Affinity Healing Center Blog

Take Me Out Back and Shoot Me

2011-12-02T15:24:00.001-05:00

The thing about going to a nursing home or hospital is that it is the antithesis of peace. There is constant overstimulation to the nervous system, between loud announcements being made 24/7, bright lights, constant movement of staff members who change every eight hours. The stimulation is overwhelming, the vibration low, heavy, thick, and fear-based. It is toxic beyond measure; it is the antithesis of healing.

If memory serves me, in the hospital, one is not seen as a person, but rather a project or a disease. As a patient, one is subjected to a steady stream of pokes and prods and erratic invasions of privacy, all of which are documented, in large part now because of potential lawsuits. In a nursing home, you’re either ignored, or given your meds and ignored, or given your food and ignored. While that makes them sound quite different, both the hospital and the nursing home share all of the aforementioned attributes of stress: the noises, the lights, the lack of fresh air, the fear. They also share in common the poor quality of food.

There’s no chi in any of the food, no love, no nourishment, no sustenance. The food (if you want to call it that) is cooked en masse long before it is finally eaten; it sits out on trays waiting to be served to people who primarily enjoy the coffee and desserts. I would rather starve or fast than eat anything white. Ideally, food would be served within 20 minutes of being cooked, and it would be fresh and organic!

Ideally, time would be taken to find out what people’s blood-types are, what they are there for, and to gauge their particular dietary needs accordingly. There might actually be a better chance of someone healing faster were they being nourished properly from the inside. On the other end of the spectrum is a subject dear to my heart… having at least one healthy daily bowel movement is imperative; what goes in must come out! Lack of mobility, being given pain medications that cause constipation, being given food that can't be digested by most people are all counterproductive to healing. Stool softeners aren't the answer, either.

The entire medical profession in these environments, with hospitals in particular, is set up to perpetuate the cycle of sickness, not to regain health and live. There’s big bucks in it for the pharmaceutical companies to keep it that way, too. There’s a great lack of connection between the doctors, nurses, staff and patients. There’s budget cutbacks and all kinds of reasons for it. It’s very sad.

While in the midst of a five-day power outage, I was asked more than once if I wanted to go to a nursing home or some facility that would accommodate my needs and keep me warm. The answer was “No.” When I say “Take me out back and shoot me,” I believe that’s basically what they’re doing, but in slow motion. I would end up being catheterized, I would eat crap, I wouldn’t shit, I wouldn’t have any interactions with people I care about or that know me or that I know. I would be miserable, and I would get physically worse on every level. So, no. Don't call an ambulance to take me to one of those places. I’ve figured it out this far; I’m good.

“Deb's How-Not-to-Get-Sick Kit” and What to Do if You Do Guide

2011-10-19T14:36:00.002-04:00

It's that time of year when variations of airborne flus, viruses and colds are floating rampant, and it seems that each year the strains are getting trickier. What follows are preventative guidelines/measures that may help keep you healthy. If you do get sick, rest as much as possible, take your time to fully recuperate, and sample any or all of the "what to do if you do" suggestions. (Hard as it is, I highly recommend informing anyone you've been in proximity to prior to your getting sick that you are.)

The thing about being exposed to an illness is that, if it is spread by air, often the person who is contagious doesn't even know it; they "come down with" whatever they come down with after-the-fact. Steering clear of airborne germs is challenging, to say the least.

I, for one, cannot afford to be exposed to anybody that is sick because my immune system is already compromised, so when anyone, especially one of my personal care attendants, tells me they feel sick, I ask them not to come to work or visit, and if absolutely necessary (however briefly), to wear a mask when in my home. (I like the masks they sell at CVS that allow some closure over the nose and fit more snugly than the lighter and cheaper ones you can buy in bulk)

I truly believe that the "fear factor" influences whether or not we actually "catch" something. There's nothing like creating your own reality; if you lower your vibration by being in fear (as opposed to love), I believe you're more apt to get sick. (This is especially applicable when visiting hospital settings, FYI.)

PREVENTATIVE MEASURES

If you cough or sneeze, make a habit to do so into your arm/shoulder, then wash your hands.

Wash your hands a lot. ESPECIALLY when out in public and handling shopping carts, door handles and touching things that other people that might be sick have touched (like the pen they use to have you sign for prescription at CVS, or the bank) Use your own pen!

Use a hand sanitizer frequently; they are sold everywhere.

Breathing, Visualizations, Meditation and Prayer

Sit with your palms face up in your lap. Make yourself comfortable and focus inwardly on your breathing. At first, just observe your breath. Then, knowing that the in-breath brings energy, breathe in slowly to the count of four. Gently contain your breath for a count of four (hold your breath, but not with tension). Slowly exhale, releasing negativity, to the count of six, then pause for a count of two. Repeat this for a while, then breathe “normally.”

Visualize yourself as strong and healthy. (Fake it until you make it, if necessary!)

Imagine yourself surrounded by white light. Ask for Healing Angels and Archangels, specifically Michael and Raphael, to fill, surround, and protect you. Ask for only that which is for the highest good to transpire. Send the light to all your friends, loved ones, and especially other people that are sick.

My understanding is that healing angels don’t do anything unless they are asked to. They get VERY excited when given a job to do; they are here to be of service. I also imagine them to be rather small and cherubic, and that they giggle while working.

It never ceases to amaze me when someone tells me they are "drinking lots of

orange juice," thinking that that is actually helping. It's actually not, and here's why:

Orange juice is loaded with sugar, doesn't have a lot of vitamin C in it, is cold, and causes the body to be even more acidic. What we WANT to do is make our bodies more alkaline, which means staying away from sweets, processed foods, dairy products and anything white.

WHY YOU WANT YOUR BODY TO BE ALKALINE

Your body’s pH level impacts every biochemical process in your body. The typical Western diet lends itself very well to having an acidic pH. Having an acidic pH makes you more prone to have a lower-functioning immune system.

"But I love my sweets," is a common retort. I'm not a nutritionist, but I know enough to know that craving sweets is an indication that someone has a yeast infection. Yeast begets yeast; when one eats a lot of sugar, it creates an excess amount of yeast in our bodies, which then feeds off the sugar. It becomes a vicious cycle, but it can be broken if one chooses to do so. We do better when we know better.

Sometimes it's enough to just go "cold turkey" off sugar, sometimes we need help because if we do have a yeast infection, the craving for sugar can be INTENSE. There is a product from a company called Biotics (800-231-5777) called ADP that is oil of oregano. Oregano will kill yeast and STOP the craving for sweets. They probably sell some variation on it at stores like Whole Foods. My experience is that it works immediately in terms of stopping the craving for sugar; it can be as simple as that! (The usual dosage is one capsule four times a day; breakfast, lunch, dinner and at bedtime)

Biotics also sells a product called Ultra-Virex that helps if you have a virus. The usual dosage is three capsules three times a day; morning, afternoon, and before bed.

Vitamin C

It's a fact that the body doesn't create vitamin C, and when we are sick, our bodies leech it from us. Taking vitamin C as a supplement on a regular basis as a preventive measure is a good idea. Taking LOTS of vitamin C (500 mg every couple of hours until you get diarrhea = when you know you've had enough) at the onset and for the duration of feeling sick, can be tremendously beneficial.

Emergen-C is a powder that has not only one thousand milligrams of vitamin C, but is full of electrolytes. It goes directly into the bloodstream and is extremely beneficial for replacing electrolytes and giving us an immediate boost. I recommend the "light" because it has the lowest sugar content. (Why it has any sugar in it remains mystery to me!)

Zinc

I take 50 mg three times a day as a preventative measure for a few weeks at the beginning of the flu season. Zinc is an essential mineral that is found in every cell in our body. It stimulates the activity of about 100 enzymes, substances that promote biochemical reactions in your body. Among its many functions, zinc helps maintain a healthy immune system, is needed for wound healing, helps maintain your sense of taste and smell, and is needed for DNA synthesis. When taken, it can give you a little flush of color momentarily.

