David Letterman, a public man

DAVID LETTERMAN

Last night I watched a very public man do what men should do when they go along the wrong way, he did what so few public people ever do; he had made errors, he admitted them without excuse, he stopped someone else from taking advantage of his mistakes, and is now focusing on what he can to protect all that he loves in life.

The list of public people who give in to the knee-jerk reaction of denying and lying is a long one, one that has grown continually for decades; the actions of people who ignore the truth that they are responsible. We are all responsible, we all occasionally go down a regrettable path; and then we are similarly responsible for doing what we can to make amends. Letterman has done all that, he has not asked for pity or special favor; he is paying a price now and will to pay more in the future, perhaps a long future.

That some people will feel the need to throw ashes on his head makes me ask how they have responded when they did something wrong; remember that no one has never made a misstep or two, that is how we learn, that is what we are about, it is how a man responds that shows how real qualities of character.

How do you and I respond when we do something wrong? The answer is what is relevant and important here.

A cause of fibromyalgia

FIBROMYALGIA, HOW COME?

My fibromyalgia has returned with the vengeance that only those who have known this beast can appreciate. For about a year I had about forgotten that I had been under the control of this fiend for three decades; the Cymbalta was working like a charm, I assumed that there is a silver bullet, I had found it. I wrote several posts about how peace had finally come to my universe, I stopped writing because it was repetitive, there was nothing new to say.

Recently the nasty one has slunk out of the woods and sank his fangs into all the parts of my body; the wounds seemed slight, reaction to a new exercise program, a hamstring that I must have overstretched or somehow damaged. As the pain grew worse I checked with the people at the Chronic Pain Clinic who couldn’t think of anything different to do other than perhaps increasing the amount of Cymbalta. The pain led to fatigue that led to excessive worry about my recent heart situation; and so I began a series of tests which showed almost nothing except for apnea, which is now being managed pretty well thank you. The future was to either crawl into my hole and feel sorry for myself, a procedure that is not unfamiliar; or make a different noise about what is going on with this attack. Messages were sent to various people in white coats over at the Great Hospital by The Lake, allusions to the Baron Münchhausen were included, dramatic appeals to look at this differently than before were made.

There will be a gap here because testing, hearing results, passing to the next specialist, retelling the old story—that part doesn’t need repeating to those of you who have learned it well.

I finally braced my internist to examine what is going on right now with an eye to a million dollars worth of testing or to go home and live with it. Out of the conversation was his observation that there can be a cyclical nature to bouts of FM, had I noticed that, had anything big happened just about the time of this latest flare? There didn’t seem to be anything until I threw out my last comment about a family situation that had made the holidays the most painful of my life, but that it wasn’t a new situation and certainly had no physical aspect. When did the latest bout of FM begin? When did it become severe? The answer to both coincided with another family anniversary that also connected to the Christmas situation.

That was a day ago, in the time since I have been able to remember other instances and other flaring of the FM. The instances where I never had the courage to admit the pain caused by the rejection of almost everything I hold important, these things were too big to be expressed and just had to be endured, my cross to bear.

Needless to say I think we are on to something here, I can feel that release of tension and return of the easiness of understanding that comes at times like this. It certainly isn’t over yet but the beast has a vulnerable area and my knife is pushing deeply.

The internist suggested that on this blog I ask others if they had circumstances that might be coincidental, trauma of various kinds, patterns of recurrences such as anniversaries or reaction to events; any difficult situations that were too painful to express fully.

If you respond to this know that I don’t want to know personal details that might embarrass or identify you, you can send me private responses if you wish. I will merely pass the information along to the white coated guy who sparked this, to see if we can find some way to help others. If I have missed any comments about confidential matters or professional guides please let me know; I ain’t in the medical profession, I am not interested in passing along or even knowing your private events, just if you had them and could they have preceded a flaring of fibromyalgia?

Chicago, the hand held city

For over three months I have been wanting to write a post on this subject; knew that I wanted to say a few things, get them down on virtual paper and so to clear my mind. The thing that held me off was that of coming to the right view, the better attitude–I am there and here it goes.

As I drives out of O’Hare Airport on I-190 I often notice the overhead sign that declares “Chicago is a hands free cell phone city”. This is one of the first impressions a visitor has of our town, the airport being different as it is but a facet of the international air travel system. The next views are the masses of flowers, grasses and ornamental bushes that line the highway, a hint that this is a town that is serious about its appearance and attitude.

