SERENDIPITY

Marilyn Armstrong — Seeking Intelligent Life on Earth


14 Comments

One size never fits all

After a long period of listening to endless complaints of headaches and stomach aches that I incorrectly attributed to my son’s problems with school — school phobia was the term they were using back then — one afternoon, he started seizing. Rushed to the emergency room, he continued to seize, despite intravenous anti-convulsive medications.

VeganWitches

Many tests later, all the doctors knew was his brain was swollen and he had a low-grade fever. There was no evidence of viral or bacterial meningitis or encephalitis to account for the swelling. There was nothing in any of the blood work to indicate an infection.

One day, I was visiting him in the hospital. By then he’d been there a few weeks and I was despairing of getting any answers. They were doing daily spinal taps on him to lower the pressure in his brain and he got hysterical every time they approached him with that needle. I could hardly blame the kid. Spinal taps are miserable and painful. One is bad. Daily is horrible.

While I was trying to think of something cheery to say, I noticed that the soles of his feet were kind of orange. So were the palms of his hands. It looked like he’d been eating cheetos or something like that with yellow dye in it. I mentioned it to the nurse. She looked at it and wrinkled her brow.

Orange peppers, photo: Marilyn Armstrong

“It looks like jaundice,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, “But only on his palms and soles. That’s a bit weird don’t you think?”

She agreed it was odd and said she’d mention it to the doctor.

The following day, the doctor rushed into the room and said, with his voice full of urgency, “Does he take vitamins?”

“Vitamins?”

“Vitamins. Regular multi vitamins.”

“Yeah, when he was home visiting his father this summer, he brought back a bottle of one-a-day multi vitamins with him. He’s been taking one a day. Nothing unusual.”

“Bring them in,” the doctor ordered. “The whole bottle, label and all.”

And I did. It turned out that my son cannot metabolize vitamin A. Instead of being processed in a normal way and passing out of his body, it accumulates and would have killed him eventually. He had more than 1 million percent more vitamin A in his system than normal and there was no quick way to detoxify him.

Peppers and beans

Time was going to have to take care of it. Over a period of years, if he was careful to avoid vitamins and foods high in vitamin A, eventually his levels would recede to normal, but he would never be able to eat orange and red vegetables, margarine and other foods that are pumped full of Vitamin A, spinach, liver or other organ meats.

Vitamin A-osis is not unknown. Arctic explorers died of it after eating polar bear liver which contains staggeringly high levels of Vitamin A. It is also known to be a somewhat rare genetic anomaly. It happens. No reason.

When I brought my son home from the hospital as a tiny baby, I was give vitamin A & D drops to give him. He loved carrots and used to take them as snack with his lunch. He had never been given vitamin pills on any regular basis. We had an English pediatrician and unlike American doctors, most European doctors don’t recommend taking vitamins unless there’s a known vitamin deficiency of some kind.

It turns out that the official  FDA “standard dose” of 5,000 units per day of vitamin A is lethal for my son. All of that ADHD stuff was actually vitamin A poisoning from which he had been a chronic low-level sufferer for his entire life. It had left him with permanent damage. Who do you blame?

- – -

Last March, I wound up in the hospital because my blood sodium level was so low, I was supposed to be unable to function. I felt fine, but the tests were adamant. I had a problem.

Big pumpkins in the bin, waiting to become this year's Jack O' Lantern.

They never found the cause and it was diagnosed as idiopathic, which means “Who knows?” in doctor speak. I had been suffering for most of my life from heat intolerance resulting in heat stroke, violent leg and foot cramps and other peculiar symptoms. After raising my sodium levels, all those symptoms went away.

I have apparently been suffering from not enough salt in my diet … and in my blood … my whole life, but it wasn’t bad enough to raise the alarm bells. What had changed? I started doing what I was told to do: drink more liquids. Drink more fruit juice. And my low sodium went from marginal and periodically problematic to dangerously low.

Salt

What does my son’s near dying of Vitamin A poisoning  after he started taking multi-vitamins — and my medical crises caused by increasing my fluid intake — have in common? Both of us did what is “the common wisdom” recommended by millions of doctors, health columnists and diet gurus all across America.

And in both cases, it almost killed us.