Echinacea

is an herb that strengthens the immune system and fights off infections; it can be taken as a tincture in liquid form or in tablet form, and is great at the onset of symptoms. It is not as effective if taken after symptoms have taken hold.

Echinacea strengthens your immune system by stimulating the production of T-cells. It also increases the ability of your white cells to fend off pathogenic invaders.

A compound known as echinacein, found in echinacea, helps keep germs from penetrating healthy cells, so that viruses and bacteria don’t take hold in your body.

Keep up the hot fluid intake

Drink hot liquids (or at least at room temperature)… There is a plethora to choose from; adding fresh lemon helps the body become alkaline.

WHAT TO DO IF YOU DO GET SICK

Miso

is fermented soy, comes in the form of a paste that, when added to hot hot water, makes a delicious somewhat salty beverage that makes the body more alkaline. It is highly recommended. In general, and is especially beneficial when you have cold and/or flu.

Chicken soup is good for when you’re sick, with lots of vegetables.

HOMEOPATHY

Oscillococcinum is a homeopathic remedy for the flu that has become so popular and accepted in the mainstream. It can even be found at places like CVS. (Boiron, the company that makes it, also has a wide assortment of other remedies applicable for allergies, sinus infections etc.)

NOTE: Stay away from peppermint when taking homeopathic remedies as it counter-acts the effect of the homeopathy.

FLU SHOTS

Getting a flu shot may be helpful, but it may also make you feel like SHIT and not be the strain that you are exposed to.

ANTIBIOTICS

If you are given an antibiotic by the doctor, make sure you take pro-biotics because anti-biotics kill all the bacteria in your body… good and bad! (Taking them on a regular pay it basis helps keep the good flora as well as promotes healthy bowel movements) You can get decent probiotic at Whole Foods, or through a company like Biotics, but even CVS carries them these days!

There is some debate about whether to take probiotics while taking an antibiotic; this is the best I could come up with online research:

During antibiotic therapy, a good dose of probiotics is between 6 and 25 billion total viable probiotic cells per day. They should be taken as far away from the antibiotics as possible (for instance, if the antibiotics are to be taken every eight hours, the probiotic supplements should be taken four hours after the antibiotics). Probiotic therapy should be continued a week to a month beyond the antibiotic treatment period to replenish any beneficial bacteria lost during antibiotic use. Probiotic use should not interfere with the effectiveness of antibiotics. Source

ESSENTIAL OILS

There are lots of essential oils on the market, but the top shelf /highest vibration ones come from a company called Young Living (800-371-3515) [Yes, it’s a MLM and yes I am a distributor]. My top choices for dealing with the flu, sore throats, coughs, (etc) are:

R.C. = In addition to many other oils, It has three kinds of Eucalyptus oils in it. When applied externally to the throat, coughs get nipped in the bud.

Thieves derived its name from a group of thieves who, once apprehended back in the 1300’s in Europe, gave up the recipe of the herbs they were taking to not get the plague. (They were robbing graves and removing gold out of peoples’ mouths, going into the homes, etc.)

You can put a drop on your tooth-brush, use the mouthwash to gargle with. (And swallow the gargle; it cleans your digestive system). Diffuse it in the air, use it as a hand soap, hand sanitizer and household cleaner. You can massage it into the soles of your feet, especially at night, if you're feeling the onset of something. It is one of the most effective ways to destroy mold and smells delicious. (There are over 101 ways to use Thieves)

Peppermint: Rub a drop of peppermint under your belly button to reduce fevers. Put a drop in water and drink at room temperature… good for digestion.

NETTY POT: For sinus congestion/ infections and allergies/postnasal drip

The netty pot looks like a small Aladdin’s lamp and is used for cleaning the sinuses. (A little weird at first, but definitely worth pursuing). I boil water, add about a quarter cup of it to three-quarter cups of cool filtered water, stir in maybe a quarter teaspoon of sea salt, pour that into the Netty pot. Then I grab a large supply of tissues.

I place an empty bowl in front of me, tilt my head, pour the water in one nostril and wait for it to come out the other nostril, whereupon I snort and blow my nose into the bowl. I repeat it on the other side, and go back and forth until I feel clear. I usually do this at night before retiring.

Keep your feet warm, keep your body warm, wear a scarf.

Keep a hot water bottle on hand and snuggle with it.

BATHS

You can take hot baths (Epsom salts will help draw out toxins, and putting in a drop of the essential oil of lavender can help you calm your nervous system… Or you can put the essential oil blend Thieves in the bath.

If you take a really hot bath, it's a good idea to keep cold washcloth on your forehead to keep from passing out!

FOLK REMEDIES

I have personal experience with everything I've written about above with the exception of this "old-fashioned" remedy: Mix together a batch of rubbing alcohol, peppermint leaves and olive oil. After letting it steep for a while, strain it, and apply the oil to your body, especially her chest. Wear warm flannel pajamas to bed, and SWEAT it out… The "it" being a high fever.

SLEEP

It goes without saying that getting enough sleep is imperative to heal. I know from personal experience that I so want to feel better, think I do, do too much and end up having to sleep again. And again. And again. It’s a pattern that those of use with type-A personalities (especially) seem to experience. Surrendering and accepting the healing process and the other end of the journey is equally as important as the prevention.

So there you have it! Be vigilant, take precautions, and if push comes to shove, allow yourself to heal as slowly as your body needs.

Best of health to you and yours and all of us!

The Basic Self

2011-08-24T14:50:00.003-04:00

He told me his Dr. said he had to see a nutritionist, exercise more, eat three healthy high-protein meals a day with snacks in between, and to stop eating at 6 PM. He needed to stop drinking coffee and juices. He needed to lose weight and start pricking his finger throughout the day to keep track of his blood sugar levels and, ultimately, avoid having to take medication, or worse, give himself insulin shots. He needed to "take better care of himself" or he would surely become a full-blown diabetic.

He told me he HATED the reality of his situation; "Its too many things to deal with, and I don't like the idea of pricking my fingers every day to draw blood - it makes me want to faint! I want my pork, dammit!"

I completely understood and shared my own recent "bad habit" of eating an enormous bowl of homemade kettle corn popcorn pretty much every night in spite of it causing me to gain weight. It was my latest "comfort food," and as innocent as it was, it was nevertheless detrimental to my health. I knew it, I liked it too much to stop.

I talked to him about different levels of consciousness, one of them being the basic self, which deals with habits and patterns, and how, if one can understand the psychology behind the basic self and approach making behavioral changes from being kind, there is a much better possibility of success. I talked about how it's easier to do what is familiar and identify with it as "normal" even while being miserable, or knowing it really isn't the right thing for one reason or another.

When we attempt to change any pattern/habit from a place of fear (ESPECIALLY when the medical profession says to), or are judging ourselves as wrong and think that we "should", the behavioral change might last for a while, but not long. Making changes from a loving and accepting place is a world of difference and has a far greater chance of success.

The basic self's job is to MAINTAIN THE PHYSICAL BODY AT ALL COSTS; it is about survival! It wants to know when it is going to be fed, when it is going to sleep, and where. It is like a baby - no more than four years old in self awareness. It needs to be tended to… all ... the ... time. Just like a baby feels secure with routines, so does the basic self.

The basic self lives in the belly and houses the emotions, (Most of us are familiar with that butterfly nervousness we feel in our belly before doing something that scares us.) It does not like it when we evolve spiritually because it thinks its survival is being threatened. It will do anything to sabotage spiritual progression. (I.e.: Have you ever been meditating and had the urge to stop and go have ice cream?)

The part of you that is reading this is (ideally) the conscious self… A.k.a. "the adult." Our job as a conscious self is to educate the basic self. Typically, when we decide to (or are told we need to) make a change in some behavior, and especially if done from a place of "I should do this," the basic self rebels BIG TIME. Remember, the basic self is like a little child. It sincerely believes that the behavior (s) it has been doing are what it is supposed to do and needs to do to survive. If you make it feel wrong for doing what you as a conscious self taught it to do in the first place, it doesn't cooperate. Understanding this is paramount.

