Tuesday, August 10, 2010

August blog


Hello all, sorry it has been so long since I have written. Things continue to be in state of change. I have been hoping things would be more consistent for a while and to write from a larger stable platform. But, I give up. “The only constant is change”- indeed.
My perspective on life and health continues to waiver between hopefulness and hopelessness. I get sad, ashamed and surprised by the hopelessness. Seems like I have a lot to live for- lots more to learn, lots of love to give and receive, milestones of my family to witness, beautiful places to see, more beautiful days to experience, etc. All of that- love, family, nature, help to keep me going.
However, the physical discomfort, pain, inability to do much, and the confusion/delirium/spaceyness that the pain meds keep me in are really discouraging and depressing. I have considerably more pain- mostly in my left shoulder and collarbone, which require taking more pain meds. I am pretty much one armed/one handed, as any movement of my left arm hurts. Desiring to be active I continue to walk, bike, sail, and putter some. I fell off my bike going about 3 mph (when my chain tangled itself) onto my left side, which further injured my left shoulder and caused new pains in my left hip. The cancer seems to be causing pretty rapid deterioration of my bones, which then get damaged easily and causes pain in the muscles and ligaments as they try to compensate. Recent x-rays show considerable damage. As for my blood, my red counts are very low, requiring more blood transfusions.
I am tired of the constant health challenges, expensive and timely medical procedures, pills, etc. I am tired. (period) I sleep 12 hours at night then 2 hours in the afternoon, which makes for a very short day. Tired and in discomfort- not a great way to live.
I have tried a few new promising healing methods- pills, medicinal plants, acupuncture, and new Chi Gong moves all of which seem to have helped me to live this long. I believe most in the Chi Gong and lying on the ground.
I am doing so much soul searching about my beliefs- whether I want to be alive, what I believe will help me to be healed, what is important to me, how to spend what seems like only a few waking hours during my last months in this bodily form, what will happen after my last breath, and on many other levels. I am really wrestling with rewriting my will. I am very troubled by how few answers I have. And my thinking is quite impaired by the drugs. Here it seems like a time that I need to make some really important decisions yet am not able to think clearly- very frustrating and scary.
Tara and I are going off sailing for a few days to celebrate our second anniversary and to have some time alone! Yeah! After that, I intend to do some retreats- have some time alone to try to gain some clarity about the many seemingly pressing issues. And I want to spend more time with my children. Yet, there is much that draws me toward responsibility things- including cleaning out my house on head of Tide Rd, so it can be rented or sold.
I can’t seem to find any auto pilot/default way to live. Each day seems so important. And I get so little done each day- being so spaced and depressed and in pain.
Finding the balance of pain and delirium is difficult (i.e., how much pain meds to take).
I’m having lots of dreams, most of which are distressing. I have days where death feels very near and days when it seems very far away; days when I would welcome death and days I am angry death feels near.
The allopathic community is very discouraging (as I have mentioned about looking at lab test results and x-rays…). The alternative healers continue to be encouraging. Yet, I have a pull to rely on the doctors. Their view seems more accurate, and helps to explain my experience (as I feel pretty bad most of the time). Yet, part of me wants to believe in and pursue healing. I continue to believe that what I think is what happens, and so I continue to try to think positive thoughts, though I am having less and less success at this as time goes on.
I am so grateful that my parents, children and grandson live nearby! I do treasure my family. Lots of us had a sweet reunion at Stone’s Point, ME a couple of weeks ago.
I will try to write every 2 weeks or when there are significant changes..
Love, humbly, David
Hope your quality of life is high, that you are enjoying summer, feeling more clear and settled inside than me, and giving and receiving lots of love. It has been gorgeous here in Maine! Such a blessing for all!

13 comments:

  1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWARBF_eR2A

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  2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShqKk3fasZA&feature=related

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  3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qm4MdsQJTew&feature=related

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  4. I know I am not in your shoes, but I cant help but want to say the pain meds dont seem to be helping at all with the healing and could be making things worse. ( I just almost got killed by those little pills they make in the hospital called antibiotics)
    I would go for the natural alternatives for the pain. And more chi gong along with that.
    sending peace and love your way
    adam

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  5. Hey David and Tara,

    I was just catching up on your blog. You both have been in my thoughts and hopes a lot.