The truth is that we are not all the same. What is “enough” or “just right” for you, might kill me. Or my son. We are not produced on production lines to a rigid specification. The reason I mention this at all was — as usual — a thing on Facebook. There’s an argument in progress about whether or not the currently trendy very low sodium diets are not necessarily such a good thing.

People are getting all hot and bothered about it because salt is regarded today the way caffeine was a few years ago. It’s the evil in our food. It turns out that caffeine is pretty harmless to most people, even those with high blood pressure and it’s an important component in waking up our digestive systems so they do what the are supposed to do, especially among older people. If you’ve been in a hospital lately, they eagerly ply you with more coffee than you could possibly want (maybe it would help if the coffee weren’t so awful?) because constipation is a big problem in hospitals.

HolidayTable

So today, it’s salt that’s the big no-no. I remember when eggs were good for you. Then, they were bad for you. Then good for you after which I stopped following the food scare of the day on the news, so now, I have no idea how they are regarded. I just eat eggs when I feel like it. I feel I should tell you that the idea of an egg-white omelet makes me want to heave. Yuk.

I believe that fads in diets are inherently dangerous. Food fads are dangerous because they are unnatural and unbalanced. They don’t take into consideration that we are all made different, that we are each unique.

Eat. Enjoy. Don’t eat stuff that’s obviously bad for you. Nobody needs or should eat red meat every day. The current obsession with bacon is unhealthy and disgusting. Commonsense and moderation should be able to inform us when a choice is stupid, but apparently not so much.

Everyone is worried about salt while they scarf down double bacon cheeseburgers? Doesn’t that strike you as bizarre? Do you really need a nutritionist to tell you that extremely rich, fatty foods are unhealthy? Or that eating or drinking anything to excess is not a healthy longterm diet choice? Are we really that clueless?

Eat sensibly. Enjoy life. Have fun. Stop taking handfuls of vitamins you don’t need. Try to get some exercise when you can. Don’t spend all of your time at the computer or in front of the TV … unless that’s what makes you happy. In which case, have a good time!

Because that’s what life is all about. If you aren’t enjoying the life you are living, do something different.

- – -


5 Comments

Open the window yourself

I am frequently puzzled by pious sayings. I know they are meant to be comforting, but why? Things like “God opens a window when he closes a door.” “God will take care of it.” ” Have faith, God will save you” all imply that you … we … are helpless. That we can do nothing in the face of problems other than pray to a higher power for help.

Why is that? Why should helplessness be a comfort to anyone?

What makes you think God closed that door? Maybe the wind blew it shut. God may take care of you in a spiritual sense, but practically speaking, for every person I know who feels God saved them, there are many more who didn’t survive the disease, lost their home, wound up on the street, lost a child, lost a mate, didn’t succeed, failed to meet the challenge. I’m much more inclined to “God helps them who helps themselves.” Because it suggests that we have strength, that we are not simply at the mercy of forces we cannot control.

Does that mean I’m an atheist? Not at all. What I have is an unyielding belief that with free will, we also have responsibility.

God gave us gifts when we were created as images of Himself. We got intelligence, cleverness, reason, creativity. We were granted the ability to judge right from wrong, knowledge of good and evil. When a window closes, there is no reason to assume God closed it. It’s entirely likely, if you look around, pay attention and don’t collapse in a sodden heap of helpless tears, you may see a window is already there, was always there, but you weren’t looking for it. Walk over, brace yourself, and open the window. Voila!

cropped-75-barn1-nk_107.jpg

You don’t need to ask God to do those things you can and should do for yourself.

I don’t believe clouds have silver linings, but I believe storms are no less necessary than sunshine. We need rain, wind and storms. It’s part of life, the normal ups and downs. Rain is not worse or less valuable than sunshine, only different. It keeps the aquifers alive and the crops growing. You may not like rain, but the earth loves and needs it. Creation was not made just for you and me and our personal comfort and convenience.

There are many things over which we have no control. We cannot fix all the broken things in the world or in our lives. Death is part of life and though we fear it, it’s the only certainty.

Until then, we have choices to make and responsibilities to meet. If we can’t make everything go as we want, we can do the best we can to take care of ourselves and each other, make the best of our choices. Pick good occupations, mates. When needed, find the right surgeon, hospital and treatment. Find good people to be our friends, who will support us through good times and bad. We can choose to be decent, kind, caring and treat others as we want to be treated.