The High Self is where our inspiration comes from… the lofty ideals. It is the voice that guides us to "apply for that job now." "Don't go to the family reunion after all." There is no logic to the high self; it is a non-invasive influence that, when listened to, can guide our lives in a gentle and positive direction.

It is the conscious self that teaches the basic self to do patterns in the first place. Therefore, if you think about it, it is the responsibility of the conscious self to lovingly reeducate the basic self about why changing any unwanted behavior to something more beneficial would be enticing and healthier in the long run.

Regardless of how long a habit has been intact… the basic self literally has it wired that were it to change the behavior, it would die. Whether the habit/pattern has been "good" for us or not, fact of the matter is, the basic self has done a great job at doing whatever the pattern is. The basic self wants (and deserves) to understand why the pattern of behavior you are wanting to change doesn't work anymore, and be "shown" (so to speak) why this new goal/affirmation is a great idea! When we talk to our little child with respect, it treats us with respect.

Fact: The basic self hears the ends of sentences, so when we say things like, "I just can't lose this weight. It's impossible." "I shouldn't be fat,"… the basic self hears, "can't lose this weight. It's impossible." "Be fat." It acts accordingly. The basic self, being (maybe) four years old, seldom cooperates under the circumstances. Which is why our attempts to change a behavior often get sabotaged. Our little child throws a cog in the wheel when we approach it with an attitude of reprimanding it for something we taught it to do in the first place.

AFFIRMATIONS

An effective tool to give the basic self permission to express itself is working with affirmations. They give the basic self a voice… Often a very LOUD one that, in time, once it "gets" that is being listened to at the same time that it "gets" the goal, starts to cooperate and have less to say. Here's how it works:

1) Make a column down the middle of a page of paper. Title the left half “basic self” and the right half “response.”

2) Think of an affirmation that you want to set for yourself ... something that you don't have yet, but to which you aspire. The affirmation must be stated in the present tense, in a positive voice, and in action... stated as if you already have it.

One that I worked with was, "I, Deb, am enjoying my lithe, powerful and magnificent body." (I weighed 265 pounds, was on eight drugs and could barely transfer at the time) Other examples might be, "I, Tom, am patient with the process of being disciplined, eating great food, exercising and feeling healthy." "I, Joy, feel nourished by food, safe with my sexuality and power as I lose weight."

NOTE: Habits and patterns are definitely not limited to food… A few other examples are: drug addiction, alcoholism, hoarding, being physically or emotionally abusive, cutting, etc.

3) Once you come up with an affirmation, it should disturb you a little bit, if not a lot. That response to the affirmation is your basic self's voice. That response is what you write down in the response column. The idea is to allow the basic self to have a voice.

4) I suggest writing the affirmation a minimum of 20 times every day for 30 days, which is about the time it takes to break a habit/pattern. Do NOT worry about editing your basic self's responses. Let yourself swear, get it ALL out of your system, and in time, you'll notice that the basic self's voice dissipates and the affirmation becomes the new behavior/pattern!

By writing down the affirmation on the left side, then letting the basic self express itself, the basic self feels heard. When it feels heard, it feels that you, the conscious self, "the adult", cares. It will be much more apt to cooperate. When you write the affirmations, in the beginning, the scale, by nature, will be tipped in that the basic self will have a LOT to say. Go ahead and let it say what it has to say! After all, it's your little child. Given a chance to scream and throw a tantrum while you're acknowledging it and loving it, it will relax. You just keep writing the affirmation and hold that vision.

Here is an example:
AFFIRMATION RESPONSE

I, Deb, am enjoying my lithe, "What are you nuts? You’re full

powerful, and magnificent body. of shit! Look at me!"

I, Deb, am enjoying my lithe, "You're not even close. What
powerful, and magnificent body. are you talking about?"

I, Deb, am enjoying my lithe, . "What channel are you on?”

powerful and magnificent body

Get it?

Make a point to do it every day, and don't go back and read it; that just puts it in again. The idea is to let it go and move on. Eventually, the basic self starts running out of things to say. You might even find your behavior changing sooner than later! It really is about loving ourselves, and this is one way to embrace the resistance and make the changes necessary to feel good, healthy, and be the best we can in the world!

Beatrice

2011-08-24T14:23:00.004-04:00

The first time I saw her, I was swimming in an outdoor pool on a glorious summer afternoon. The sun beamed a steady warmth, and there was a gentle wind that made the air feel tinged with cold on my exposed skin. The sight of this small framed woman tending to a man in a wheelchair captivated me.

I tried not to stare. I tried not to be “one of those people that stares at people with disabilities thinking they are "freaks from another planet," Or, as is typical, has a push pull response as a result of feeling some degree of fear that they might actually "catch" whatever the person they are staring at has that got them in the wheelchair in the first place. "They" remind me that it could happen to me; I feel uncomfortable.

So I did the sidestroke. Besides, they were too busy fussing with the lifeguard, who was trying to figure out how the lift worked to get him in the water. It’s called a Hoyer lift, and the idea is to get someone’s body from point A (the wheelchair) to point B (in the pool) without dropping them.

That part I couldn’t watch. To this day, I have no idea how one can trust another human being to suspend you in midair for any length of time. God willing, I never will. But then we do what we’ve gotta do, don’t we? Which in his case, was a good half hour of watching him being assembled, hoisted, rotated, repositioned lifted, and finally lowered and released into the womb of water.

She hopped right in and swiftly positioned various floatation devices under his legs, arms and neck, the idea being not to let him drown. Again, I couldn’t watch. Such heroic efforts being made to have a chance to float, I thought. I wondered if they were lovers. I wondered if they did this regularly, and if it was always such an ordeal.

Once his head was securely positioned, she kissed him. Not with lips closed, but a full throttle deep tongue-action kiss that rendered me feeling a pang of envy. I thought of how fortunate he was to have her. To be treated with such endearment and tenderness. I also wondered how many others were observing this uncommon behavior in our local town community pool. Then I let it go, figuring it was nobody’s business, really. What people will do for love.

When B. answered an ad I posted for a personal care attendant (PCA), I emphasized that being on time was very important to me in the initial phone interview. She was 20 min. late; but for some reason, I didn't stick to my own guidelines, and hired her. I was intrigued by how, by nature, she was charming, delightful and upbeat. She had the kind of energy I wanted to be around

With the exception of her being consistently late . . . half an hour to two hours once in a while; even half a day once, I believe I endured having her in my employ partially as a personal research project on her personality. There’s a saying – if you’re early, you’re anxious, if you’re on time, you’re compulsive, and if you’re late, you’re hostile.

In her case, I think she thought (and probably still does) that she is so needed and so important where she is that she never leaves, which was also my experience when she worked with me. I didn’t have much of a life back then, so her coming in late wasn’t as much of a source of stress as it would be now. When she did arrive, I had to listen to a litany of excuses, rationales and apologies, whereupon at least 15 minutes would have gone by. When she left, she had to double and triple check all the jobs she had done to make sure that everything was in order. Clearly, she had an obsessive-compulsive "issue." At the time, (and to this day, to some degree) I wasn't aware of such a thing; nor was I into labels, per se.)

She shared stories about how she was her boyfriend’s live-in PCA. How it was the best of both worlds because she "lived there rent-free and got paid to tend to his needs." He was a qudraplegic (he only had use of his body from the neck up as a result of a motorcycle accident) and needed to be fed, changed, bathed, and have every basic need tended to 24/7. Sex was a big part of their relationship. She would sometimes arrive late report how exhausted she was, the reason being her boyfriend had popped a Viagra, and she had spent many many hours hours assuming all kinds of positions to satisfy his needs. (She claims to have learned how to satisfy her own needs at the same time, which was too much information for me.) I find it curious that scientifically, we can’t solve problems like menstrual cramps or a wide variety of medical issues, but we can give a man a pill that makes him stay hard for hours.

