Tag: health

How’s Your Spirit?

if I ask someone, “How’s your spirit?” and they answer with anything besides what I always said, “My spirit is great!”, would I know what to say or do? What would the person do who asked me that question?

How Is Your Spirit?

During a recent very unexpected illness which led to an extended stay in the local hospital I was asked repeatedly, “How is your pain?”, “How is your appetite?”, “Have you had a fever?”, and many questions that shall remain undisclosed.  

After my release I had several follow up appointments and home care.  At a couple of visits the same questions were repeated, but time a twist.  “How is your spirit?” 

That caught me off guard.  No one ever inquires of my spirit.  I never inquire of anyone’s spirit.  When I say, “How’s it going?” or “How you doin’?”, do I expect any answer besides, “Fine”?

I work in health care.  Often when I check in with my patient and ask, “How are you doing?”, I mean, “are you comfortable, is there anything I can do to help get you settled?”  Once in awhile I hear a response of, “I’m doing great, how are you doing?”  And again, it catches me off guard because at that moment I am the caregiver, not expecting anyone to be the least interested in my condition.

Our mind, our body, and our spirit are all connected.  If one is out of balance the rest is as well.  When someone is suffering from pain, loss, or stress, it affects how they think, how they feel physically, and how they are coping spiritually. 

On the other hand, when there is a joyful occasion or anticipated happiness, something to look forward to, the aches and pains are often reduced.  The mind becomes content or excited.  The spirit is positive and encouraged. 

Things like unexpected illness or tragedy profoundly affect our spirit.  That internal place of peace, joy, kindness, love, and hope can be deeply troubled.  My spirits were lifted with each text and inquiry from family and friends on how I was doing and what was happening.    

From my hospital room window, I could see my co-workers and patients coming and going as I had a clear view of the parking lot of where I work.  There was one day where I was feeling like I would never return to “normal” life and it was discouraging but the care I received was absolutely treasured.  Each encounter made a positive impact during my stay.

Now I wonder, if I ask someone, “How’s your spirit?” and they answer with anything besides what I always said, “My spirit is great!”, would I know what to say or do?  What would the person do who asked me that question?  Are they prepared to counsel me, to encourage me, or to get me the help I would need?  If I were to ask that question, what would be my response to, “I am so depressed”?  or “I feel lost”. 

I pray that I am prepared to come along side anyone who is low in spirit and I pray that if I ask you, “How’s your spirit?” that through me the Lord would give you comfort if needed. 

So, how is your spirit?

2020 Perspective

As many people hunker down in their homes, following the mandates to “shelter in place”, a skewed perspective of the world outside your very own small world may develop. There are life-changing, funny, sad, devastating, and interesting things happening that may get lost. So here is my perspective:

As many people hunker down in their homes, following the mandates to “shelter in place”, a skewed perspective of the world outside your very own small world may develop. There are life-changing, funny, sad, devastating, and interesting things happening that may get lost. So here is my perspective:

It occurred to me that in the past few week I have met or imaged multiple people whose world has been shattered by news that had nothing to do with Corona, COVID-19 or lack of toilet paper. Not the news on the television or the latest Facebook post about the corona virus or the ever-increasing numbers constantly showing on the sidebar of many website in a red, scary graph with 5 digits, then six digits.

There are people who have been shattered by my job, by findings in a clinic, by a report on a page, by a phone call from their doctor. They have been crushed and tried and tested. There is a loss of control, their loss of hope, their questions of faith, their cries to God. Anticipation of pain, healing, loss, treatment, change.

There are the others who have been given a clean bill of health, a new baby, a plan of hope for continued wellness, or an answer for their pain.

There is the new mother who had to be induced because her 100 pound frame couldn’t take the pressure of that nine pound little human inside her. While scared to be anywhere near a hospital, the light of new life in the midst of all this death, doom and loss must be beyond amazing. Perspective.

There is the young lady with her first pregnancy that sits at home all day with severe nausea, vomiting, and aversion to raw chicken and makes me laugh with stories of trying to make dinner. While she has been laid off and that is hard, she cannot imagine working under these conditions. She is bored out of her mind and I am longing for time alone! Perspective.

There is the lady who was home finding ways to make surgical masks but had to come in for a check for metastatic lesions from a former cancer. Perspective.