96-DawnChangesToSunrise11X14-300-CR

We can choose paths of honor and love. We can be the good guys. We can decide to care for other people even when it costs us dearly.

We can make those choices because we were born to an understanding of right and wrong, with the ability to make the best of bad situations, to cope with pain and bear up under ill-fortune. That’s not punishment. It’s life. No one said it was going to be easy.

We don’t have to wait for a higher power to take care of us. We are grown ups. Expecting God to take care of every boo-boo is infantile. If we aren’t supposed to take care of ourselves, why did God give us the ability to do so?  If He was intending to personally care for all the needs of every single person on the planet, why give us the wondrous gifts to which we are heir?

Do I pray? Yes. Do I think prayers get answered? Absolutely.

But remember this when you pray. Sometimes the answer is “No.”

We are free to ask, but free will cuts both ways. God has free will too, so there’s no guarantee we’ll get what we ask for. God never promised to fix every hurt or eliminate evil. No matter what religion you follow — or even if you follow no particular faith — nothing and no one promises to make all the bad stuff go away. So I will continue do my best to take care of me and mine, using the gifts God gave me as best I can.

Because I think that’s what I’m supposed to do.


24 Comments

Good Morning, Good Morning, To You (And You And You And You)

Every morning, as I limp down the hallway from the bedroom to the kitchen, no matter how stiff I am with arthritis, no matter how poorly I’ve slept, as soon as I get to the kitchen, my heart becomes lighter.

Kitchen

“Good morning, fur children,” I chirp. They woof and growl and gambol and pant. They know it’s cookie time for the canine contingent, but coffee time for me.

coffee

I make a brief detour to turn on the coffee pot. Priorities.

Mr. Coffee

There’s no more time to waste. Eager faces surround me as I approach the huge dog biscuit container on the table in the corner. It’s shaped like a giant dog biscuit — lest I forget.  The dogs , with their acute senses of smell, are more than aware of where to find the biscuits. Eyes not required.

They know my hands are the true source of all biscuits, so they watch me with their eyes. Excitement mounts.

Bishop

Bishop is an Australian Shepherd. Lacking sheep, he stares at me, with the apparent objective of engendering guilt. It works pretty well. He is also Bonnie’s love slave.

Then there’s Nan, the Norwich Terrier. Nan stares, but adds sound effects. Grunts and agonized moans. She’s starving she says. She hasn’t eaten in … minutes. She will repeat this performance whether she is still chewing the biscuit she just got or it’s been a whole night since her last treat.

Nan

And last, but not at all least, there’s Bonnie. She bounces up and down, bounds around the kitchen like a mad thing, twirling and spinning, yapping and prancing. She’s young and full of joie de vivre. Shortly, she will be full of biscuits.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

They all believe if they don’t remind me, I will forget them and their cookies. These dogs have never missed a treat or a meal in their lives but you’d never guess it.

The sun streaks in through the windows, the smell of coffee fills the room. Joyous gurgling and crunching from the furry ones and I’m off to the office to check my email and see what surprises the night has brought. Another day is begun.

Happy morning to all!


4 Comments

Amity & Sorrow, Peggy Riley

Little, Brown and Company
Publication Date: April 16 2013

From the publisher:

A mother and her daughters drive for days without sleep until they crash their car in rural Oklahoma. The mother, Amaranth, is desperate to get away from someone she’s convinced will follow them wherever they go–her husband. The girls, Amity and Sorrow, can’t imagine what the world holds outside their father’s polygamous compound. Rescue comes in the unlikely form of Bradley, a farmer grieving the loss of his wife. At first unwelcoming to these strange, prayerful women, Bradley’s abiding tolerance gets the best of him, and they become a new kind of family. An unforgettable story of belief and redemption, Amity & Sorrow is about the influence of community and learning to stand on your own.

Given the nature of the material, I was not expecting a light little tale of joy and contentment. The publisher’s description doesn’t really give you a sense of how extremely dark the first chapters of the book are, nor how awful the circumstances from which this family is trying to escape have been.

Amity and Sorrow are the names of the two daughters, the young girls Amaranth is trying to rescue from a particularly sordid religious cult involving emotional and sexual abuse, sexual exploitation of women and children, terror and bondage.