I once gave her the task of dusting shelves in my bedroom, only to find, an hour later that she hadn’t gotten beyond the first set because she was in the bathroom running tap water gently over each individual figurines. When I asked her what she was doing and why she was not just picking them up and dusting them with a damp cloth (“like a normal person would have” I thought but didn’t say) her answer was a confident “these are so delicate that I want to treat them accordingly”.
I reassigned her to another task.

Once a week B. would drive me for an hour and a half to see an acupuncturist near Boston. I would ride in the front passenger seat on the way there and I would sleep in the back seat on the way home after my treatment. At the time, I could walk with forearm canes and his office was on the second floor of a brick building that housed huge lofts.

On one particular trip, she chose to gun it in order to pass two tractor-trailer rigs and we were pulled over by a cop who had clocked her going 84mph in a 55mph zone. Her immediate response was to get out of the car. The cop was parked at least 50 yards behind us, got out of the car with a bullhorn and said, very firmly “get back in the car." B. got back in the car for about 5 seconds and immediately got back out again; she stared at him with her hands on her hips. Needless to say, he repeated his announcement even louder, adding “put your hands in the air where I can see them."

I chose to have a sense of humor about it and observe rather than intervene and possibly make a bad situation worse. When he finally sidled up to the car, without solicitation, B. began to emphatically explain that I, pointing at me, had multiple sclerosis and chemical sensitivities, and that B. was "driving fast to get me out of harm’s way from the fumes. " He whipped out his pad and instructed her that she was going 84 mph in a 55 mph zone. After reviewing her license and my registration, he went back to his car to so whatever they do when that happens. B. told me that she could not afford to get another ticket, and that if she got one, I would have to pay for it because it was my fault that she was driving so fast. (Apparently, she had run a red light a few months earlier, and if she got this ticket, it would increase her insurance, which, she added, she wanted me to pay as well if she got the ticket. ) This was a side of her I had yet to meet, and under the circumstances; I wasn’t interested in investing any energy in discussing the matter.

Sure enough, she got a $300 ticket. I had to endure listening to her repeat her victim story the rest of the trip. She became unhinged, unraveled, and impossible to be around. And I was paying her for this? I remember her taking her sweet time getting the back seat of the car organized for me after the treatment; I was tired and needed to climb in, recline and sleep. When I asked her what she was doing, she snapped at me, clearly being passive aggressive. I don’t believe I slept during that ride home; I was clearly upset, as was she.

In an attempt to be kind, I accompanied her to the court date where she tried to appeal the ticket. She thought my presence, me being in a wheelchair and all, would make the court magistrate take pity on her – I was her token of victimhood. He did, as he did with everybody else, reduce the ticket by 50%, which didn’t satisfy B.. She went on, as she had with the police officer, to reiterate my being chemically sensitive because of the MS, blah blah blah. Her antics only gave rise to his impatience, and he told her that she "needed to learn some respect and take responsibility for her behavior."

I was doomed, and so was she, for this was the straw that broke the camels back in having B. as an employee. I can’t believe I actually contributed $100 towards the cost of her ticket , and when she continued to push the point that she wanted me to pay for the increase in her car insurance, I finally l fired her.

Getting Out The Door

2011-06-01T16:23:00.008-04:00

I have multiple sclerosis. The last time I went dancing was 6 years ago. Since then, I’ve been in an electric wheelchair. How I healed myself to this extent is another story. This story has to do with having reached a point in my oddessy where I felt strong enough to go out dancing.

It was an old familiar voice that spoke to me as I put the polishing touches on my attire for the evening. “Why not just rest? You know you’ll be tired in the morning if you go out. Watch TV. Keep your feet up.”

I recognized that voice as what I refer to as my basic self; the inner child in me that loves the security of familiar habits and patterns. Imagine if you will, an adamant little five year-old clutching at your skirt with her thumb in her mouth. She’s shaking her head and whining, “No. No. I don’t want to go. Let’s make popcorn and watch a movie. We always do that.”

That’s the basic self, in my case trying not to change ... To not go out and have fun. For a moment, I placed myself in her “shoes,” so to speak. By doing so, I realized it has been over six years since I’ve worn anything resembling “sexy,” and she’s worried about me. How sweet.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you wear that outfit without a scarf,” she spoke anxiously. “Your earrings are going to fall off, you know. It’s been a while, but I remember. Once you get dancing, you’ll loose one.”

“Yes, yes. I hear you,” I silently responded. To reassure her, in my

mind, I knelt down and took her little hands. “It’ll be OK,” I

spoke to her gently. “We took a nap earlier so we can stay up late. We

were invited to go out dancing, and we can now. After all these years,

we’re strong enough to stand, hold on to something (or somebody) and

dance! It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Her doubtful chatter stopped and I could feel her relax into the idea a little. Just then Danielle arrived to help me in whatever way I needed. She’s half my age and had on sneakers that squeaked when she walked. “Will you stop bouncing around?,” I complained, waving as I brushed past her in my wheelchair. She did a little jump and followed me quickly down the hall and into the bathroom.

While I put makeup on, Danielle danced to an imaginary tune and chose scents to sample. As she swayed, she sniffed each one and studied me, smiling. “You are a striking woman, you know. Pretty damn good looking for an old lady,” she added.

Her comment reflected how I was feeling inside. After six years of being immobilized, overweight and sick, I felt thin, stronger, and could even walk with forearm canes for balance. I wanted to go out dancing because if I don’t test my limits, then how can I know where they are?

Danielle’s vibrant youthful energy was reminding me of not wanting to go earlier. “What am I thinking? Like I’m going to get out on the dance floor. What if it’s really crowded?”

I put on lipstick and went to blot it. Finishing, I spun around to face Danielle directly. “I was having second thoughts about going. This is exciting, but it’s also really scary.” Danielle stopped playing with the perfumes and stood and faced me directly. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Well” I answered slowly, looking at the floor. “I wanted to go, then I started thinking about how it’s going to be really crowded.” Danielle said nothing, so I continued, feeling a little silly, yet justified in my hesitations. “I started thinking about what if I get tired? Then I thought ‘What if I run into somebody that I know?’”

Danielle sat down on the toilet, put her elbows on her knees, rested her head on her hands and stared at the floor. After a moment, she looked at me and smiled, then looked down at the floor again. Suddenly she sat straight up, slapped both knees and stated, “You know Debra, I haven’t known you very long, but I know that you’ve got a lot of spirit.” Her assuring voice got louder as she spoke, “We can leave anytime you want to. I’ll help you get onto the dance floor, and you’re bound to run into somebody that you know!”

“Why do you say that” I asked, caught by surprise at the strength of her statement.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Because everywhere we go you run into someone you know, or someone knows who you are. You’re famous!”

Embarrassed, I quickly added, “No Danielle, I’m not famous, I’m infamous. Know the difference?” She shook her head and waited patiently for me to explain.

“I’m known for starting a school, but I’ve been in hiding for ten years. I have this image, you know? Not too many people have seen me in a wheelchair, let alone know I have MS.” In a small way, I felt better having said just that much.

Danielle rose abruptly and walked past me down the hall. I followed her this time, wondering what on earth she had going on in her head. She sat down at the kitchen table and said, “Tell you what. We’ll go, and if at any point in time you feel like you want to leave, I promise I’ll leave, OK? I’m your friend, Debra. I want you to have a great time.”

All of a sudden my basic self started a “run-of-the-mouth” critique about the outfit I was wearing, the little fat that I had left on my body and how my breasts were saggy. As if that wasn’t enough, she pushed it even farther, literally yelling in my head about “Sure your face is pretty, but it’s always been pretty. Even when you weighed 265 pounds it was pretty and I used to be angry about that too!”

Having held that entire conversation in silence with myself, I was oblivious to the fact that Danielle had moved and was sitting on the couch in the livingroom. When I noticed, I went to her and asked, “What’s up?”

“Well,” she said mischievously.. “At least we’re a little closer to the door. This is our first time going out to dance, and I don’t want it to be the last.” She paused, then exclaimed, “You haven’t said anything about your dancing yet. What’s wrong with your dancing?”

