February 14, 2013
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The Anxiety of An Author
I am feeling so very anxious tonight, and it is probably because I have the Pulmonology Appointment tomorrow at California Pacific, and even in my work years, I knew the Pulmonologist were the most patient of all of the physicians. I go in to this very young Dr., and it is peaceful. He does not rush me, and with youth his ability to multitask and do all of the computer work talking with me at the same time and getting his recommendations of care ready seems to happen with all of the time I need — Certainly a Zen personality. Most of all, I am not afraid there, for he will be looking at me, looking at my latest blood clot in my lungs, and if I colapse in a heap, then I am in the safest of places, or I will never know what hit me. “Hello God,” It is me, Barbara again, and this time I have proof of my death.” Look at that clot on the computer, and I am tired of being sick, really tired.
The worst patients ever are the lung patients, so that is why Pulmonologist deserve Sainthood before they begin. His primary interest are the young adult MS patients though, which once meant certain death, but they do understand the process of why their organs, especially the lungs want to form mucoid plugs — Think of having your airways stopped up with little wads of mucous every day, every hour, and every bad cold ccan be pneumonia, and you’ve got the beginning and end of the MS patients life, though for some it is more lethal in the pancreatic functions; However, for all the days man has walked upright; Two MS carriers are, for sure apt to have an MS baby, but there is hope now, precious hope, newer mucolytics, and last I knew there were machines which took the place of laying the MS child over your knees and pounding on their lungs for an hour to clear the lungs for one more day. It is called postural drainage with palpation. Hands of the pounder act like suction cups as one beats some rhythmic cadence.
COPD patients who had no discipline to give up cigarettes are very apt to be bargaining constantly even if they desire a cigarette. Want to see something which makes you repress vimiting, then see a patient take themsselves off a respirator, stick it in the hole in their neck and suck in smoke, and if you think that ad on television is over exaggerated with the horridly emaciated person, the tracheotomy, and their yellowing skin is then you are tragically mistaken. Cigarettes leave to a stinking death with stinking snot. We can preach this until hell freezes over, but that drag on the cigarette after your addicted is just so appealing, to younger people for doesn’t everyone in Hollywood have a cigarette after sex, with pretty red lips and a guy who looks like he was chiseled in to proportion? Sadly, socioeconomically, in our country, the poor smoke more, and when I have watched television late at night if I cannot sleep, I watch channels which the poorer people used to seem to choose to watch in their hospital stays, and I noticed this — Most of those public service announcements which might speak to the young about blowing out their lungs with their ciggies just do not seem to be on for those who may need those television pictures most.
Pulmonologist have to put up with people like me who just know what to fear. They must take care of children and young adults who have MS or other genetic lung disorders, respiratory cancer patients — the most preventable, for again, smoking is a leading cause of lung as well as mouth, tongue, naso-pharyngeal, and structures of the throat. Chewing tobacco gets the same rap. I should not hit on smokers too hard, for the truth is; Smoking is a drug addiction, and it is legal drug addiction, an amazing thing considering how other persons who become addicted to the non-legal drugs get mired down in the criminal justice system at some point. There are so many elder people in chronic pain for fear of addiction, because they have been told since day one of their understanding that addiction to medicines is a horrible thing, and unless they get to a Hospice which is really hard, for we have made it all about living well while dying, they will not learn their suffering is in vain. Pulmonology is a field which, I believe, the more sympathetic physicians decide to embrace.
This is about me, my life, and tomorrow, and the fact that every human being, as we age, we will be dealing with various levels of chronic disorders, and the potential to have spontanious blood clots is one you do not want to have. You need not fear it greatly for I am the only person I know who has the genetic markers which turned on when I was 63. Some of you younger folks might think of research into family lines with clotting disorders, for it is probably under diagnosed since one method of diagnostics is the one where the blood clot clogs a major cardiac vessel, and there is a blood clot, so the hospital record might show that, “Patient died from a cardiac embolism.” But it is too expensive to run tests to pre-examine all people, nor is it realistic to check everyone for a clotting disorder. Generally people who are afraid to live for fear of dying do less living than the rest of us, and I feel horribly sorry for them in our society especially; For no one can grab them, intervene, give them the psychological help they need, and to even allow them time to come to realize that fear is where their pain is coming from.
If you are old enough, you know people who take in pages of infirmaties and physicians who have condoned these behaviors. But I remember having anxiety attacks about death when I was a child, and they were horrible — That transferred to an adult’s fears must be even more lethal. Hear the voices of some of the returned Veterans from the war no one will end in the Middle East, for it is enough to make you weep. There are so many young and middle aged persons not adjusting well back state side,and I wish I could hug every one of them, the biggest Mama hug I could give. They are terrifyed, and many were surrounded with the feaar of dying daily, and even if they are Christian; What eyes cannot see and ears cannot hear, their faith is wounded, for they have been saying, “Hear me lord,” through years in some cases, for God and country, for proud parents, and for their own lost friends — They return to the chance of dying.
I keep saying this is about me, and that it is about tomorrow — But what happens when I write things down, then I seize the hour and moment to share some things which I know. I have to figure out tomorrow with my pulmonologist why I get too fatigued to do the chores which I long to do. I do not feel like going to the store, walking outside, and the pink blossoms are popping now in San Francisco. I heard a dove today, and I hear baby birds, so I hear the calling to get outside and to live. I just get out of breath and exhausted, no exercise, and I am not losing weight I long to. My pulmonologist will listen, and I am fairly astute about such things, that he is apt to want me to have some cardiac test, so I will be delayed longer in just feeling well enoguh to prepare my things to go back to Ohio for the best of all months. I do not want to be the nice lady in the pulmonologist office talking about my latest blood clot, but that is the only option right now.
Relinquishing control is another issue, for do we not all like to be in control of our days. I am the one who makes our vacation plans if my husband is agreeable, though he thinks being here or with the grandchildren at our Ohio place is all of the diversion we need. I am way more of an adventurer, for I do not find San Francisco to be the center of the earth, and I’ve told you so. History beckons, and I long to continue to be a student. I want to go south again to breath my air. I cannnot tell you how peaceful it is to get off of Highway 24, to head back in the pine forests which shelters the Airforce base there from outsiders, to pass by the little churches on Wednesday nights, and maybe hear the singing if we drive slowly. The old roads home which we have traveled happily so many times, then maybe on to Atlanta.
My breathing is easy if I just sit, but like my father, I need to check out the birds nest and to see from our scarce trees where the dove was calling from. That is living and a life, not sitting, counting every symptom, making a dent in this chair. Do not write me off world, for I really do have places to go, but I am making fewer promises.
Barbara
Barbara Everett Heintz, Author of,”Pinkhoneysuckle,” Amazon, KDP, Create Space
Book Festival Awards 2012 San Francisco @ 1st Place in Hollywood For Potential For Film Adaptation