The first few chapters of the book are so grim I almost stopped reading because I was finding it more than a little stomach turning. I have trouble … a lot of trouble … dealing with pain and abuse of any living creature. But it’s worse dealing with children and animals. Amity and Sorrow are children and the degree to which they have both been horribly abused is never entirely laid out, but is certainly inferred with sufficient detail to make one feel that more detail would be over the top.

Just as I was about to close the book, it started to go in another direction, to a kind of redemption and restoration of light where there has previously been only darkness and fear.

It is very well written. For a first novel, it’s quite extraordinary. It would be exceptional even if it were the 20th novel, but what can only imagine what this author may produce in the future. The description is paralyzing in its ability to evoke raw emotion in the reader.

This is not a book for children. It’s also not a book for anyone who wants to keep his or her reading light. But, if you like to occasionally venture over to the dark side, visit the depths of depravity of which people are capable, try Amity & Sorrow. Although the theme of redemption is strong, the back story of despair, fear, and evil is equally strong … so make sure you’re ready for a trip into a nightmare.

It’s available in hardcopy, paperback and Kindle from Amazon and I’m sure from other vendors as well.


4 Comments

Those halcyon days of yore or whatever

Now that my high school reunion has passed and I’m no longer besieged by nostalgia from a half century ago, I feel safe in saying it. I haven’t any idea in what world my classmates were living, but I’m sure it wasn’t the same one I inhabited.

I understand that time can cast a gentler light, a rosy glow over events that took place in one’s youth … but there’s a difference between a rosy glow and a full revision.

For months, I have been bombarded by email from people with whom I attended high school. They are sure they remember me. They recall the fun stuff we did together. After giving it careful consideration, I have concluded they are deranged, on drugs, or senile. Whatever it is they think they remember, it didn’t happen.

Who are these people? Why do they keep talking about relationships that never existed? These people were not my friends. I remember them. They didn’t like me. They either ignored me, made fun of me, or conscientiously ostracized me. I belonged to no cliques, no fun groups. I wasn’t invited to parties. I was not popular.

I had a few friends, but these people who are so happily remembering me? They weren’t among the few people I counted as friends.

Did someone — me or them — slip through a wormhole into an alternate reality? That must be it.

High school was not a good time for me. Neither was junior high school or elementary school, for that matter. Even amongst the unpopular kids, I was unpopular. By the time I had survived junior high, I’d learned how to be invisible. Attending a really huge school helped. It was so big and over-crowded if you kept your head down, no one would notice you.

I was a klutzy kid with no athletic prowess, I avoided the humiliation of the athletically challenged by claiming I didn’t know how to swim. Every semester, I showed up at swimming class.

“You again?” said the coach. “Just keep out-of-the-way,” It was a win-win for me. I got an hour a day of private swim time alone in the deep end of the pool and completely avoided gym class. I believe I was technically on the swim team, but I never actually swam in an event. I was a bench warmer. That was fine. I liked the water, but I wasn’t going to win any medals.

All I had to do was get acceptable grades, not fail math courses after which I could go to college. I heard from other survivors that in college I might meet people who I’d like and might like me. That sounded too good to be true, but I had it on good authority. It turned out to be true so I guess making it through high school alive was worth it.

This was not the first time I’ve had to fend off a reunion. I dodged the 10th, 15th, 20th and 25th. I think there was a 40th too. But like a bad penny, it keeps coming back to haunt me. On the up side, we are now all so old, there is very little likelihood of any more such grand events.

I have repeatedly gone over this in my mind. I know with absolute certainty that high school wasn’t a fun time. It wasn’t only not fun for me. It wasn’t fun for most of us. We were young, hormonal, lost, unsure where we were going or how we would get there. Everyone felt ugly or deformed. Many of us had dreadful home lives that we hid from everyone else.

Yet now those years have become one long golden memory. At the reunion I did not attend, they actually got together to sing the school song. Never once in the years I attended did we ever actually sing the school song. It was a joke. We used to make fun of it because it was so dumb. Now, it’s a warm fuzzy memory. Bizarre.

My husband says this is typical of reunions. He says that when he went to his reunion — he actually attended one — people were reminiscing about the great times they had together, none of which he could remember nor could he recall the people claiming to have been there with him.