Realizing she’d caught on to the push-pull dynamics of my basic self, I started to laugh. “All right, I’ll just get it over with. When I dance, I can’t get my feet to move the way I want them to. My upper body is OK, but I wish I could dance like I used to.” Remembering how much fun I had dancing, I became passionate. “I want to dance like Ginger. I want to get down and rock out and go at it all night like I used to, but I can’t!” I could feel tears surfacing and added, “Now I’m feeling sorry for myself and I feel stupid, so ... let’s just go.”

“That felt good!” I said as Danielle opened the front door. I stood, put on my forearm canes, took a couple of deep breaths, looked at her and said “Let’s do it,” and we walked out the door.

THERE’S NO PLACE TO GO BUT UP FROM HERE

2011-01-31T12:18:00.000-05:00

Me, not looking so well

It took being put to bed by paramedics at 6:30 PM on a Saturday evening and staying there until 9:30 AM on a Monday morning for me to “get” that I really needed to hire more personal care attendants (PC A’s). Upon their return, the head paramedic inquired whether I had enough help, adding that it really wasn’t “their job” to get people in and out of bed. Jackie, who’s been with me as my main PCA and overseas my life, assured him that the circumstances were unique.

As if It wasn’t enough to have multiple sclerosis and be a power wheelchair user, I had been running a temperature prior to having oral surgery, where, to my dismay, two teeth in the front of my mouth had to be extracted due to fractures, decay and bacterial infection. I had been in denial about having the infection because I already experience so much sensory phenomenon and pain related to having MS 24/7 that I didn’t take the symptoms of tenderness in my mouth seriously.

I had grown accustomed to and took for granted my ability to transfer out of my queen sized bed onto the commode, out of the power wheelchair into the shower chair and back again after bathing myself. For the most part, I was independent. Over the years, however, I had also grown accustomed to having to wear a an adult diaper when going out for any period time, but to date, hadn’t needed to wear one at night.

I wear one of those “help I’ve fallen and I can’t get up buttons,” and I use it. In this case, Pam, a friend who lives nearby, had come over to assist me in my post operative need for, among other things, hydrating myself. I was on my third round of a strong antibiotic and was forcing fluids in an attempt to also flush toxins. When it came to transferring into bed for the night, I was too weak. The paramedics had to move furniture and me into the bed, a task that rendered me embracing a new level of humility. I remember not caring that I was butt naked in a diaper. I remember asking to be moved more toward the headboard and a little to the left so that I could reach the grab bar. For some reason I thought I would still be able to sit up.

I was wrong.

The night prior to the oral surgery I was coughing. Unfortunately, I had ”picked it up”… the flu! I remember listening to the bazaar somewhat melodic wheezing in my chest between coughs, and was impressed that I thought to and could position a small pillow underneath my head to elevate it. Unfortunately, not sleeping much the night prior to having the surgery didn’t add to my overall well-being. How I managed to shower myself that morning in preparation for Carmina, who came in to help me get my diaper on and get dressed for the surgery remains to be one of those mysteries to me. I know I prayed. I know I did EFT. (The emotional freedom technique) I did not know that would be the last shower I took for sometime.

I was relieved when Pam, whom I felt I was taking advantage of at this point, agreed to be on the payroll Sunday morning. She filled out the paperwork, then, not four hours later, realized that 1) it would be deducted from her unemployment check, and 2) after the fact, her own needs in being sensitive to food department kicked in to the point where, having, by 10:30 AM, pooped in my diaper, she informed me she couldn’t come back to help me and that it wasn’t going to work out after all, “I’m sorry.”

I was devastated. I’m glad I had thought to ask her to bring me the list of phone numbers of friends and acquaintances and my phone, both of which were within reach. I had access to my glasses(which I prayed I would not drop). I had thought to have food made ahead of time, albeit soft (hummus, guacamole, green soup, yogurt) but I hadn’t anticipated having 101° fever and not being able to move.

I spent the next 72 hours wheezing, coughing, throwing up, and having to swallow it because I was lying on my back. I wasn’t able to rinse my mouth with warm salt water, but, thankfully, did not experience pain as a result of the extractions; a true godsend. I observed what felt like brain cells going on in their own journeys, morphing into other galaxies. I had no choice but to contend with my legs spasming, my left hand not being able to open and a restless right leg that was hard-pressed to settle down. It brought new meaning to the idea of being in the present moment and surrendering. At one point my nose was stuffy and I asked someone to bring me nose drops. It was one thing I thought it could control; at least I’ll be able to breathe.

Within minutes I felt like I had swallowed razor blades and regretted doing that. I remembered giggling a little bit, thinking how insane this all was. I remember how Carmina came to my rescue and, to my delight, revealed her expertise in being able to roll me to my side, remove the wet and soiled diaper and clean me up. I remember her rejoicing with me when I was finally able to partially sit so she could put chucks down on the bed (they absorb liquids and keep the mattress intact) She made the best scrambled eggs.

I felt sad when I realized that of all the people on my phone list, there were only three that I felt comfortable asking for help and weren’t busy. THAT’S when I had to admit that I needed to hire another PCA. Now. Over the years, I’ve given people raises; I use my allowance of PCA’s very creatively. It works for me. I do the things that help me, like getting range of motion on a regular basis. And I’m not talking about just lifting my knee and my foot in the air, either. I’m talking about getting me on the massage table and basically moving my pelvis, legs and feet for me because I can’t. I figured all that I would need to know to pull off finding and hiring a new PCA would be told/shown me when the time was right. In that moment, ensuring that I had some nutrition in me and that I wasn’t totally ruining my mattress were priorities.

It really was an unfortunate “marriage” of what could be perceived as bad timing and exposure to germs warfare. Eventually, I came to view it as the healing crisis I needed to slow me down. Once the “stinking thinking” that accompanied being sick subsided, I was able to embrace my frustration and judgment about how long it was taking to get my strength back. I had to surrender to the reality that I would be exhausted after even a minimal amount of exertion and had no choice but to rest.

A week later, on a Monday morning, I placed an ad in the local paper that stated “Experienced female PCA/Amherst. Call Deb: 549-4359.” It cost me $60 for two weeks, and was one of my better investments.

It was tricky business dealing with the plethora of applicants. Some I was able to screen immediately when informed I was basically only looking for someone to do range of motion and, more importantly, to be a backup PCA. Some I didn’t call back because I couldn’t understand them or their voices were so weak I knew I would not want to work with them. Some I didn’t call back because they were telling me what they were looking for in a manner that didn’t feel “warm and fuzzy.” Approximately 30 women called in the course of four days; out of them, I interviewed six.

I was still sick when I was interviewing, and struggled with balancing my need to not exert myself too much, but also, as I always do when interviewing someone, I put them to task by doing necessary projects.

In spite of the sign on the door saying to come and announce yourself, Barbara rang the doorbell and wouldn’t come in until I answered it. She was half an hour early, had no car, and was asked to hang her coat in the walkway, which, like her, smelled like cigarette smoke. Barbara talked about all the people she had worked with (some of whom died on her watch) while giving me a perfectly inadequate “bath” with a washcloth in my wheelchair.” She meant well, but clearly had no idea that it was inappropriate to be a smoker and apply to work with someone like me.

Heather had no experience, but was “board-certified.” She spoke like a computer robot, had a blood thinning disorder, and clearly had experience spending time in the hospital. When asked when she last worked there was a pregnant pause. She took an inordinate amount of time washing the blender and glass. She was very curious about putting something in a baggie and labeling it. When I asked her to do some range of motion and guided her accordingly, I saw/felt her come alive and into an element that put her on the “maybe list.”

Jane is 78 and wanted $200 a week in cash under the table. Had I known that ahead of time, I wouldn’t have interviewed her. She came in the door talking about herself and didn’t stop! Having interviewed people for over 30 years, and having a desperate need to hire someone while simultaneously healing, I bordered on being rude. “I’m sure you’ve lived quite a fascinating life, Jane, but I don’t think you realize how sick I really am. I need you to answer my questions, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t listen. I used body language to get her to the front door and shook my head after she left.

