Doctor, My Eyes Have Seen ...

Sept. 17, 2014

* Note: I wrote this entry and forgot to post it the same day, so it's out of sequence, but that's how Freddie works a lot of the time!

Trials can serve to show us what we really have, which came home to me with a rather spectacular light show in my left eye in January. I woke up the morning of Husby's surprise 60th birthday party ready to hit the road running. As soon as I got out of bed, I noticed dark spots in the line of vision in my left eye. I've had floaters before and they go away after about a day, so I thought I'd lie back down for a few minutes and see if they dissipated. They didn't, and I had a party to put together, so I went to the closet to get dressed. That's when I saw a display that looked like a confetti spray of silver glitter inside my eye. As pretty as it was, I knew it couldn't be good. I called my optometrist's office and they could get me in within the hour. Driving was a little scary. 

My optometrist did the requisite tests, then she wanted to dilate my eyes for a good look inside. I asked her if we could wait until Monday to do that because I couldn't spare the downtime today. With genuine compassion, she said, "I'm sorry - this trumps a birthday party, as important as that is." She said a display of bright lights can indicate a detached retina, and if the retina was involved, it needed to be addressed immediately. Her exam indicated the retina was not detached, but she saw blood pooled at the back of the eye and scheduled an appointment with a retina specialist in the afternoon. I was so put out.

The retina doc dilated my eyes again, took probably 100 pictures of the inside of both eyes, and infused dye in my arm to see where in the eye the blockage was. That one appointment pretty much covered all the things I hate: needles, having my eyes dilated, and seemingly endless bright flashes directly into my eyes. The verdict, after all of this, was that a small piece of cholesterol blocked blood flow in the main vein off the optic nerve, causing an aneurysm. In the films, I could clearly see the blockage and an area surrounding it that was light yellow. The doctor said the light area was where the pooled blood destroyed nerves in the retina, and the dark spots I was seeing in my line of vision were the areas of the retina where no information was being transmitted to the brain. He said I essentially had a stroke in my eye, that nothing could be done but to wait and watch for symptoms to improve or worsen. His only recommendation was to get in to my primary-care doc ASAP for tests to determine if there were any more blockages floating around in my neck or heart. Oh great! He told me all this as nonchalantly as if I should go home and take some aspirin for a headache. I spent the whole weekend terrified that I would have a stroke before Monday and wake up to live my mother's nightmare of incapacitation.

Well, here's the point of this story and why it's my object of Gratitude for today. The last month or so I've had to work harder to see, so I visited the optometrist today for a prescription adjustment. How amazing is it that eight months after I sat in her office facing possible vision loss, today my eye is healthy, save some small blind spots on the retina?!? I saw a lot of the retina doc in the months following my "cardiovascular event," but by the third visit, the eyesight in my left eye had improved to almost 20/20. It took a few months, but the swelling went completely down, the pooled blood was absorbed, and the area turned pink and healthy again. The affected nerves are dead and don't regenerate, but instead of seeing dark opaque spots, now it's like looking through water spots on a lens. 

BUT - I can see! I haven't taken that for granted for one moment since the incident. I didn't lose my precious sight and I didn't have a stroke or heart attack - in fact, my echocardiogram and doppler neck scan were completely clear. My farsightedness means my perfect vision has deteriorated more over the last few years than that of nearsighted people, so it takes more and more effort to see anything anymore. Now with the blind spots, I have to work even harder, but my brother-in-law, who did have a detached retina several years ago and lost the sight in that eye, is now going blind from glaucoma in the other eye. I feel so much more empathy for him now, and I appreciate how difficult and dark life would be without sight. Despite this little trial, I'm so very grateful that I can still see my grandbabies and how they grow and change, the hummingbirds in my back yard, the beautiful world, and that I can drive. And I know that if I were blind I would somehow have to find blessings in my life, because finding things to be grateful for is what keeps faith and hope alive.