He says people need to pretend that they had a great time. It makes them feel better.

Not me. Even after fifty years I can’t think of a single reason to revisit a time and place I would just as soon have skipped in the first place. Oh, and to put this in perspective, our high school prom was cancelled due to no one but me and my date signing up for it. So exactly how terrific was the experience really?

Does pretending the past was perfect when it wasn’t even close make you feel better about your life? It doesn’t work for me. But maybe I’m the one with a problem. What do you think?

And now, a word from our sponsor:


9 Comments

Daily Prompt: Companionable – Becoming Together

The old man and his wife had been living in that old house for many years. The kids had moved away and were none too young themselves anymore. The grandchildren had children, almost grown children and long drives to visit each other were difficult. No one had much money to spend on plane fare and even if they had, there wasn’t much fun to be had at airports these days.

So the couple stayed home. That was okay. They were good together. Their marriage had come relatively late in life, after the child-bearing was done, though they’d known each other since … when was that? College I guess. more the 60 years ago. It didn’t feel so long ago, but the calendar didn’t lie.

Companions and friends.

Companions and friends.

Dan and Molly lived indoors more than they used to. They had a lot of property, but maintaining it had fallen by the wayside as back and knees and hips got increasingly creaky and painful. It was okay. The garden grew jungle-like, the flowers were a riot of colors even without tending. If the rain came, the flowers continued to grow. Even the weeds were pretty. Every year, they cleaned up as much of the fallen leaves from the towering oak trees as they could before their bodies started screaming “No!” Then they’d sit on the glider in the yard and smile at each other.

It wasn’t quite how they’d expected life to go. But they had each other. They could talk together, remember together and that was good. Special.

AutumnalFigs-4-72-11X14

They had but one important wish, that somehow when the time came for them to go, that they could do it together.

Thus was their wish granted. Together, for all the seasons in companionable peace, in the shade of the tall oaks as they gradually became part of the land itself.

 


Leave a comment

Advantage Car Rental and Driving in Rome - A Warning!

Reblogged from Beasley Green:

Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post

Last summer I decided to visit the beautiful city of Rome. I had never been to Italy before and IPM were hosting their annual club promoters festival and pool party, so it seemed a good excuse to take in some sun, fun and a bit of ancient history. Since the events for the festival were scattered all over the city, it seemed sensible to hire a car to get around.

Read more… 4,144 more words

In the U.S.A., I had a very similar experience with Alamo, and some truly appalling ones with British Airways and US Air. We all have travel stories. Like many of life's misadventures, the stories are hilarious over beer after enough time has passed to cool tempers. But I hold grudges. I still won’t fly British Airways. Or US Air. On the other hand, Aer Lingus, KLM, and SwissAir were all absolutely wonderful. I get misty remembering America West. They never served a meal but would serve you all the booze you wanted. I found myself ordering Bloody Marys for the celery stick. The layover in Las Vegas made it more than worthwhile because 2 hours of slot machines while a little drunk made that trip way better than average, even though I had the flu. -- I tried to get them to hold the flight because I was doing very well and needed a sack to bring home all the quarters. Alas, I had to continue to Boston or remain in the casino until the next connecting flight. Sadly, I said goodbye to Vegas. Travel. Love it after I get there. Otherwise, the transporter please!


12 Comments

Ouch!

I don’t want this to sound as if I think I’m special because I deal with pain. I realize I’ve got plenty of company. It’s just that sometimes, I feel like I’m in an over-crowded lifeboat. Sinking.

There a central irony to this story, so I’ll start with the irony and go from there.

Parents, school advisors, well-meaning friends and family are forever urging kids to get out and get physical. Join a team. Take up a sport. Get some fresh air. Exercise. It’s good for you, right?

m-horseback

It is good for you. Mostly. But. Youthful athletic activity is often the start of a lifetime of pain. How many young men destroy their knees playing football? How many girls dislocate their spines in gymnastics? How many head injuries happen during little league baseball games? How many broken backs are the result of falling off horses? It’s not rare or unusual.

These days, everyone knows about the dangers, but it doesn’t stop kids from playing or parents from encouraging their involvement. Safety equipment is available, but injuries happen anyhow. Active sports are dangerous. It’s a fact. I’m not suggesting anyone stop playing sports. Life is meant to be lived, risks and all.