Margo was clearly a smoker. She also had no common sense, and had to be literally on top of the apartment with my guiding her before she “got” that she was in the right place. This time, the pig pen of smoke that followed her in the front door lead me to a verbal acknowledgment that she was a smoker and that it wasn’t going to work. “Sorry.” She didn’t even get her coat off.

It was love at first sight when Mahogany arrived. Big black mama who I knew, when speaking to her on the phone, was a keeper. She clearly cared. Unfortunately, in my postoperative weakened and feverish state, she was getting a picture of me needing her to spend the night, which she offered to do. I enjoyed her so much, but wasn’t ready to receive what she was offering, and sent her home with hopes that we could find a way to work together in spite of her not having a car and being rather obese

I called Mahogany the next day to check in. When I found out she had taken the bus here from Northampton, gotten lost, had one of her four children help her find me, and on the other end of the interview, taken the wrong bus back to Northampton and wasn’t home until 10 PM that night, it was clear to me that as much as I liked her, it wouldn’t work out In the long run.

Laura was my “11^th hour” match! Although she too got lost, she resonated with who I am, “spoke my language”, was open to being a backup PCA, learning the range of motion I like to receive, and had worked with one person for 22 years, That she was also a hairdresser was almost too good to be true. She came in the next day and learned how to do a few of the PCA jobs and to meet Jackie. YES!

I pulled the ad, but not before returning many calls to inform people that the position had been filled. I never did get out the hard copy “form” typically used to interview people. I did remember to ask questions about their health, and I did feel them. If they felt to me, too, I can be with them.

------------------

Life Paths

2010-09-09T11:57:00.004-04:00

When I studied with Michael Bookbinder, I promised not to write about and publish what I learned. This was in 1978. Since then, he died, and Dan Millman, the author of “The Way of the Peaceful Warrior,” wrote an astonishingly well-done book called, “The Life You Were Born to Live – A guide to finding your life purpose.” You can get the book online through Amazon or Barnes and Noble, or, for your immediate gratification, from the Barnes and Noble in Hadley, MA.

Prior to my awareness of it, I wrote the following article. Which I share with anybody who wants to know about it. It has become one of my staples in working with people, regardless of whether they are a client, an acquaintance, a relative, or friend. I find it profoundly helpful in cutting to the chase with regard to assisting a person in feeling more comfortable in their skin and lives, by embracing and accepting what they’re here to ultimately learn about. For those of you who are practitioners, or just want to know, I encourage you to get the book, otherwise, enjoy my article!

This information comes from my studies with a man named Michael Bookbinder who taught a two-year course called Counselor Healer Therapist Training. It looks like numerology, but isn't. Think of it this way:

When the soul decides it's time to reincarnate, it goes to a repository of basic selves, conscious selves and high selves. It takes a look at all of the past lives it has had and thinks about what kind of future life would further round out who it is in the heart of God. It chooses a basic self (or two, in some cases), a conscious self and a high self. What sort of family you reincarnate into, who your parents are, etc., is planned out ahead of time. The "blueprint" of the soul's life is then given to the high self prior to incarnation.

What these numbers represent are the "issues, struggles, hardships, challenges" that we have contracted to learn more about in this particular lifetime. I have found the information to be helpful in understanding myself better, and wish the same for you.

Each number represents a specific subject matter as follows:

1 = creativity 6 = perfection

2 = inner cooperation 7 = mystical fulfillment

3 = expression 8 = manifesting material success

4 = foundation and strength 9 = manifesting spiritual law

5 = freedom 0 = spiritual gift (in creativity)

Here's how to figure out what your or someone else's life paths is:

Write your birth date, being sure to include the 19 part of 1945, (or for the president generation, the 20 part of the 2002). Add the numbers from left to right until you can't add any more. Here are some examples:

Example One

Someone born on May 26, 1959 becomes 5-26-1959, which = 5+2+6+1+9+5+9

To add from left to right ...

5 plus 2 = 7 7 plus 6 = 13 13 plus 1 = 14 14 plus 9 = 23 23 plus 5 = 28 and 28 plus 9 = 37. Last but not least, 3 plus 7 = 10.

This person has a 37/10 life path.

They are here to learn about expression, mystical fulfillment, and having a spiritual gift in creativity.

3= They may have a tendency to be shy, struggle with words, feelings,

timing and safety about when and where to express their feelings. Or, they may have a tendency to be loud, draw attention to the selves inappropriately, and be quite theatrical by nature.

7= The person with this aspect in their life path is provided with lots of

opportunities for change and adaptation. It's as if they are climbing a

ladder, and every time they take a step up, the rung below disappears.

There is no turning back. There is seldom respite from challenges

and changes in their lives. On the other hand, they could become quite complacent with their lives and never be challenged.

10= the zero added to the 1 gives this person a spiritual gift in creativity. Creativity doesn't necessarily mean art, drama, music, etc. It is the movement of energy; the ability to flow with life. Having a spiritual gift in creativity implies that the person has an extra boost of energy in their

creative endeavors.

Example Two

W.C. Field's birthday was January 29, 1880. This becomes 1 +2+9+1+8+8+0

1 plus 2 = 3 3 plus 9 = 12 12 plus 1 = 13 13 plus 8 = 21

21 plus 8 = 29 2 plus 9 = 11 last but not least, 1 plus 1 = 2.

He had a 29/11/2 life path.

He was here to learn about inner cooperation, manifesting spiritual law, double creativity, and outer expression.

2= What is your truth? What does your heart tell you to do versus

worshipping the God of opinion? (Caring too much about what other people think.) People with this life path often struggle with being a caretaker to some degree, then feeling resentful. Either that, or, as in his case, the strike out on their own independently, leaving responsibilities behind.

9=People with a 9 can be very powerful at bringing in that which they

want in their lives. "As above, so below." They are often extremely creative geniuses. They have an uncanny way of manifesting their dreams. They intuitively know when to make the right "chess moves."

11-WHENEVER THERE ARE TWO NUMBERS TOGETHER , IT IS A MASTER NUMBER. Either you master it, or it masters you .

In this case, we have double creativity. This person has excessive amounts of energy. Either they master their creativity with moving this energy out in the world, or it masters them in the form of depression. When they are in sync with what makes them happiest, they can easily function on four hours of sleep a night. Often, people will be intimidated by their boundless energy and ability to sustain momentum. They can have very addictive personalities.

2= When the 2 is at the end, as in this case, it has to do with playing by the rules in the "real world." There is a tendency to want to do their own thing and ignore the rules; they can be gangsters at heart, and are here to learn to cooperate. Patience with the process is a key issue for people with this life path.

Example Three

Someone born on March 28, 1987 becomes 3-28-1987,

which = 3+2+8+1+9+8+7

3+2 = 5 5+8 = 13 13+1 = 14 14+9 = 23 23+8 = 31 31+7 = 38, and

3+8 = 11 1+1 = 2.

This person has a 38/11/2 life path. It is similar to the 29/11/2 energy wise, and:

3 = expression (see explanation in example one)

8 = Money comes and goes with all of us, but people with an 8 in their

life path have an opportunity to learn how to manage it. They could be

wealthy; they could be poor. It seems that no matter which, they may

never be satisfied and/or trust that the universe will provide. They may well be capable of being self-employed doing something dear to their heart, but work for others, often with a longing for the former. They can be very meticulous about to their finances, sometimes found with money buried or hidden on their property.

Example four

Someone born on November10,1921 becomes and 11/10/1921

which is = 1+1+1+0+1+9+2+1

1+1=2 2+1=3 3+0= 3 3+1=4 4+9=13 13+2=15 15+1=16

1+6=7

this person has a 16/7 life path. They are here to learn about creativity, perfection and mystical fulfillment.