    I feel that it is very natural for you to feel happy one minute and devastated the next with everything that is happening. Please try not to be ashamed or embarrassed about your feelings, accept them as they are, acknowledge them and perhaps that will help you to feel better. :)

    I am quite glad to hear that you have a friend, Bella, who has knowledge of plants from the rain forest that are used for medicinal purposes!! It is a very amazing thing for you to have a connection like that! Today our traditional medicine tries to find and isolate a single chemical from a plant that causes changes in our bodies. An example is ibuprofen, which I believe was isolated from white willow bark. (side note: maybe ask your doctor about just using white willow bark for the pain? I have no idea if that would be better, but it might be worth a shot. Or some other plant?) It is extremely and incredibly hard to isolate a single chemical from a plant, test it in the lab, get it through clinical trials, and for it to be successful in clinical trials. The odds are terrible! But, I believe, along with others, that it may be due to the fact that it is not just one single chemical from a plant that may help us. It may be the combination of chemicals from a plant, or from several plants combined. It's probably impossible to get a whole plant approved for its cancer treating, or cancer preventing, abilities due to the way the system for approving new drugs is run with the FDA, etc. I say, feel free to use the rain forest plants! Feel excited and privileged to have this opportunity to be treated in a way that many other people do not have. The rain forest is shrinking and our time is running out to learn about these great plants. If you feel like sharing, I would be interested in what plants you are trying and their effect on your body, mind, and even soul. :)

    When I had my first internship at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, I went in with the thought of "Someday, I would love to help find a cure for cancer." When the term ended ten weeks later, I left with the knowledge, or opinion, that there might not be a "cure" for cancer. But there are ways to treat it, and scientists are looking for the best treatments. It's okay to believe in miracles; perhaps there is a miracle in just being alive a little bit longer, or feeling a little bit better, and treasuring every moment. *Deep yoga breath*

    You may enjoy this book that I read: "Tales of a Shaman's Apprentice" by Mark J. Plotkin, Ph.D. An ethnobotanist searches for new medicines in the amazon rainforest.

    http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Shamans-Apprentice-Ethnobotanist-Medicines/dp/014012991X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1282439572&sr=1-1

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  6. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  7. I found this to be very informative:

    http://rainforests.mongabay.com/1007.htm

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  8. David--

    I was so touched by reading this recent summary of your thoughts and difficulties since I saw you at Stone's Point and we had that frank conversation about your attitude towards death.

    I really loved sailing with you and watching your masterful and joyous art as skipper in that beautiful boat. I am glad you realized your long dream of owning a boat like that.

    Remember how we both found ourselves eavesdropping on Martha and Josie as they reminisced about their girlhoods at Stone's Point? That reminded me of this section of Elizabeth Bishop's poem "The Moose":

    The passengers lie back.
    Snores. Some long sighs.
    A dreamy divagation
    begins in the night,
    a gentle, auditory,
    slow hallucination. . . .

    In the creakings and noises,
    an old conversation
    --not concerning us,
    but recognizable, somewhere,
    back in the bus:
    Grandparents' voices

    uninterruptedly
    talking, in Eternity:
    names being mentioned,
    things cleared up finally;
    what he said, what she said,
    who got pensioned;

    deaths, deaths and sicknesses;
    the year he remarried;
    the year (something) happened.
    She died in childbirth.
    That was the son lost
    when the schooner foundered.

    He took to drink. Yes.
    She went to the bad.
    When Amos began to pray
    even in the store and
    finally the family had
    to put him away.

    "Yes . . ." that peculiar
    affirmative. "Yes . . ."
    A sharp, indrawn breath,
    half groan, half acceptance,
    that means "Life's like that.
    We know it (also death)."

    Talking the way they talked
    in the old featherbed,
    peacefully, on and on,
    dim lamplight in the hall,
    down in the kitchen, the dog
    tucked in her shawl.

