Difficult Seasons

It’s been a difficult summer at our house.  I really haven’t written about it, but I’ll share a few things now.

Eloise, my sweet wife of 42 1/2 years, hurt her knee in late spring (from playing with the grandchildren of course).  It was so painful for a few weeks that she could barely walk, and actually it hurt too much to drive.  Difficult stuff for a very independent woman!  It certainly changed her day to day life, and naturally mine too.

She had begun experiencing wrist and arm pain even before she hurt her knee.  Because she works on the computer so much, we naturally assumed it was carpel tunnel.  But not working on the computer brought no relief.

Her first stop was her internist.  He wasn’t quite sure what the knee injury was, but he recognized the wrists and hands as Rheumatoid Arthritis, and recommended she see both an othorpedist and a rheumatologist.

While waiting to get in to see the orthopedic guy, the knee began to improve.  He diagnosed it as a torn meniscus and prescribed exercise.

While waiting to get in to see the rheumatologist (8 week wait — underserved specialty you know), the pain from the arthritis continued to get worse, and began showing up in more joints.  Almost you name the joint, it was painful.

Eloise is a professor of education, and thankfully had the first part of the summer off.  She had regained her ability to walk and drive by the beginning of July when she began teaching two graduate classes.  While it’s been quite painful, she has taught like a trooper.

Yesterday was a big day.  We got to go see the rheumatologist, praying that she would offer us hope of relief and improvement.  And thankfully, she did exactly that.

From across the room, she told us that there was no doubt that Eloise had rheumatoid arthritis.  Her physical exam revealed that it is affecting most joints — not a surprise to us.  But it was great to receive a definitive diagnosis, to know that treatment could begin, that relief was on its way.

The most encouraging thing to hear was the doctor saying, “My goal is to help you get back to 100%, and I have every confidence that we’ll be able to do just that.”  She talked to us about treatment plans, what the starting point would be, and how we could expect things to progress.  The plan included some things that would help in the short term while the meds that will control the RA begin to work.

Eloise asked for and received a handicapped tag.  Those of you who have watched her trying to get around have no questions about her need for one.  But the doctor told her that it would only be a temporary tag because she was going to get better and not need it.

Hope.  It’s a huge thing.  Eloise doesn’t feel better today physically, but she certainly does emotionally because of hope.  We’re thankful beyond words.

Sometimes, in the midst of providing caregiving for family members, we also end up caring for a geriatric dog.

That’s going on at our house.  Jenny Dog is a mixed breed who is 14 1/2 years old.  That’s geriatric for a dog, no matter what you use as a multiplier to get equivalent human years.  Based on her size, she’s probably somewhere between 90 and 100 in human years.

She’s slowed down a lot, just like people do as they get older.  She sleeps a lot, and is not as interested in exerting a lot of energy unless it is to get a special treat.  She’ll lobby me mercilessly in the evenings for a treat, and I really believe it’s her main entertainment in life.  And any time we come back in from being away, she’ll check to see if we brought in a sack that might contain a morsel of food.  And if we’ve been around other dogs, we get a special check.

She likes to follow me around, knows my habits well, and even tries to anticipate where I’m heading.  She no longer follows me around as I mow, however, and really had rather be inside in the air conditioned space than to even hang out on the porch.

She’s had a couple of major medical issues in her life.  She had heart worms as a pup, but weathered the treatment well.  The major issue has been an intestinal problem where her intestines were swollen and not functioning properly due to food allergies. It was resulting in liver and kidney disfunction as well, but fortunately a good vet figured out what was going on.  Unfortunately for Jenny Dog, it means eating a special vet diet which she doesn’t think is very appetizing.  She’ll do her best to beg, steal, or borrow some human food that tastes better.

During the last week or so, she’s been having some trouble getting her back end up when she’s ready to get out of a chair.  She can still bounce up into the chairs with no problem, it’s just getting back out of them that sometimes gives her a problem.  Just another sign of her aging.  She also has problems sometimes with the tile floor, which is also a common issue with older dogs.  It means that sometimes I have to help her.

And like all of us who are aging, her hearing and sight are suffering too.

It’s become painfully obvious to us that her time is limited.  It’s also a constant reminder that we’re aging, and can’t do some of the things we used to do effortlessly.

And taking care of an aging dog is just another part of this journey.

Perspective is a big deal, no matter what we’re dealing with in our lives.

Tweet About WSJ Article

For example, we can have cancer, and our perspective may be, “I’m dying of cancer.”

Or, we can choose to have a different perspective:  ”I’m living with cancer until I pass.”