Then my car joins with the mass of other automobiles on the Kennedy Expressway heading southeasterly towards the Loop and eventually eastward to the Atlantic. We have heavy traffic for more hours of the day than we don’t; the morning rush hour starts sometime after six and lasts until about ten, the afternoon traffic congests somewhere before three and doesn’t loosen until well after seven. These periods may on occasion be longer but almost never are they less; weekends are no less because people we want to get out and around, to go shopping, visiting or are just traveling through the area. The reason that I list some details of our traffic is because it relates to what the overhead sign at O’Hare proclaims.

My observations won’t have much statistical value because I am too occupied to actually count, but I truly believe that by the time I drive the eighteen or so miles towards the Loop I will have observed at least fifty people holding cell phones to their ears, the number who are staring at something on the little screen is less but is more frightening. And here is my point, my question: Why do so many drivers use their cell phones in Chicago? For a long time this habit made me angry because as a professional driver I feel as threatened by distracted driving as I am by drunk or buzzed drivers. I was angry because I am more likely to be injured than if they hung up their phones to concentrate on driving their two tons of machinery along some of the most congested highways of this whole country. I was and still am angry because I see that the threat.

It is not as if City Hall had not noticed and paid service to this hazard; there is on the books a penalty of $250 for driving while using a hand held phone. Hands free phones were exempt so that drivers could pretend to be conscientious, hand held not so much. The law was passed a couple of years ago against heavy lobbying by the communications industry (certainly not because the mayor’s brother had run SW Bell). After the passage we all made sure that we had the ear piece attachment that would make us legal drivers again; we slowly became aware that although it was prohibited de jure, it was not forbidden de facto. A driver is as unlikely to get a ticket for driving while using a hand held as he is to get a speeding ticket; and no one gets speeding tickets in Chicago except on the Outer Drive or by State Troopers.

Stand at any busy intersection, watch the traffic as the lights change and you will need to take your shoes and socks off to count the cars being driven by otherwise occupied cell phone users. It takes a little longer to observe a number of police car drivers on their cell phones, but then again there are a lot less patrol cars than citizen’s. The lowest count will come for bus drivers of the CTA, but the number is there; it was slow to start but becomes less uncommon as the months add up.

That’s my observation of the scene; here is my quandary. There has to be a reason that supersedes the need for traffic safety; there has to be something greater than that of making aware soccer moms in Range Rovers drifting through red lights with a bunch of kids in the back. There has to be some greater good to citizens and perhaps this is the spirit of what we are about; perhaps the reason is theological or at least spiritual in nature. City Hall does not stop the issuing of expensive tickets for no reason at all (remember that it is $250 per pop). It is the search for this ultimate reason that kept me from just ranting about what I saw as a safety and law enforcement problem; and now I think I have the truth, it is related to the planting of flowers and other ornamentals.

This is a city that thrives on being in a good frame of mind no matter what; observe our love for the Cubs as just the most obvious example; that we don’t forsake the town in spite of hard winters; that we pay the highest sales tax in the nation because He has ordained it so. We are of good spirit; there is nothing that contributes to feeling good than our friends and relatives; nothing makes friends and relatives more cherished than connecting with them whenever possible; no device is more suited to making mom, boyfriend, office friends more important than to talk with them on any and all occasion. It is this spirit of having close friends that is greater than traffic accidents and casualties, trumps the slowdown effect on traffic caused by erratic driving. So this cell phone use is to be seen as a good thing, it is a positive for which we ought to be thankful that those who rule this town have decided to ignore law for the sake of an even greater one; that of talking to one’s girlfriends long and often. There is also the benefit of saying “like” twenty times per minute, the mantra that offers relief of anxiety and tension.

This decision is good and everyone should appreciate the long sighted nature of our betters, especially in these difficult times. Just another reason why I love living in the city not only of Obama and Blagoyevich, but the Modern Wing of the Art Institute and the Vader-like City Hall.

As I finish this post I keep in mind that I am not influenced by my recent parking ticket for having a clear plastic cover over my license plate; or the earlier one for having my front bumper eighteen inches inside a yellow curb zone. I know that for those offenses it was right to be punished; that the potential for harm I caused by these two egregious acts needed law enforcement action. I know and respect the law for keeping me in line when I was wandering over it. This understanding kept me in the right attitude as I figured out why Chicago encourages hand held cell phone users among its millions of drivers.