6 = perfection. People with this in their life path can be very difficult students. They are as hard on themselves as they are on other people in terms of looking for the ideal teacher. Being may be gifted yet fear of going up on stage because they aren't "perfect." They are their own worst critics and may hesitate and withdraw in worst case scenarios. On the other hand, they can have great egos and think that they are perfect and better than other people. Letting go of the judgments and finding the happy medium is their challenge.

Example five

The children being born in this millennium have very little karma to work out.

A child born on January 1, 2000 becomes a 1/1/2000 .

1+1 = 2 2+ 2 =4

This person's life path is a 4.

They are here to learn to be in their bodies on the earth whether they like it or not. Sometimes they're very sickly as children and evolve, in time, into healthy adults; and sometimes vice versa. Sometimes they are musclebound and too pumped up physically as a result of fear of feeling their softness and intimacy in relationship to themselves, other people and the planet. Sometimes they are just wonderfully grounded healthy people who go through life as natural athletes, and/or are always healthy.

A person whose life path is a 5 …

is here to learn how to be safe and trust themselves and others. Often in relationships they are non-committal and want to know where the back door is. This applies to work as well as romantic relationships, for their freedom is of utmost importance to them.

As you can see, combinations can be quite revealing. Generally speaking, the last number is indicative of what you're ultimately here to work on. Have fun!http://www.amazon.com/Life-You-Were-Born-Live/dp/091581160X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1307205246&sr=8-1

Swimming

2010-05-15T10:38:00.004-04:00

I successfully swam without Thia’s assistance three times this week. I have manifested Pat, a woman who got diagnosed with MS and was told that she only had five years to live, to assist me on the post-swim end of things. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that the Chinese proverb Emily sent me about life being like an echo, really does hold true…what you put out comes back.

The conglomerate of elderly women in the locker room is eager to help me. I find this endearing. My ability to get off the Hoyer lift – and stand – is exciting! So much so that when I did, I had to pause, because I was in a degree of disbelief.

What is a waste of energy is getting even clearer to me. Including nuances like even having a thought that something is wrong or judging another person for something or being aware that I’m trying to control something that is out of my control (which is basically everything!).

I could get myself in a bundle about all the things that I want to do and need help with and feel motivated to do when in the company of others, and not so motivated when alone. Like editing. Or, writing in general. It’s like I look to the outside for feedback and sustenance to keep me going. I am being asked to do a lot of behind the scenes work without that.

I never knew how much I didn’t feel my body until I started feeling it. Ever since being double wanded by Jennifer, I have experienced a remarkable unveiling of me in the sensory department. I feel my feet on the foot pedals and my butt on the seat cushion. The pain has subsided and a sensory phenomena increased.

I’ve taken to doing the Art of Living breathing program every morning. I find it very valuable. I’m glad to be on board with it again.

I’m honoring what I feel like doing and not pushing myself to promote the wand or even myself as a practitioner right now. The way I figure it, I must be due for more inner healing work for me to be given this amount of time to do that. So, instead of turning it into a problem, I’m feeling grateful that I have what I have. I don’t have to go out there and sabotage it or put myself in a position where I’m not going to heal because I create stress. Like Jennifer said, I’ve got a sweet deal! If the Affinity Healing Center is going to happen, it can only happen from a place of my walking the talk.

For me not to have written for five days is out of character. I have been reading the Miracle of the Breath, listening to the Power of Now, working in the gardens with Ellen, and allowing myself to be. It is a good thing.

The Visit

2010-03-05T13:20:00.005-05:00

How does it happen our lives can be reduced to a single bed, the television, and a few keepsakes? I couldn’t even tell where my mother kept her clothes; the space she was sharing was so small. I was glad to see the familiar collection of owls, the photograph of Eleanor Roosevelt, and a few plants on the windowsill. And I was glad to see her. It had been six months.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped at me when I first went into her room.

I had prepared myself for her having a very short memory. I had prepared myself for her being in a wheelchair and watching television all day. But I hadn’t prepared myself to deal with a mother who had become a mean person.

I was surprised how defensive I felt. After all, I had been up since 5:30 A.M. getting ready for the trip and had been in a car for two hours being driven through a low visibility snowstorm. I quickly had an entire conversation in my head to transform the impulse to leave into kind words. “I was admiring your collection of owls. I’m glad to see you still have them,” I responded.

“That’s not a collection. It’s a few tokens.”

She was right, of course. At one time in her life I think my mother had well over a hundred owls as tokens of an apology, if you will, as a result of my father having taken a real owl she raised to the dump when it died.

“Do you mind if I turn off the TV?” I asked as I did. I noticed that her remote control was on another table and that the phone was within reach beside her on the bed. She looked remarkably vital for a 79-year-old woman. Unlike many of the other residents at the nursing home, she sat upright, proud. Nary a wrinkle was on her flushed face, and her eyes were clear and healthy.

I rolled my wheelchair toward her in an attempt to give her a hug.

“What are you doing?” she giggled nervously as I got closer.

“I’m trying to give you a wheelchair hug, Mom. You look wonderful,” I added as our wheelchairs clanked against one another and we exchanged brief kisses.

Just then her roommate ventured in to the room and my mother literally snarled. Her face twisted as she raised her hand and gestured for her roommate to leave. “Oh you just get out of here. Leave!”

The contempt, anger and disdain in my mother’s demeanor shocked me.

I’d known her to be compassionate, unassuming and kind. In the last four years my mother had gone from the status of homeowner to the luxury of living in an assisted care facility, and was now in a nursing home. She had grown to be a snob. She had “more education than most, after all.” I couldn’t tell if her roommate could hear my mother, but I was certain that she could feel her. My immediate reaction was to tell her to cut it out.

“Oh Debbie, you don’t know the half of it. She’s a retarded nitwit and I can’t stand her.”

“I don’t care if she’s a dog, Mom. You don’t talk to people that way. What did she ever do to you that you think she deserves to be treated like that?”

Her roommate was struggling to no avail to get into the shared bathroom with her wheelchair. It was small and far from accessible. As she mumbled under her breath, my mother wasn’t making it any easier for her. I was very uncomfortable.

“She steals.”

I looked at her with my mouth wide-open, “And?”

“Her IQ is 40. No. Make that 15.”

“What happened to you, Mom? When did you get to be so mean? You’re being really being rude! I feel really uncomfortable with this. You cut it out!”

“No. I won’t. She deserves it and more.”

“How can you be living in the same space with someone and hate them so much? I’ve never seen you like this. She deserves to be here just as much as you do.”

There was no response, so for emphasis, I added, “I can’t control what you do when I’m not here, but while I am, I would like you to stop.”

She stuck out her tongue and blew me a wet raspberry.

I sent one back to her.

“Who is the parent now?” she asked.

“I am. And I will leave if you don’t treat her with respect. I didn’t come here to be around all this negativity. How can you live like this? You’ll die from hatred before you die from natural causes. What happened to you? You must be hurting a lot to be so mean to someone.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, she rolled her head back and cried, saying, “If I let on to people that I am a good listener, there would be a crowd in this room, and I don’t want that. She’s retarded and can’t even carry on a conversation. I’m surrounded by stupidity.”

Then she forgot what she was talking about and tried to get out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. Apparently she was strapped in, and the seatbelt was attached to an alarm, which went off. Mom was inclined to be independent, stubborn, and not in the habit asking for help. Nor did any help arrive in the next few minutes, during which she struggled to dismantle the alarm, mysteriously succeeding when pounding the mattress.

“There. That’s better,” she sighed and smiled. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

On my way out to see if someone was going to come, I observed residents headed toward their rooms to receive their meals. I tried not to pay too much attention to my mother’s roommate who was peeing in full view, having been unsuccessful at closing the door to the bathroom. Nobody was even at the nursing station, which was directly outside the door. Moments before, there had been loud conversations between people dispensing food. There had been intermittent voices blaring over the intercom and phones ringing. In her case, the noise was OK, because for years, she had slept with the radio on all-night. Strangely, she found comfort in the chaos of constant sound.

