If you don’t know it by now, I’m a dog lover, most specifically, a lab lover. While they play a big role in keeping me moving despite suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and fibromyalgia, their silly playful antics are reminders to have fun and not take life’s challenges too seriously.
I don’t think there is a soul in Texas complaining about the recent rains we’ve enjoyed but the change in pressure and humidity can wreak havoc on those of us managing chronic pain and illness. I walk my labs in our pasture daily and the milder weather
brings out the puppy in our puppies. Seeing all three of them running through standing water, crouching into play mode then chasing, wrestling, and splashing each other is hysterical. Running down the dirt path, brown droplets falling from their bellies remind me that those muddy paws and drenched coats will be inside our house momentarily. But seeing them panting happily, running up to me when I call and gleefully shaking the water off them and on to me is priceless.
They are a reminder that having fun is what life is all about and worrying about a little wet dirty water and mud in the house is not a tragedy.
I finished reading Gone With the Wind recently. While I’ve seen the film several times and never tire of Clark Gable’s suave Rhett Butler or Vivien Leigh’s seemingly flighty yet head strong Scarlett, I never took the time to read the tome. Perhaps the size of the book was so daunting that I never thought I’d get through it. Living in the south now as well as my kindle made it less intimidating and I confess that I was sorry the story ended.
Not surprisingly, the movie depicts a very small part of Margaret Mitchell’s saga despite its length. Elements including Scarlett’s other children and that the role the Ku Klux Klan played on her second husband’s death are just two examples that the movie dropped. What struck me most, however, was Scarlett’s development from shallow, detestable teen to reluctant savior of her family and Tara and, I dare to say, a feminist.
Scarlett is one of the most interesting and transformed characters in literature. Born a southern belle with nothing to worry about but beaus and her Ashley, Scarlett soon departs from her tranquil plantation life to Atlanta where the war soon intrudes on her pleasant life. In short order, Scarlett’s world falls apart and she begrudgingly becomes a midwife, caretaker, and very successful business woman.
Scarlett’s survivor instinct and carefully calculated actions are admirable and perhaps give a hint about how it was the women’s ingenuity that rebuilt the fallen south after the civil war. Scarlett survives the most difficult unforeseen obstacles yet rarely finds a problem impossible to solve. The only time Scarlett said, “I can’t” was when forced to play midwife for Ashley’s wife, Melanie. Marriage, murder, buying saw mills, were all motivated by the red dirt of Tara, her family plantation. Facing one tragedy after another, Scarlett planned (some may say calculated) whatever action necessary to accomplish her goal: the saving and rebuilding of Tara. The downsides of a plan did not concern Scarlett. “I won’t think of that now. I’ll think of it later,” was how she dealt with the inevitable fallout from some of her actions. Some viewed her as nothing more than a gold digger by marrying for money but Scarlett was more complex and intelligent than that. Yes, Scarlett’s character is selfish and devious but she was not completely without compassion. She was a farmer willing to get her hands dirty, a business woman and the owner of saw mills. Her need for Tara’s success was more important than weak human emotions. And her refusal to feel hunger again drove her as it drove so many others who survived poverty and tragedy.
Change is hard but events happen beyond our control. War, economics, loss of a loved one some times force us to alter our lives and we must adjust accordingly. It’s risky. It’s unknown. It’s just plain
scary. But when tough times hit, what is the alternative but to survive? I don’t recommend following Scarlett’s path of insensitivity, cruelty, and deception. Though by the end of the story, we learn that Scarlett’s eyes are finally open and, too late, realizes that Ashley was a weak man, Melanie had an inner strength and fortitude comparable to her own, and admitted that Rhett Butler was the only man for her.
Was Scarlett able to win Rhett back? It seems unlikely considering her atrocious behavior and his famous departing line, “I don’t give a damn.” But then again, Scarlett succeeded in every goal she set her mind to and I want to believe in happily ever after.
Such a dreary Monday. It looks more like my hometown of Cleveland outside than Meridian, Texas. My body aches on days like this. After perusing the news websites I typically read every morning, and playing a few mindless games, I can’t seem to get started on any projects. I opened a couple of writings that I hope get published someday, added a few words and promptly delete them. Is it too early to take a nap?