A Few Health Comments

A FEW HEALTH COMMENTS

A few minutes ago I searched this site for sleep apnea & cpap with few results; a couple of people complaining about having apnea, a technician explaining how sleep trials are done, a few people peddling whatever they can and are allowed. I am surprised by how few posts there are on this subject; I read this morning that 60% of diabetes sufferers probably have apnea as well; personal experience taught me that a good night’s sleep is essential in managing fibromyalgia; depression is influenced by fatigue from lack of sleep; most recently I found that heart failure, mine, probably is associated with apnea. Those are four big areas of health, I don’t know what these ailments cost but it has to be in the billions every year. There is the always present quality of life which cannot be measured so clearly.

This is what started me writing this post: I have had depression for the first sixty years of life; I had fibromyalgia for the last three decades; I am borderline diabetic; I was recently surprised by the onset of heart failure and a. fib.; recently came severe apnea.

My previous posts tell more than anyone would want to know about my depression and what I do to manage it. There are a few posts that describe how fibromyalgia is controlled with the help of the Chronic Pain Clinic at RIC; there are more posts on the heart business than can be of interest to anyone but myself; and now the apnea has been diagnosed and is being managed, 40 awakenings per hour are coming under control.

That all of these ailments and all of the managing methods are connected is obvious; that the sleep problems are common to all of them is known. In my happiness over the management of sleep problems I imagined that everyone in the world should be tested; a fantasy because not everyone wants to explore the ways that may make them feel better. It isn’t just men who avoid feeling right, there are a fair number of self-absorbed neurotic women who won’t search beyond their prejudices (herbals &c.).

I don’t expect anyone will change the way they handle their life because of my haranguing, and yet I do continue to nag every now and again. So many people might have better lives than they have if they had the courage to go at what is hurting them, spiritually, physically and psychologically.

I have known more than a few who have died through avoidance, died unnecessarily, and there will be so many more in the future. But damn it, I am not going to live a miserable life if I can help it.

A NEW ATTITUDE

A NEW ATTITUDE

I had thought for quite a while now that there is nothing new in the area of feelings and attitudes, now I am not so sure that what I knew to be true is so. Here is what has happened so far:

Until about two weeks ago it looked as if I could expect to live another three or four years; this is from the statistics for people who have what I have, and is a number not too far from the average expectancy for all men in this country. I am well aware that these statistics imply and I intend to do anything that I can to come out on the far side of that bell-curve; I also found the study that found people with heart failure often over estimate how long they have to go. I had asked a few medical people, found more than a few articles online that all said about the same thing. My chore had been to get my head around that notion, to accept what was and then to get on with my life.

As I wrote a week or so ago I had an appointment with someone who discovered that I have severe apnea, but that with treatment I can expect to add perhaps four years to this cruise that I am on. And one other thing, he now has probable cause for something that I had been told many times was idiopathic. Treatable and redeeming–quantity and quality.

In effect I have just have just been offered a doubling of my expectancy; this idea is taking a while to root in my cranium and germinate, but it will. There are events and situations all through life that cause feelings and attitudes; except that this business is different, what I am feeling and how I am seeing the world is not quite like any I have ever experienced. I am not ready to say that this is unique, it might just be a variation on one or more, I just can’t say yet.

Obviously I am happy with the news, I have long ago discarded any wish to be dead notions; have reached the conclusion that whatever pains and discomfort come along, no matter how intense, they cannot overwhelm that of being, of becoming. This new thing is a testimony to perseverance, to scratching at the tunnel face until the gold vein is completely discovered; and for that I am relieved, perhaps more than a bit smug. This that I have just received is a gift, more to God than from; but it is such an overwhelming gift that no words are appropriate. Perhaps it would be as if someone gave me a new car–then I see that it is a brand-new Rolls convertible; what the hell do you do with such a thing! A great problem to work at as I go on.

I may write more about this as I figure it out and believe it would be of interest to someone, anyone else. Let me add one more thing: To say that this is more a gift to God than from God is because I know that without man God is irrelevant; He is what we are about, that makes us what we are.

WHAT DO I LIKE TO DO?

WHAT I LIKE TO DO

There is a question that used to make me uncomfortable because my answer won’t be anywhere near to what the questioner expects:

“What is it that you like to do for fun?”

It could be one of the top ten questions in the world, if anyone cared enough to count and compare. It may be thought of as one those necessary boxes that have to be filled in before proceeding to the next page. And why the hell was I uncomfortable about my answer.

The response is that I like what I am doing right then, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it: Drinking coffee with a friend, discussing a book with another, arguing politics with the guys at work, looking out the window at the progress spring is making in the back garden, figuring out what I’d like to make for dinner, and of course there is doing just this putting down of words and thoughts.