Another blessing in all of this: I first started seeing Fibro Doc #3 two weeks before the eye stroke. I checked with both him and my PCP about what tests they thought we should run. Fibro Doc requested a Homocysteine test, in addition to the cholesterol test, echocardiogram and doppler neck scan my PCP wanted. Fibro Doc knew what "mainstream" docs don't know or won't acknowledge: that elevated homocysteine levels are highly associated with stroke (a flaw in the methylation cycle, which also correlates with autism, ADHD, and ding-ding-ding - fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue. See my post, "I Can Do Hard Things" for more info.) My Homocysteine was high, but after taking B-12 injections, SAMe and 5-MTHF for a few months, it dropped to well within normal range. My family doc wanted me to start a statin drug even though my cholesterol numbers were within normal range because "once you've had a cardiovascular event, you need to be on them, period." But removing cholesterol from the blood doesn't address why extra cholesterol is there anyway, which is because it's trying to protect the lining of the veins from inflammation. And statins have known side effects, including a link to Alzheimer's. When I asked the family doc about antioxidants and anti-inflammatory diet, he said there's no evidence that they have any real benefit. Well why would you make dietary changes when you can take a pill every day to make the numbers look good? 

I feel like the eye stroke was God's finger giving me a firm tap on the shoulder - too serious to ignore, serious enough to alert me and my new doctor to something that could be addressed before it became deadly, but not so serious that it sidelined me. Spending the morning at the optometrist and the whole afternoon at the retina specialist nearly derailed Husby's surprise birthday party, but God even took care of that. With a few adjustments, it happened as planned and we got to celebrate Husby's milestone along the timeline of his great life with family and dear friends after all. It's all good!

What Comes Around

Sept. 28, 2014

One Christmas when I was stressing about not being able to get everything done (one Christmas? Just one???) a pragmatic friend said, “Don’t worry about it! Christmas will come again next year.”

Today I’m grateful for the good things that do keep coming around. Coming-Around might be a second chance to improve on that Christmas that wasn’t quite as meaningful as I’d have liked it to be. It can ease the sadness at seeing something I enjoy end because I know it will come again. In a world of so much uncertainty, it really is a gift to know that some things are givens!

Like hummingbirds, for example. Earlier in the summer, I bemoaned the fact that despite my diligence in putting out fresh nectar every three days, I never saw a hummingbird. The day I saw two for an extended period, I wrote about my smile. Not long after that, the hummers seemed to have found a home in our back yard. They perched in the trees near the back door, and we learned to recognize their chirps. A male with a bright orange neck would hover and eat at one feeder, then perch atop the shepherd’s hook for 10 minutes at a time, apparently defending his turf, as he would shoo and peck at any other hummer that tried to feed there. Three “regulars” were constantly at one or both feeders, and they had a captive audience in me and Husby because we couldn’t pry ourselves from the window – which was a good portion of the day for about two weeks. 

Hanging out in our trees

Guarding his food

I did some reading and learned that hummers start migrating south as early as mid-July. By mid-September, they are feeding constantly to build up their body weight to endure the long trip south – as far as Central America or Panama. Well, we were happy to supply our little entertainers with fuel for their trip, and then just as we got in the habit of looking out the windows to see their antics, they were gone. I suppose they got as fat as they needed to be and departed for longer days, warmer weather and more bugs to eat. I had so enjoyed watching them that I felt let down when they up and disappeared. But guess what? Hummingbirds come back in mid-March. Every year. Hasta la vista, little birds, and I’ll have the nectar out for you in March!

A perching feeder encourages hummers to stay awhile

Love his iridescent green back

Guess what else? Just as the hummingbird window closed, autumn knocked on the door. Even though it will be a while before we see any leaves turn here in Texas, the days are noticeably shorter, and fall (and ragweed, unfortunately) is in the air. I love Fall and all things associated with it (except ragweed) – warm gold and red colors, cool nights, crisp apples, pumpkin cookies (which I won’t be eating this year, and I don’t how I’ll bear it), and wearing sweaters.

One thing does make me sad – really, really sad – about autumn, though: the end of pool time. When a cool front came through early this week with low humidity and nighttime temps in the low 60s, I feared that last Saturday’s pool time was the last one for this season, and that’s a big deal because the water keeps Freddie at bay. The pool temp dropped to 76° and never got above 81° this week, but I got in every day, and each time I gave thanks that I had one more! And I have something to look forward to, right? Hummingbirds, summer and pool time will come again!