Lacking inspiration, I begin day dreaming about our future ranch. We aren’t ready to buy now but it’s one of my husband and my life dreams. Turning the dream into an achievable goal takes work – and more money.
I begin writing this post and hit ‘save draft’. I move on to search ranches for sale. There are a few that pique my interest and I further explore locations, square footage, and acreage. I make notes of addresses and find the locations on my phone’s GPS. I thought taking a detour from productivity by researching one of our goals may kick-start my motivation.
It stopped raining so maybe I’ll just take a little drive and check out a couple of properties. Then again, maybe it’s finally nap time.
I see life as a river, born of the earth, merely a small trickling brook. As it leaves its point of origin, the stream quickly grows and expands
into a river. Throughout its life, forces, such as geography and climate, aid the river’s development. It flows and grows, full of endless possibilities. The water’s boundaries expand and branch off, exploring other options. Occasionally, obstacles appear, hindering movement. But a river must keep moving towards its destination so it flows over and around rocks, dislodging logs, pushing difficulties aside. At times, drought may zap its strength and hurricanes may overwhelm. But a river persists.
Winding through life, tributaries meet the river and it builds strength and quickens, sometimes losing control. It churns and swells, frustrated, angry with the overwhelming obstacles. But it has only one direction to move, forward, and obliterates any impediments. It weaves around boulders, pushes aside hindrances. Thankfully, the tantrum never last long. Eventually the river returns to normalcy, again ebbing and flowing through life. There is nothing a river cannot overcome.
Throughout our life, we grow, push boundaries, face and overcome challenges. We make goals, develop plans of action, and, like a river, move forward. Even when we feel overwhelmed and seemingly insurmountable obstacles block our path, we somehow push through. Our goals are achieved, perhaps not as anticipated, but better, more satisfying. And that gives us the confidence to keep moving forward with new goals, new dreams.
Life’s challenges keep trying to knock me down these days. I think that I’ve finally hit rock bottom and can start climbing up and out of the well of despair. Crawling and scratching, I try maintaining a positive attitude. I try to remember “This too shall pass, good things will come around again” and “I know some day I will appreciate and learn from these challenges.” But I lose grip and slip deeper into the cold dark chasm.
. After a morning in bed, I can no longer stand it. Years of practice forcing myself out of bed despite the pains, nausea, and other chronic symptoms keep me from wallowing and asking, “Why me?” My dear mother offers suggestions and wants to make it all better. But I know I need to find my own way.
Devoted black labs stand guard nearby and play a role in my recovery. They carefully lick the salty tears that overflow from my eyes and, Luna especially, keep a wary brown eye until they are confident that I’m okay. Even my dear husband gets me moving again. I can’t bear his attempts to jump-start my motivation with suggestions of taking the dogs for a swim or going for a drive. My morose refusals start to gnaw at my conscience, “He’s worried and wants his wife back.”
Thank heavens for the support system, the unconditional love and concern.
So, once again, I look up from the bottom of the well and a shaft of light beckons. Step by step, one hand over the other, I begin climbing the wall of the cold, damp well. My nails may break, my fingers may bloody and I may get knocked down again. But one day, I’ll climb out, seal the well, and life can again be full joy and purpose.
I never concerned myself with mortality – until today. Since my diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, I always focused on managing symptoms and over coming obstacles to live a full and joyous life. I thought of my illness as life changing not life threatening. Today, my doctor mention a diagnosis that could end my wonderful life. I realize that I may sound a big melodramatic in this posting but it’s nearing midnight and I give myself permission vent my fears instead of keeping my chin up and thinking positively.
At today’s doctor appointment, I described the shortness of breath, wooziness and heart flutters that I am experiencing. I decided I was suffering from asthma and ongoing stress, with a spattering of fibromyalgia moving into my chest cavity. Having two EKG’s in the last two appointments, I know my heart is healthy and my shortness of breath was the result of the dusty old house where we live as well as the outdoors dust worsened by drought.
