would ever forgive him.

For now, life was good and the forest gave everything he needed. His People gave him their respect. He knew that he had a place with them, even if he was forever an outcast.

More later.

Dead Already

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When my family and I traveled to Cozumel one year for a much-needed family vacation, I carried the book Shadow Divers by John Kurson. This book describes an incredible dive performed by Richie Kohler and John Chatterton to identify a German U-Boat off the coast of New Jersey. One of the divers was a Vietnam veteran, and described the set of rules for life which he developed while in Vietnam. I don’t remember them all (except that they were excellent), but one of them deeply affected me. This is the gist:

There is no force in the universe more powerful than a human being who knows he or she is already dead, and thus has nothing left to lose.

I found this transformational, you see, because I have been very, very ill, and at times was completely convinced that I was dying. I have psoriasis, which is pretty serious, but mostly not life threatening. However, I became very severe in 2012, and thus was in a lot of pain, and definitely not doing well. I will not belabor you with the gory details, but suffice it to say, I was in very bad shape at that time.

I am fine now, thank God. There are several reasons for this, one of which is my loving and beautiful wife who never ceased to pray and fight for me. Ultimately, I was able to find a treatment which has been remarkably effective, and I am now about 90% improved. In the autoimmunity world, this is called remission.

My son made an interesting statement to me recently: He said of all people, I should be the most happy, because I have cheated death. I have come to the edge of the abyss and backed away from it. I have looked the grim reaper in the eye and spit in his face. You get the idea.

I find that happy is not the word I would use to describe the experience. Certainly, I am grateful. I live in a state of continuous thankfulness. I give thanks for each and every breath I take, because I am aware that each breath is a gift.

Now, I am watching my wife go through a similar journey. I must admit that I find her courage inspiring. Yet I also desperately wish that it could be me, not her, that is sick. No matter. I simply have to be there for her now. She was there for me, after all.

In the end, there is nothing else. All we have is each other.