The irony is that sports are good for you if you don’t get hurt. If the helmet keeps the baseball from braining you. If getting tackled doesn’t tear the ligaments and tendons in your knees. If you don’t break your ankle coming down from a jump shot. If you ride well, don’t fall and land on your butt … or head.

For me, it was horses. I love horses. I love riding. I didn’t take lessons. I just got on and rode. I fell a few times. It looks funny when you land on your butt. Everyone laughs as you get up and limp back to your mount. You’re young. You suck it up.

Ignoring pain isn’t necessarily good. Pain can mean something is wrong. I dislocated my spine. Repeatedly. Each fall worsened the problem. One day after riding, I noticed my back didn’t hurt. I couldn’t feel much of anything. My back was numb and aside from tingling, so was my right leg. That scared me. I was used to pain. I figured it was part of athletics. No pain, no gain, isn’t that what everyone says? But numbness was new and I figured maybe I should see a doctor.

My spine was 50% displaced and was pressing on my spinal cord. Which accounted for the lack of sensation. If something wasn’t done about it, I was going to be in a wheel chair before I was old enough to vote — 21 back then.

At 19, it hadn’t occurred to me I might have a real problem. In those days, we didn’t run to the doctor for every bang, bruise or pain not because we were tougher, but because we were ignorant. We’re more sophisticated these days but in the early 1960s, no one thought much about sports injures. Kids played hockey, rode bikes and horses, played sandlot baseball. Nobody owned safety equipment. If we had, we’d have been embarrassed to use it. Only a total weenie would wear a helmet on a bicycle. Has that changed or do kids remove their helmets the moment they are out of mom’s sight?

I went to the doctor. He told me to do absolutely nothing until he got me into surgery. I got a second identical opinion. Don’t bend. Don’t lift. Don’t fall. Don’t do anything. I asked if that meant I couldn’t ride. The surgeon looked at me like I had two heads, both stupid. I figured he meant “No.”

My surgeon didn’t enumerate the risks. I doubt it would have made any difference if he had. I wasn’t going through life unable to do anything active. Whatever the risks, I wanted to be repaired. I wanted to ride. At 19, I had a spinal fusion and laminectomy.

The doctor mentioned I might develop some arthritis at the site of the surgery later in life.

“Uh huh,” I said. Later in life was a million years away. After I healed — a two-year process — I went back to riding. I never fell again. I took lessons, a wise move that might have prevented youthful injuries, but my parents were unwilling to pay for lessons. Too frivolous.

Fast forward 47 years, arthritis began to make inroads. I had to stop riding. My doctor explained if I fell, I might not get up. Ever. The fusion had disintegrated. I was glued together by arthritis, nature’s way of keeping my spine intact. When the pain got worse, I went back to my doctor.

“Surely,” I said to him, “you can do something for me.”

“No,” he said. “Pain management. Cortisone shots will help. For a while.”

I’ve been down cortisone road. The shots do help for a few weeks, after which the pain returns. The human spine isn’t engineered for bipeds. Many of us have spinal weaknesses we don’t know about until after we get hurt. When I was young, a bad back was not so common. With the passing of decades, almost everyone I know has some kind of back problem. Unless you are very lucky, the chances you’ve had a back injury are high. So I live with pain and quite possibly, so do you.

75-Reclining-CR-69

There are a lot of members of the back pain club. After you join the club, you usually get a lifetime membership. I finally discovered I have a problem I can’t fix. No amount of persistence, research, medical attention or cleverness is going to make it go away. So I’ve designed the world to make my back happy. We have a back-friendly home. From our adjustable bed, to the reclining sofa, our place is kind to spines.

75-GoodNight-CR-66

There’s no moral to this story. It’s just life. If you don’t die young and live an active life, you hurt. The years roll on, pain gets worse.

I yearn for a scooter, but the one I want doesn’t exist. I want a scooter that’s an ATV, but weighs like a bicycle and folds up. There is no such thing. I probably couldn’t afford it if it did, but I can dream.

I have had to accept reality but I do not have to like it. Sooner or later we all face an intractable problem or several. It’s a nasty shock if you’ve always believed you are unstoppable. When you hit that wall, I recommend you get some very comfortable furniture.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,662 other followers