Smile for today: 

Resident lizard sunning on a yellow pepper in our herb garden

Warm Memories

Sept. 27, 2014

circa 1947 Salad Master Machine

Last week, while making Danielle Walker’s Spanish Frittata with Chorizo (Against All Grain), I hauled out my mom’s Salad Master to grate the sweet potatoes. I gave away my food processor years ago and was kicking myself (now that I’m making meals from whole foods and spending an inordinate amount of time peeling, chopping, slicing and grating) until I remembered that I had the Salad Master. Here I digress, because it’s my smile for the day: setting up that rather elegantly simple device - no electricity necessary - on my own countertop brought a tidal wave of memories from my mom’s kitchen, complete with 1950s pink appliances and now-Retro pink & gray patterned Formica countertops, yes, from those wonderfully simple days before electrical appliances took over the kitchen. I remember helping Mom grate and slice, watching the colorful veggies turn from whole to shreds or slices as they tumbled into a bowl in a smooth, almost mesmerizing motion with the turning of the cylinder. And then they became zucchini bread or potato chips, or some 40 years later, the vibrant orange basis of my frittata. 

And is this serendipitous, or what? Of the three Nielsen sisters, the one who lives in Texas took the Salad Master after Mom passed away, only to learn while writing this post that Salad Master was established in 1946 by Harry Lemmons, who set up operations in his home in Dallas, Texas! The company was so successful that within a year he moved into a new building in Dallas, where the company operated for the next 43 years. Today, the company is located in Arlington, Texas, halfway between Dallas and Fort Worth, and alongside a line of stainless steel cookware, the Salad Master Machine is still the flagship product of the company's business, sporting a sleek new design, but performing exactly the same uncomplicated function. Would I trade Mom's for a new one? Not a chance, but check out the new beauty here.

I am grateful for happy memories, and for my mom, who I see and feel beside me again when I use her tools or read her handwritten recipes, who made our house a home and who gave me lovely memories that make me smile today. 

Here are images of the Frittata-making process, a la recipe book. The final two images are Reality, because I have no kitchen assistants measuring out the ingredients in nice, neat little bowls, nor cleaning up behind me so the counters and sinks are pristine despite all the prep work. This is why the current love affair with open-concept home design is quite 
beyond me ... 

First time used in at least 15 years

Deja Vu!

Add chorizo to grated sweet potato/onion ...

... sauté together ...

8 organic eggs ...

... beaten (yes, I succumbed to the stick blender rather than my mom's egg beater, which I also have!)

Top with sliced tomatoes and pop into the oven for 12 minutes ...

All set and ready to serve with avocado slices and chopped cilantro. Nmmmm!

What you don't see ...

... on camera or in cookbooks!

Sharing Burdens

Sept. 26, 2014

Today I spent the day with Daughter on the anniversary of a traumatic loss for her. Not only was the event life-threatening at the time, but it left physical and emotional wounds that simply refuse heal. She helped me through my own painful anniversary a couple of weeks ago, so I planned to spend the day with her to divert her attention. Husby stayed with Grandson while Daughter and I went to lunch and shopping – we never made it to our planned pedicure, as we shopped nearly until Grandson’s dinnertime. We fixed and ate dinner at her house, and as we were leaving, she hugged me and whispered that she didn’t think about the past ordeal once all day. That’s what sharing one another’s burdens is about, and how thankful I am to have family who can and will share and share alike. Big thanks to a loving, albeit exhausted Dad and Husby for making it possible, as Grandson is a fun but active five-year-old!

M' Love

Sept. 14, 2014

Thirty-eight years ago today was a glorious autumn day in Salt Lake City. Couldn’t have been a more perfect day for a wedding. September in Texas is still summer, and our first year here we celebrated our 10^th anniversary. And Husby was out of town on business. He got home the evening of our anniversary, so I got my neighbor to keep the kids, and I set a candlelit table and had a beautiful dinner ready when he arrived. Not what I had in mind for the decade marker, but it was quite lovely after all.

This year’s celebration was low-key; experiences are the best gifts these days, and we are due a getaway, but when it comes right down to it, overnighters aren’t really a treat due to Husby’s loud snoring, so we decided to do some daytime activities together. A couple of movies are playing that are actually worth seeing, so we thought we’d do that Friday, but the day got consumed with things that had to be done that day. I wanted to take the watch he got for his 25^th work anniversary for a battery replacement that morning. Here’s why that could be considered a gift fit for an anniversary: the jewelry place is in the mall. I loathe malls. Husby hates them even more than I do. But I did it, and the watch now has a lifetime warranty on its battery. 