This example is from an article in today’s Wall Street Journal discussing a program for helping cancer patients deal with their illness.  While it’s dealing with cancer patients being able to find meaning for their lives in the face of their illness, it has a lot of value for those of us facing other challenges.  I highly recommend that you read it.

With cancer, nearly everyone’s biggest fear is dying.  But it’s usually unspoken, unsurfaced even.  Once it’s surfaced, the fear can be dealt with.  One can choose to adopt a perspective that gives life meaning and purpose, that takes control away from the fear.

But this principle is much more widely applicable.

Any chronic illness — heart disease, diabetes, arthritis, and any of so many others — generates fears.  What if I have another heart attack?  What if I have to live in a wheel chair?  What if I …?

Your fear may not be from a medical condition, but from a situational condition.  What if I lose my lose the ability to live at the standard of living I’ve become used to?  What if I lose my job?  What if I …?

So what fears are you, or those you love, living with that haven’t been dealt with?

How could you, or could they, benefit from a change of perspective?

Worth some thought!

Lifeline Chaplaincy is an organization I’m very close to, and I’m thrilled that the five professional chaplains are now writing regularly for The Lifeline Chaplaincy Blog.

Lifeline was founded 25 years ago to help meet the pastoral care needs of patients coming to Houston and in particular to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center for treatment.  Folks come to the Texas Medical Center from literally all over the world.  They’re often here for extended periods, far away from family and friends and their churches — their support networks.  Lifeline’s goal is to help fill the gap.

While Lifeline started at M.D. Anderson, it now serves the other four major hospitals in the Texas Medical Center as well.  And during the past few years, Lifeline has expanded to Dallas, the Texas Hill Country, and most recently to Ft. Worth.  Each office is led by a professional chaplain, who is assisted by groups of volunteers who provide pastoral care (lay chaplaincy) in the various hospitals.  I serve as one of these volunteers here in Houston, and also help train new volunteers.

Those of you who have read this blog on a frequent basis know that much of what I write about comes from my experiences while serving with Lifeline.  About a year ago, I began encouraging my friends at Lifeline to also begin sharing through their own blog, as well as beginning to use other social media to better communicate with their constituencies.

The blog has recently come to life, and the content being published is amazing.

I’m not surprised.  The five guys doing the writing are all amazing people.  They have caring hearts, tons of practical expertise, and gifts of communication.  I have great respect and love for each of them, and I love getting to read something from them each week.

I think you will too.  If you haven’t already clicked on the Lifeline Blog link, do yourself a favor and do so now, and while you’re there subscribe.

We communicate to every person we pass in the hall, encounter in a restaurant or store, or share space with wherever.

We either communicate to each person that they have value, or we communicate to them that they don’t have value to us.

If we make eye contact and smile, we communicate in a very strong way that we have recognized their presence, and that we are pleased to share space with them, if even for a moment.

If we avoid eye contact and a smile or nod, then we likewise communicate in a very strong way.  Except this time the message that person receives is, “I don’t recognize your presence, or if I do, I don’t think you’re worthy of my even brief attention.”

There is no neutral.

I was reminded of this truth again yesterday in a series of Twitter posts by Kay Swain (@sandwichINK).  Kay was writing about some time she spent in a wheel chair, and how people would avoid eye contact and act if she wasn’t even present.  Since Kay writes about caregiving, she was applying the importance of being aware for when those we care for end up in wheelchairs.  Kay’s working hard on making eye contact and smiling now.  She learned the lesson first hand.  Thanks for the reminder, Kay!

Then this morning, my friend David Martin, a chaplain in the Fort Worth area for Lifeline Chaplaincy, wrote an article on the same subject in the Lifeline Chaplaincy blog.  David titled the post, Too Easy to Dismiss.  He also talked about people in wheel chairs, but broadened it to anyone who is “different.”  (It’s perfectly fine with me if you click on David’s link and read it before you finish my post.)

This is one of those subjects it would be easy to rant about.  But I won’t, in part because it’s something I have to continually work on.  So rather than preaching, I’ll settle for asking a couple of questions of myself and you as well.

1. What do we communicate about ourselves when we fail to notice, make eye contact with, and give a smile or nod to everyone we share space with, even briefly?
2. What do we communicate about those people to those people we fail to acknowledge?
3. Do we really want to be that kind of person?

I’m sitting at Panera Bread as I write this.  A young lady in the next booth is also writing, and as she got up and went to refresh her drink, we made eye contact and both smiled.  It wasn’t hard, it only took a second, and it felt good.

Won’t you join me in working on this?