A while later, a woman I assume was a bureaucrat came into the room and calmly put the seat belt back together. ”Carol, what are we going to do with you? You can’t keep trying to get out of the wheelchair by yourself. Why don’t you ask for help?”

After considerable thought, Mom said, “To be honest? It never occurs to me to ask. Why should I?”

The woman put her arm around my mother and pointed to the signs. “We even have signs here, Carol. But I guess you’ve gotten used to them, huh?”

Speaking from experience, I said, “She’ll dismantle the alarm and she’ll never ask for help when she transfers. That’s just the way she is. “Doesn’t occur to ask.”

The woman rubbed my mothers back as she told me that mom had slid right out of the wheelchair and onto the floor yesterday. The woman asked mom if she’d ring a small bell if given one.

I piped up and said, “Nobody came when the alarm went off. What makes you think they’d come if they heard a bell? She’s even directly across from the nurse’s station,” I added.

The woman went on to say how concerned “they” were about Carol falling, and how “they” were liable. I thought to myself how the liability issue was the driving force behind all “their” attention. I suggested putting a cow bell around her neck like a cat for some comic relief. We all laughed a little bit, and mom said she’d just take that off as well. .” While I had to admire her for her spunk, she was also an admitted brat.

Before the woman left, she told Mom to stay in her chair because lunch was coming “any minute”.

I had brought my own lunch, so I found a microwave, heated it up, and brought it back to my mother’s room, fully expecting her lunch to be in front of her by the time I got back. It wasn’t. When it did arrive, it looked like it had already been eaten. God only knows how long it had been exposed to the air. The broccoli looked pathetically boiled to death. On the same plate was an unidentifiable mound of something that might have been hot at some point. The plastic cup of canned pears, the lunchroom container of milk, and coffee with cream and sweet and low were all opened by the attendant who brought the tray.

It was obvious that she and my mom liked each other, for my mother had drawn her close to her side instantly. I thought about how my mother doesn’t get a lot of affection, and how the attendant probably appreciates having someone as lively as my mother around as well.

As I ate, I watched the snow, which had begun to fall rather heavily. I was thinking about Melissa, who had driven me to visit my mom and was now at the dentist. I wondered when she’d be done and how much longer I had to spend with my mom. The snow was accumulating rather heavily and I was anxious.

I looked over at my mother. She hadn’t touched her food. “Are you going to eat, Mom?” I asked. She looked at me and said, “Would you eat that?” We both chuckled. “That’s exactly why I brought my own food.” “Smart thinking,” was her response. She never did touch the tray.

I had been drinking a lot of water while I was there and had to use the bathroom again, probably for the fifth if not sixth time. While I was wheeling myself in that direction, a nurse came in to take my mother’s blood pressure and commented that she wasn’t feeling so good. When I came out of the bathroom, the nurse was sitting with her hands on her forehead, rocking.

“Are you, OK?” I asked.

“No, I think I’ve got the flu”, she said. “I feel like retching.”

“What are you doing here? Why don’t you go home? Can you go home? I didn’t drive all the way here to get the flu. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be around the elderly. You should go home.”

My mother turned to me and said, “Debbie, that’s no way to make her feel welcome!”

I didn’t go into it at the time, but the last thing I wanted was to make her feel welcome. I just kept my distance, and eventually the nurse finished taking my mother’s blood pressure and quietly left the room.

My mother’s roommate dared to make another entry to put away and retrieve some of her belongings from her dresser, and my mother sent her a raspberry. I turned to her and said, “You cut in out, remember?” She shrugged her shoulders and flashed a false grin.

I brought out my son Kyle’s artwork and photographs. I reminded mom that Kyle was in

India

, and that I had offered to develop his film. “It’s a great way to be able to see what he’s doing because I get to see the photographs.” It was fascinating to watch her watch the photographs. She lingered over each picture as if it was a new invention she had never seen in her life. Then, when we got to the artwork, which is actually quite brilliant, she got excited and exclaimed, “Kyle did these? You gave birth to quite an artist!”

When my cell phone rang, I was relieved to hear that Melissa was finished with her dental appointment and en route to pick me up. It would be another twenty to twenty-five minutes. In the meantime, I decided to interview my mother. I asked her questions about what she would like to improve in her life. If she could change anything, what would it be?

Without hesitation she held her hands up in quotation marks and said, “I wish that they listened to us ‘inmates’ better. We have needs, too. Even though they act like they listen, they never act upon what they hear, which makes me feel discounted.” She would like to go on outings in small groups, even if it was just a short drive for a change in scenery. She also would have liked more time to pet the animals when they do bring animals to her room. Simple enough, I thought.

I had, upon leaving, reached out and caressed my mother’s face. The moment I touched her, I was filled with a profound sadness that emerged in a flood of inconsolable tears once in the car.

We drove home in relative silence, taking in the glistening splendor and beauty of branches laden with snow in a winter wonderland. As we did, I thought to myself how, at the age of 52, my generation would be soon to follow, and how there has to be a better way. There has to be a better way to truly care for the elderly and allow us to die with dignity. I vowed to pray about it and be open to manifesting it. Please join me.

Research on Energy

2009-12-15T14:24:00.001-05:00

“I watched this T.V. show hosted by Alan Alda about research being done on people doing energy work with one another.” She was standing by the door, leaning against the frame as she often does after delivering the weekly 80 PSI oxygen tank.

It was just after 8 AM, and I’d only just risen from the slumbers of my bed minutes earlier. She, on the other hand, had been up for hours, delivered her youngest to school, and was now en route home to study for a Chemistry final.

I made it a point to face her directly and asked, “Yeah? Was it done professionally, as in double-blind study and all?

She went on to explain that it wasn’t, and that the contenders in this particular game were both experienced in the field of energy work and not. The conclusion, because everyone who was on the receiving end “said” they benefitted in a positive manner, was that energy work was a placebo effect.

Or something like that.

I probably should have written this when I thought to do so 10 hours ago because I can’t remember the details. I do recall saying that it was a nice gesture, and that it deserves the same protocol other venues receive in being researched. I also remembered a really cool fact, which is this: Some things are sacred, and you just won’t figure them out because they aren’t supposed to be revealed. How energy works in relationship, the primary word being relationship, is one of them. This is only my opinion; I could be wrong.

Time is such an illusion

2009-12-09T14:29:00.000-05:00

I just realized this site has only been up for a few days. I had momentum behind it in preparation, so once launched; it slowed down in a way. Whatever. It’s all good. I’m still learning the ropes on how to respond to blog entries. I’m grateful I have others who can show me. When I founded Stillpoint, there were no computers, so this cyberspace world is a learning curve for me.

The Day After Launching

2009-12-05T14:31:00.002-05:00

Don’t I sound like I know what I’m talking about? I got all kinds of excited about doing this. I still am. Energetically, belonging to this cyber space community feels better than I thought it would. I had been resisting getting on the page and expanding in this way because I am a “touchy feely” person. I feel sad that we are losing touch, we don’t even make phone calls anymore; we text and email each other! We need to be touched physically, as well as emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. They even made a movie called Crash, which was about how people literally crash into each other in order to feel something. And then there are people that don’t know that they’re getting inadequate bodywork, coupled with people that don’t know that they’re giving it inadequately.

If you don’t have an opportunity to be touched on a regular basis, any touch by a massage therapist or body worker is going to feel good. This doesn’t necessarily mean it is the most impactful. When you’re thirsty, a glass of water is good, but if you need champagne, you’ve got to find the right practitioner. This means spending a little money and shopping around. Somebody can say “oh they’re great, you should see them”, and that person’s body may have benefited from what they received because they are a water person; you could be a champagne person, and may be disappointed.

I am definitely a glass of champagne. I can be water, if that’s what you need, but my forte is champagne.

My Debut

2009-12-04T14:31:00.001-05:00

This is so exciting! I have joined the world as of December 4, 2009. Hello, world!

According to my business consultant, Shalini, having a website is like standing in a corn field. At least I’m in the corn field! That is about as public as I feel like being right now.