After I give the short answer there comes a pause as the listener tries to fit it into one of the fun & enjoyment categories. Failing this there now appears a slightly puzzled look, as if I posed a riddle without adding a clue.

When this happened the other day I added; “I wouldn’t be having a better time if we were eating hot dogs at top of the Eiffel Tower (which used to have the most powerful mustard in those little pots); wouldn’t be feeling any better if were about to visit the coliseum in Rome”; I think that I added a couple of other obvious situations, but you get the idea by now. Doing and being active don’t make me any happier nor less; it isn’t that I don’t do the usual things, it is just that feeling good is independent from doing.

From the discomfort I was feeling when this question was asked I began enjoying it as I practiced my response, getting the words and inflections just right; I enjoy it because it is true; fun in and of itself, otherwise I’d ignore the question and move on.

This isn’t a big idea, but it is a crucial one; those who go from here to there and check off all the points of interest along the way don’t come back in any better shape than when they left, if I need something in my life going to Niagara Falls won’t supply it; I was born and raised in Niagara, so I can tell you it ain’t got anything you can’t find anywhere else. Beautiful, awesome at first, unique—but not a real meal.

I thought that I’d pass this along with the hope that it will resonate with perhaps one or two people, puzzle a few more.

UNCERTAINTY

There are times that bring on feelings of uncertainty or helplessness, they may arrive at four in the morning or as I walk down Michigan Avenue on a beautiful spring day. There are times when I look to what I have depended on and trusted, only to find that they are not enough or have disappeared. These are the times when I am sure there are no alternatives left in my cupboard.

When this happens I have found out that there is a reason:That somehow or other I have put myself in the center of my universe, this weak bearing. If I then imagine that I am not the center, and even though I can’t put into words or images what is I do know, I am certain of its Presence and know instinctively that it doesn’t disappear or disappoint. And when I do manage to get my head around that idea I find that I am in a better place, a place where I ought to be.

This is not a piece of any religion or cult, just something I discovered that fits right, and so I thought I’d pass it along.

Begining the universe with a word

William James once asked Helen Keller to describe what life was like prior to learning her first word, her response was that there was nothing, no description, nothing to re member, a gray miasma; it was when t that first word, water, became real that ideas became real,that Helen Keller became a human being. Her universe was created.

It is reported that as a species we have been around for about 180,000 years, a number that becomes more accurate as scientists examine new evidence using new techniques; but examples of what we are as human beings goes only to cave paintings, the oldest writings are but a few thousand, does no one want to talk about that gap? What about the first 150,000 or so years? The animal that is us existed, ate, fornicated, shat and begat for a long, long time, but apparently without language.

From the mists of our past a truth came through far enough to be put down in what was to become part of the bible, something to the effect that-the word was the beginning. It was not until the first of our ancestors put her hand on something and uttered ‘rock’ that rock was created, and then she gave her partner that look, look was all she had to give him as she had no other word, gave him that look that says ‘pay attention to me the one with the vagina, this is important what I have just done, she repeated the sound until he understood, until he slapped an object and made the sound ‘rock’, I can only imagine the joy them both as they created a world ‘rock’, and then he slapped another object, what we now call ‘tree’, he repeated ‘rock’, she gave him that look again, he eventually came to see that the world was ‘rock’ and not-’rock’. In the beginning was the word.

A baby sees that the object incessantly put in front of its face, and the sound ‘ball’, are the same thing, object is ball, ball is object, there is now a world and it is ‘ball’. There isn’t one of us who hasn’t enjoyed watching an infant with the first word, the world is ‘ball’, the word is repeated ad nauseum; remember the look on the infant’s face, pure joy, the first joy of a human being. That child has become a being with a universe, has the joy of creation.

Periodically the New York Times reports or copies the bleatings of physical scientists and the bible-beaters as they throw their paper weapons at one another in exasperation, frustration arising from the intuitive knowledge that neither one has anything worth while to say.

Newton, and then Einstein, stated clearly, without evasion that this is what we have, there can’t be more and there can’t be less; Einstein made it even more inclusive by adding energy to matter, making the point even stronger. This is what there is, there can’t be more and there can’t be less.

So what the hell is a physical scientist doing talking about creating the world, that ain’t his game, he has all that there is, the scientists job is to explain it.

So what the hell is the bible-beater doing talking about the physical world, that ain’t her game, she has all that she needs, if she would just examine herself within.