That done, I needed to do some cleaning-out in my sewing room (Lighten Up!!!) and box it up to take to the church for a swap-and-shop event the next day. The swap-and-shop is a brilliant idea conceived and executed by my Lighten Up friend who inspired me to start writing this gratitude journal. She oversees the women’s organization of several wards (congregations) for our church in a certain geographical area. The event is on Saturday, so  people bring stuff for which they no longer have a use on Friday, then my friend and her helpers sort it and set it out to display. The next morning, anyone can come and take whatever they like. Anything that's left at the end goes to Union Gospel Mission. I didn’t go to the actual event because Heaven knows I don’t need to bring home any more treasures – the idea is to lighten up, not replace stuff with more stuff! I gave away the items that represent the hobbies in which I invested so much time and which provided therapy for so many years. Letting go of things like that is hard. Letting go of anything is hard for me, let’s face it. So this was a good step.

From the church drop-off, Husby and I went to get shelving to organize and make functional my sewing room. So that’s what we did instead of going to a movie, but at this point in my cluttered life, Husby and I agree that celebration of life together sometimes means doing things that are just plain good for us. That might be a trip, a movie, a nice dinner, or getting rid of clutter that bogs us down (well, my clutter does invade his space, too, I’m sorry to say). We did eat dinner out, though – and we had a very nice dinner the next night to properly celebrate. Husby gave me flowers and a mandoline, which I’ve been wanting now that I’m preparing all our food from scratch. Not romantic, you say? Anything that makes my life easier in my quest to be well is a gift of love! The best thing he gave me, though, was a love letter that no material gift can touch. And here’s how great he is: he reads my blog and saw that I didn’t find English Toffee on my mom’s Heaven Day, so he went and got a Heath bar. Just so I could have one little bite for Mom. 

I wrapped up his watch, gave him an e-book that surprised him and made him laugh, and made Danielle Walker's blueberry waffles for breakfast. (From her cookbook, Against All Grain.) Husby had church meetings all over the Metroplex beginning at 8:30 this morning, but when he got home I made Danielle’s burrito bowls – yummm.

We went back to yet another church meeting later in the day, where I saw a friend of many years who I don’t see often any more because they moved further away. We hugged and I asked her how she was doing, and she told me she and her husband are divorcing. It didn’t register for a moment, and I had absolutely no words. They seemed to be such a solid family, and you wonder, if it can fall apart for them, who is immune? For this devastating news to come on my own anniversary makes me just that much more grateful for Husby and what we’ve had for 38 years, and what we have today. 

Try to Smell the Roses

Sept. 11, 2014

Rose garden at Fort Worth Botanic Garden

Well, my plan for celebrating instead of trying to escape what today is didn't go that well. I did everything I said I would do in yesterday's entry - except finding a bite of English Toffee - but it didn't improve the way I felt very much. The temple experience was the opposite of what I prayed it would be, and it was too warm and muggy to properly enjoy our stroll through the rose garden at the Botanic Garden - and the roses were mostly spent after a hot August.

Daughter said it eloquently in a sweet message to me this evening: "Anniversaries that you wish weren't anniversaries never come politely or slip past unnoticed ... but if you can find the positives, or at least the positive people who can bear the burden with you, it makes them less burdensome."

A few small rose blossoms are hanging on

She's right; I suppose no matter what my sisters and I do or don't do, this day will always be what it is. Still, it's better to do something positive to remember Mom than to dwell on all the unhappiness that is associated with September 11.  

Daughter also said in her message: "If we're going to have burdens, I can't think of anyone else I'd want to help bear or share a burden with than you." 

I could say the exact same thing about her :-) Spending the day with Daughter, Husby and Grandson #1, and just seeing the glorious garden this city built so many years ago and maintains so beautifully today - even sans blossoms in September - is something to be thankful for. That Mom & Dad loved roses gives me a nice reason to go there.