There is the elderly lady who felt a lump in her breast and is now finding ways to cope with the chemo and radiation treatments she is getting ready to endure. Yet that may get delayed due to the virus. Perspective.

There is the young man who has been having neck pain and finds out it is a tumor in his spine that has metastisized from an unknown cancer in his body.

The lady who had a stroke yesterday but does not want to go the the emergency room right now. I would hope not to ever have to go to the ER, but sometimes it’s necessary! Yet at times like these it’s like a cesspool in our brains … a virus just waiting for us at the door. Ready to attack anyone who enters, we fear. And yet someone I know personally is now diagnosed with covid-19 and is admitted. The first person I actually know and now it is real. Heartbreakingly real. Perspective.

There are silly things like someone going to a walk in clinic to get a huge earring removed because she needs an MRI of her head but the earring causes too much artifact and her husband, who is a pipe fitter, can’t remove it. Two days later she finally returns for her imaging and is so sweet and kind and laughs. Perspective.

There is the funny story of a patient who hurt his elbow. I ask… what happened? “My cow tipped over”… so hard not to crack up at the thought of this 400# man with his 500# cow which had gone off to visit the neighbor cow. She didn’t get the message, apparently, that you cannot go visit the neighbors! No, she got mad (ha ha .. mad cow) … and he tried to get her home by pulling her with a rope. She tried to go in circles around him and fell over. He hurt his elbow trying to get her back up. Poor guy … made me laugh. Perspective.

Around town there is quiet on the streets as I go downtown to my studio after my abbreviated days at work… to let my mind go for a few hours in piles of flower petals and every manner of adhesive as I try new designs and ideas and methods. Why create? I wonder. There is no one to see it, no art walk, no buyers… so I create for the pure joy of it. And if I don’t create that means I am going home early to sit around with my two people trying to figure out what to do for dinner. Too early for all that… Create a new perspective.

As I drive from here to there I hear traffic reports that are no longer needed because there is no traffic. I hear commercials from restaurants that can’t wait to make me dinner and news reports about the latest recommendations from the CDC, the President, the FDA, or the Governor.

I see people driving around with masks on in their car. They are the only one in the car. “You don’t need a mask!” I shout inside my head. Wait, was that my inside voice leaking out again?? … “You cannot give yourself the virus!” I pick up dinner for our planned once-a-week take out, doing our part to support these people who work so hard to feed us excellent meals… and so I don’t have to help my two people figure out what to eat for dinner… again. Thank goodness!

There is a 10 acre parking lot at the theater with zero cars and two people walking down the sidewalk … the only two people within a two mile radius… and they wear masks as they walk together. They probably live together and went out to get some fresh air… “YOU DON’T NEED A MASK TO DO THAT!!” I shout and my son laughs.

Meanwhile… These things float around in my thoughts – so many things that have a different perspective:

There are homeless people being housed in the high school that can’t be used for teaching students because you can’t have so many people together in one space.

There is an overpass in Las Vegas painted with rectangles six feet apart where homeless people are expected to sleep while a multitude of hotels sit empty with food rotting in their refrigerators because there is no buffet to overload.

And a guy got in trouble in California for going out on his sail board… all alone in the ocean he is a risk to what? The jellyfish? What kind of rule is it that a few people can’t go to the beach? Man the parking lot, if you must, Costco style… let 5 people park three spaces apart and go find their quiet place to ponder, frolic, or surf.

Soon we will carry our little certificate with us showing us to be COVID-19 free so we can go get a haircut, sit in a cafe, or walk on the beach? Meanwhile I press up against one person after the other getting them comfortable for their MRI, holding their pillows under their elbows until they feel secure, and giving them sips of water, words of encouragement, and cleaning like a mad woman between each encounter.

That’s my perspective on the matter. I’m blessed to be out in the world seeing things that others are hidden from. Yet, the introvert in me loves nothing better than the thought of being sequestered in my studio for weeks on end. I wonder if I would get bored. I long to write for hours and tell the stories of long ago with uninterrupted chunks of time where I can get emotionally connected to the characters. But from this perspective I am grateful for my job, my patients, my absolutely amazing employers… whatever happens as long as I don’t get sick, of course!

Stay well.