    Now, it's all right now
    even to fall asleep
    just as on all those nights. . .

    What a sweet pair of talkers Josie and Martha were, and how pleased I was to hear that you had tuned in to them too!

    I hope your sailing trip with Tara was enjoyable. Please give her my warmest regards.

    I wish you the permissions you wanted to give yourself as they are needed: to be strong, to be weak, to surrender, to regroup, to live until it is time to die, to let death be understood before it is time to accept it.

    John joins me in sending you our affection.

    Tom

    PS The whole poem can be found at http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15213

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  9. David--

    I was so touched by reading this recent summary of your thoughts and difficulties since I saw you at Stone's Point and we had that frank conversation about your attitude towards death.

    I really loved sailing with you and watching your masterful and joyous art as skipper in that beautiful boat. I am glad you found that, and realized your long dream of owning a boat like that.

    Remember how we both found ourselves eavesdropping on Martha and Josie as they reminisced about their girlhoods at Stone's Point? That reminded me of this section of Elizabeth Bishop's poem "The Moose":

    The passengers lie back.
    Snores. Some long sighs.
    A dreamy divagation
    begins in the night,
    a gentle, auditory,
    slow hallucination. . . .

    In the creakings and noises,
    an old conversation
    --not concerning us,
    but recognizable, somewhere,
    back in the bus:
    Grandparents' voices

    uninterruptedly
    talking, in Eternity:
    names being mentioned,
    things cleared up finally;
    what he said, what she said,
    who got pensioned;

    deaths, deaths and sicknesses;
    the year he remarried;
    the year (something) happened.
    She died in childbirth.
    That was the son lost
    when the schooner foundered.

    He took to drink. Yes.
    She went to the bad.
    When Amos began to pray
    even in the store and
    finally the family had
    to put him away.

    "Yes . . ." that peculiar
    affirmative. "Yes . . ."
    A sharp, indrawn breath,
    half groan, half acceptance,
    that means "Life's like that.
    We know it (also death)."

    Talking the way they talked
    in the old featherbed,
    peacefully, on and on,
    dim lamplight in the hall,
    down in the kitchen, the dog
    tucked in her shawl.

    Now, it's all right now
    even to fall asleep
    just as on all those nights. . .

    What a sweet pair of talkers Josie and Martha were, and how pleased I was to hear that you had tuned in to them too!

    I hope your sailing trip with Tara was enjoyable. Please give her my warmest regards.

    I wish you the permissions you wanted to give yourself as they are needed: to be strong, to be weak, to surrender, to regroup, to live until it is time to die, to let death be understood before it is time to accept it.

    John joins me in sending you our affection.

    Tom

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  10. David - I am trying to write you a note with an excerpt from a poem--but I keep getting a message: "uri too large".

    Could you send your e-mail address to me at tom.daley2@verizon.net and I'll send it to you there.

    Thakns--best to you and Tara.

    Tom

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  11. http://bellaluz.amazonherb.net/ProductInfo.aspx?ItemID=5026

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  12. David We all wish you well and know you will be able to see your grandchildren born into this world. The seed of life is within you, from that you came and to that you will return, as all of us.

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  13. When you called last week you mentioned you were one-armed, and I got this picture of the one-armed bandit in Vegas...pull the crank and out pours all the gold into a hat. I feel this way about you. Every time you speak, or write, or snooze on someone's sofa, or saute zucchini in a pan while you're on the phone advising me about savory and marjoram....is a hat full of gold.

    I am continually humbled by your generosity of heart and spirit, as well as your courage while dancing solo on life's glint edge. We are all here to support your choreography. With love, with brooms to clean out your house, by phone, in person, on the internet. We're all here for you.

    It stinks you're in pain. Drugs seem to dull one kind of misery while adding another.

    I'm seeing a lot of butterflies flitting around the field and gardens at home. Tagore wrote that butterflies count not months, but moments. And they have time enough.

    Lots of love, and p.s. - the marjoram worked just fine!
    xo Talie

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