A nice spot to reflect

French & Italian landscapes were the inspiration for this garden, which is stunning when the roses are in bloom

Today I'm grateful that in light of swelling terrorist activity against Americans in recent weeks, namely the brutal beheading of two American journalists by ISIS terrorists, no attacks materialized on today's anniversary.

Por Favor

Sept. 10, 2014

Darling Por Favor and me at Daughter's wedding, 2004

My mom passed away on Sept. 11, 2005, three months after suffering a major stroke and deciding she didn’t want to live without her full faculties. She refused to eat or drink, and I frequently saw her spit pills into her hand after nurses left the room. Her kidneys finally failed on a Friday night, and with an advance directive not to employ extraordinary measures to save her life, my sisters and I could do little but sit with her as she began her departure from this life. We didn't take our eyes off her all Friday night, thinking morning would dawn without our mother. But Saturday morning came and the day wore on … and on and on. The staff moved us to a private room where the minutes and hours ticked excruciatingly slowly away. They gave Mom morphine and assured us she wouldn’t feel any discomfort, but as her lungs filled with fluid, her rattled breath panicked and upset us. The nurse assured us again that she didn’t feel anything, but as her breathing became more difficult, she opened her eyes and looked at us with what I was sure was panic. I was horrified that she might not have wanted this after all, but it was too late, so we prayed that she would be able to go quickly. But the clocked ticked away, and as it approached midnight, all three of us sisters prayed to ourselves, without the others knowing until the next day, that she would go before Saturday turned to Sunday. Please, oh please, Mom, don’t leave us on September 11. Not on that day. But she held on until about 3:00 a.m. 

Her passing wasn’t peaceful; I had no idea that when kidneys fail, all the body systems gradually shut down and finally the lungs fill with fluid, essentially drowning the person. My sisters and I were exhausted, distressed, and so, so sad to see our sweet mom finally lying still and to realize that after all this, she was gone. And so Sept. 11, a day associated with terrorism and the way horrifically evil men turned the world on its ear and plunged us into warfare that can't be fought in ways previously known, now was also the day we watched our sweet mother suffer and pass away. And I am haunted still, when I remember her eyes, about whether we did the right thing. 

On every anniversary of the terrorist attacks in 2001, you can’t turn on the radio or television without hearing remembrances, tributes, and interviews with first responders and survivors. It’s all anyone talks about on that day, and all of that just makes the memory of my mom’s passing agonizingly painful. I dread it and wish I could just not wake up in the morning on that day every year. So this year, I decided to plan ahead and make this year’s anniversary a celebration rather than a day I dread. Tomorrow I’m going to do things Mom loved; we’ll go to the temple with Daughter in the morning, and if it’s not raining in the afternoon, we’ll stroll through the rose garden at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden. I’ll eat some fresh raspberries, a big serving of vegetables, and maybe try to find just a bite of English Toffee.

Mom had her first stroke early in June, and a few days later while in the hospital she had a bad one. After she was stabilized but wasn’t making definable progress, the hospital had to release her to a nursing facility. Although she had extreme difficulty speaking, it was clear that if she’d had the capacity, she would have refused to go. I flew from Fort Worth to Salt Lake City the day before the hospital released her, and my sisters and I scrambled to find a facility to take her right away. I stayed at the care center with her for two weeks with the intent of giving my sisters a rest, since they would have the burden after I left. My younger sister still came every day after work and stayed until we put Mom to bed at about 10:00 p.m. - she said she didn't want to miss any time with Mom. My older sister still came on weekends. At the end of each long day I would go back to Mom’s house to sleep before I returned to the care center at 7:00 a.m. to be with her for breakfast. But they get up really early at the center and she was usually back in her room from breakfast – which she didn’t eat – by the time I got there. I stayed with her all day because she had nightmares and was terrified of being left alone. And as most such facilities are, this one was horribly understaffed and wasn't attentive to Mom's needs. I encouraged her through her therapy sessions, and for the time I was there, it seemed she was actually trying a little bit. But by the time I had to leave, her kidneys had begun to fail because she refused to eat or drink enough water. I was reluctant to leave, but my sisters insisted that Mom wasn’t doing better or worse, and there was no point in my staying. We decided I would return when Mom’s Medicare payments ran out in September when we would need to decide on a long-term plan. Feeling helpless at home, I began working on a crocheted afghan for Mom’s bed. The blankets supplied by the center were old and drab, so I made a pretty butter-yellow afghan in a lacy pattern. I took it with me when I returned on Sept. 9. I arrived at the care center in early afternoon; Mom had refused lunch, so we asked her if she wanted to go for a stroll around the grounds, as it was a beautiful fall day. She didn’t care; we took her anyway. I believe she knew why I had come back, and she did not intend to stay at the care center long-term. She was listless and refused dinner, but we sat with her in the dining room and put her to bed about 7:00 p.m., covered with her new yellow afghan. At about 8:15 the center called each of us to say that Mom’s kidneys had failed and that we should come immediately.