The Original

One of a kind

Larger than life

Hilarious

Recurring descriptions on sympathy cards covered in flowery words

Kindnesses and thoughts from those left behind

She was an original

She wasn’t allowed to drive due to seizures

But she bought a tiny yellow Smart Car 🚗 for me to drive her around in and named it Buttercup

Her numerous doctors appointments were filled with her bragging about her Buttercup. She would get doctors and techs to come outside to see her Buttercup. The eyelashes my uncle put on drew all manner of attention. She, who otherwise was a more solitary being, loved and delighted in the attention Buttercup drew. People waved, stared, smiled and honked. People waved us over to ask about Buttercup. At the gas station, without fail, everyone wanted to know gas mileage and factoids.

She loved Buttercup and was always praising her for her looks and charm while I was cursing the horrible engineering that jarred my kidneys over every small bump. Not to mention the railroad tracks, bridge transitions, and potholes. French people should stick to making wine and cheese I would tell her. She would defend that Buttercup like a mother cub and hated my insults. Last month she made me get a license plate that said “BTTRKUP”- I had just installed it on our last scenic.

Her hair was a huge disappointment to her. As it thinned from over-processing and with age she was in constant distress over her “bald spot”. Every outing started with coaxing those remaining strands of hair into an illusion of lusciousness. Only my sister, a hairdresser, could pull off that magic trick. Then I would have to spray VO5 until I was gasping for air. It is the smell of my childhood – hairspray and Coty Wild Musk.

She loved loved loved bling and coordinated outfits. The collection of earrings we gathered from around the world was astounding. Funky. Dangling. Shiny. Butterflies. Ladybugs. Feathers. Tacky. Holiday themes. Nothing was too snazzy for her.

She had shoes in every color to match her outfits and loved to put little tiny clippies all over in her perfectly coiffed hairdo.

Rhinestones and ripped jeans. V-neck T-shirt’s in every color – Plus tie dye.

No one was their own name. We were all interchangeable in our real names but nicknames were all our own. Melissa. Pete. Oodie. Bunny. Gina. Booboo.

Shopaholic in those catalogs in the mail. Collections. Oriental trading. Piles and piles of amazing things that everyone needs and apparently didn’t even know you wanted– the possibility of owning a gun shaped toilet plunger should delight any redneck in the family. And if she knew you liked a certain thing it became her mission to purchase any possible item in that category. I like strawberries and have had that theme in mind for my kitchen since I was 12. She bought fairy strawberries. Twice. She bought a knife holder strawberry. Salt and pepper strawberries. Everything strawberries. She collected chickens. 25 years ago she worked in a hatchery and thus began the quest to own any item with a chicken motif. Years and years friend and relations poured their hearts into chickens. My aunt has a horse. My mom was set on the idea that this translates to wanting anything with a horse design. My aunt would disagree and this befuddled my mom’s way of thinking. She bought Superman socks for one of my coworkers because he was so sweet and he kinda looked like Superman. And Batman socks with capes on them for another who runs marathons because she thought that would inspire him to run better. Not.

She was humiliating – telling all her doctors that I was so smart and then arguing if I tried to interpret her rants and round about stories filled with all her nonsense words for them. She called out to strangers thinking they were someone she knew. So many times. It was embarrassing. She loved sayings that were inappropriate or off the wall. “Colder than a witches hoohoo” – bring just the tip of an iceberg. Saying words incorrectly on purpose brought her great joy. Brefkast. Really?

She could peel a ten pound bag of potatoes in minutes and was in a constant search for the ultimate spud peeling knife. Absolutely refused a vegetable peeler. And she diced those spuds into perfect cubes and fried them up for everyone.

Potato salad and baked beans. Pasta salad and macaroni and cheese. The staples of every bbq or feast. Cookies cakes and pies. Yum!

She got into certain “kicks” with food. I was in charge of groceries and she would go for weeks at a time wanting specific cereal or bread or whatever. The most recent was Raisin Bran with bananas. Before that it was frosted mini wheats tiny bites Only!! Groceries were a subject of contention with us. I celebrate instacart and click list as if they were nobel prize material. She despised that she couldn’t go pick out her own groceries. Constantly complaining about the size -flavor -color -quality -brand of everything.

She suffered with pain, seizures, arthritis, uncontrolled hypertension and poor nutrition choices. She fought the doctors and nurses. She adored the receptionist at the nephrologist. She could be rude or take them in like family. No matter what she was in charge.

One of a kind original. Gooie. My mom.

©Belindabotzong2018