It is that that arises from being, from knowing, from learning that the spiritual world is about; examine what happens the first time you fall in love, that surprising event that defines fifth grade, that took over my life bringing great adventure and sorrow, examine what that is about, that is the world of creation and the spirit, perhaps even the Spirit.

Persistence pays

It is right to say something as I accept that I have added years to my life expectancy by following a string as far as it goes; and I admit that that is what I have realized this week.

I have been told perhaps a dozen times that my heart condition was idiopathic (the word idiot always came to mind), that I should live carefully and not worry about the cause, just the relief that all these medicines provide. Being a good patient that is just what I have been doing, as I was wrapping my mind around living in this new and limited body I kept asking unresolved questions about fatigue and all that it was doing to me and my life.

The pulmonary doctor finally said that all of my lung conditions had disappeared and that there was no need to return; I pushed the fatigue question yet again and so she ordered a sleep study which showed minor apnea that she wanted reviewed by a sleep specialist anyway. Reluctantly I made the appointment with just the thoughts of pacemaker and transplant as all the arrows left in my quiver–neither of which I was anxious to launch from my bow.

The sleep doctor pointed out that I have severe apnea, that waking those hundreds of times a night each sending a jolt to the heart telling it to wake up and to increase pressure; and that this constant bombardment by a hormone leads to the heart breaking down. That’s the short answer of the little I remember: except that here was cause for which there is a cure; a CPAP machine will control the apnea, allow the heart to get a night’s rest, help control my weight and mood. Pretty much everything except squeeze oranges for juice in the morning. Oh yes—looking at some of the online studies it looks as if I may have increased my life by a number of years—No Shit!

I didn’t put the meager medical details down as guide for others because I don’t know anything at all about medicine; but I do know that if I had not kept asking the question until I found someone who had an answer that made sense I would continue declining with the shorter life expectancy. There ain’t no guarantees that continued searching will bring resolution to all problems, no guarantee at all, and in that case acceptance is the right road to follow. But I know that not looking around for answers means that none will ever be found.

I could express this in a few other ways, with more precision and wisdom but this is just some information from a guy who had something going and pursued the string to the end.

A Refurbished Part for the Engine

I have never had the imaginative cues that would have me starting a book nevertheless a saga, I have never done much writing at all other than journals and these few unscripted scribbles, so I don’t know the rules or guides for starting a new chapter, finishing another. About all that I know is intuitive aided by the thoughts of just a few authors and a friend or two.

I know intuitively that I have just completed a chapter of what voyage.

Without resorting to those rules and guides for either novels or non-fiction writing I figure that a chapter has characters whose role grew, diminished or evaporated through the circumstances that the protagonist experiences and how the characters may fit and be important, appropriate or irrelevant. Out of the weather of events and fates the main character emerges into the next chapter a different person, one who is more fitting to his fate. Routes and passageways have been explored carefully so as not to damage the keel although the loss of a little hull paint is no great price as it will be replaced at the next haul-out.

It is not that there are or ever will be winners and losers, instead there is a crew who may or not be aboard for the whole voyage. One plans then begins a cruise with the idea that the plank owners, the original volunteers and the paid crew will be there at the final port; there is no reason at all to believe this, it is a wish coming from inexperience and love. At each port along the way there is the opportunity for some to leave and some to sign on; there is languishing on docks ahead a few whom I have no reason to choose or be chosen because they are as yet unmet. There may or may not be berths open at that time, and once leaving port it is rare to return to sign on someone who had been left on land.

Yesterday I was informed that the engine needed a new auxiliary part and that it would lengthen the time I can be at sea and maneuver me more easily through squalls; this addition came as a complete surprise to the engineers but it will be installed shortly.

Right now the pilot is obtaining charts of what opportunities have just been offered by the current repair, the charts he thinks he needs are now being drawn as the previous are now out of date and will be stored away in the map drawer. Like all charts they provide information, but no chart, no meteorologist, no pilot knows all that lays just beyond the horizon—and that uncertainty is what makes everyone anticipate the long cruise. The pilot has a few more lines from squinting in bright sun , he is not as quick to bend or haul a line as he had been, but this is of little concern because the tackle we carry has been proven and maneuvers well practiced.

The boat will make a test run of but a few days to check out the maintenance and fitting of the rig while thinking again on those new charts that are arriving piecemeal from the cartographer. The anticipation, that anticipation, tomorrow’s anticipation sparks the crew-ready to embark and hoist sails.