After asking lots of questions and listening to my heart and lungs, Doc K. explained that the fibromyalgia is now affecting my endoskeleton in my chest area. He also knows that I am feeling a lot of stress these days that occasionally cause anxiety attacks. But he also said I may be experiencing congestive heart failure. My grandmother suffered from congestive heart failure and I remember taking her to the ER a couple of times. I countered that I don’t have swollen ankles and my chest feels more heavy – like one of my 60+ pound dogs is sitting on it – and not tight like a heart attack. Apparently, not everyone with congestive heart failure has swollen ankles. Agreeing that I am in a fibro flare, he suggested (and I accepted) a shot of Toradal, an NSAID that eases my pain and discomfort for a few days. Just to be thorough, doc also ran another EKG (which looked fine), ordered blood work and a cat scan, which I’ll have tomorrow. I may also have an echocardiogram and take a stress test in coming days.
Part of me feels relief that I was not immediately admitted into the hospital. I took this as a sign that whatever is going on is not immediately alarming and it’s not that serious. After all, I’ve managed these symptoms for the past month or so. It can’t be that bad. But lying in bed tonight, I listen to my heavy breathing and “congestive heart failure, congestive heart failure, congestive heart failure” pounds like a mantra in my brain. What if I fall asleep tonight and don’t wake up? Is it really possible that I have an old person’s disease? Then I remember that my grandmother had an incredibly strong heart ,despite congestive heart failure, and struggled with giving up on life mentally years before her heart finished beating.
Ok, I’ll remain optimistic that whatever the tests uncover in the coming days, I still intend to live well. Maybe I’ll take an anti-anxiety pill anyhow – just to slow my brain enough so I can sleep.
Several years ago, I was sickened and disgusted as most dog lovers and decent human beings when I read about NFL football player, Michael Vick running a dog fighting ring. I don’t even tolerate my own dogs growling at each other so I cheered when Vick went to jail, jeered when he returned to the NFL, and rejected his claims of rehabilitation and having greater appreciation of dogs and other animal welfare.
Yesterday, I read that Vick repaid his $20 million in debt and for the first time thought, “Good for him.” He didn’t file for bankruptcy, negotiating, or running away, Vick manned up. Vick earns a hefty $3.5 million this year for playing football, not to mention a likely fortune with Nike.
But why do I care? Once again, I found myself fighting battles. A chronic fatigue syndrome/fibro flare caused by a virus, stress, or over activity reared its ugly head and knocked me down. Finances went from bad to worse. Not working steadily for the past four years depleted my savings. My husband is an Agriculture teacher and let’s just say that educators are not highly valued in Texas. Recently, we have received some assistance from a generous donor which has helped us tremendously. Until moving to the Lone Star State, I have worked and supported myself since college. I was independent and a hard worker. But some called me enabled for accepting assistance or just plain lazy. As chronic sufferers would surely agree, try living in our body for just one week!
But My admiration for Vick returning the money he owed and fighting to win a spot back as top quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles served as a reminder for me. I too have struggled and overcome seemingly insurmountable challenges at times in my life. Things have not always turned out as I planned and goals were unsuccessful. But I accepted defeat, learned, and moved on. I am resilient!
I took a break from writing this summer to try and give my mind some rest. I’ve been scattered, confused, and shooting in the dark. In other words, I was not planning, I was just doing. I knew what I wanted to do but stress, fear, anxiety, and defeatism kept me from effectively thinking, organizing and doing.
This is the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, and as a Jew this is the time of year for change to occur. More so than January 1st so future blogs will very likely describe my journey towards the next phase of my life.
“Losing a battle or losing everything we thought we possessed will bring us moments of sadness. But when those moments pass, we will discover the hidden strength that exists in each of us, a strength that will surprise us and increase our self-respect.
We will look around and say to ourselves: ‘I survived.’ And we will be cheered by our words.”
The above quote is from Manuscript Found in Accra by Paul Coelho, which I am currently reading. Coelho is author of the remarkable book The Alchemist. In the Manuscript, Coelho talks a lot about defeat, experience, and love. Many of Coelho’s writings resonate with me. Anticipate more quotes in future postings.
I survived many obstacles in my life single, alone, and independently. I am now married to a loving, caring, and supportive husband. I have some incredibly loving, supportive, and loyal family members. The moment of sadness has passed for me. I survived and I know my life will continue to be full of hope and joy.