She was wrapped in the afghan to keep warm when we arrived, and it stayed with her each time we were transferred as her condition changed. It made me sad that she hadn’t had her bright blanket all summer to cheer her and to remind her that I loved her, and then a few hours later, it covered her lifeless form. I don't know if she was ever even aware that I had brought her a hand-made-with-love new blanket. I regretted that I hadn’t stayed all summer instead of just two weeks.

I brought the afghan back home with me, but it wasn't something that had sentimental value because it had kept her warm and cheered her during a hard time; rather, it had been nothing more than a death blanket, and the sight of it made me shudder. Besides, I chose the color for her room; it didn’t fit anywhere in my house. So it has been in the cedar chest for nine years. I’ve vowed a number of times to take it to a care center here and ask if there is a resident who needs a cheerful yellow blanket for her bed. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, but in my new commitment to Lighten Up, perhaps I can celebrate Mom this year by giving her blanket to someone who has some time to enjoy it.

Today’s smile: Mom’s nickname – Por Favor. When my older sister and I were taking Spanish classes in school, we would say something like, “Pass the salt, Por Favor.” My mom was so adorable – she’d mis-hear things, and on this one, she finally said, “Oh! I thought you were saying, ‘Pass the salt, Cora Dear.’” How I love her - and miss her!

I Can Do Hard Things

Sept. 7, 2014

Last night while talking about Grandson #1's quirks and challenges, Daughter expressed her frustration at his high intellect but utter laziness. He'll try something and then stop in frustration, saying, "I can't; it's hard." Daughter isn't having any of that; her response is,"You can do hard things!" 

He's blessed to have a mother who makes that a mantra. It struck me when my daughter uttered that mantra last night that no one ever said to me, "You can do hard things." No one really needed to because I've always driven myself. I try a lot of things, but I've never broken through to expert status in any pursuit because I give up when the going gets tough and move on to something new (easier because you start at beginner level each time). Piano, writing, photography, sewing - all intermediate-level hobbies. I work hard, climbing and climbing, but when the air gets thin, I decide hiking isn't for me and I never quite experience the euphoria of reaching the summit. I ask myself, is it because my brain can't sort information when I get to the level that requires more processing? Or is it that I don't have the physical and mental energy to persist at the more complicated levels?

Now this epiphany startles me because I'm a perfectionist, and perfectionists generally aren't quitters - are they? I do recognize that I also abhor losing, and if I can't be as good as the best (perfect), then I just won't play any more. True competitors - and winners, eventually - enjoy the competition, which spurs them on to beat their opponent (or obstacle). What I do is get all tied up in knots about doing whatever I'm doing in the best, most perfect way possible, and I literally wear myself out. Epiphanhy! There's a subtle but significant difference between competitors and perfectionists; methinks competitors drew the healthier straw on this one.

As I watch Grandson running in circles, talking incessantly, analyzing and figuring out things well beyond his age level, it's sometimes like looking in a mirror. I don't have the outward appearance of energy that he exhibits, obviously, but I suspect the excessive brain firing that makes him Perpetual Motion causes my brain fog and fatigue. Huh? Well, although no one has ever described me as energetic much less hyper, I share with him social awkwardness, I was intellectually ahead of my peers in early elementary school, and then there's that gnawing element of giving up when something poses a challenge. And I've had a lot of years for that excessive firing to wear out my body systems and make me foggy and fatigued. My son has many of the same attributes, but there wasn't as much information readily available to parents about ADD/ADHD 30+ years ago, and I admit I wasn't as on top of parenting as Daughter is. 

I'm not crazy in my linking spectrum disorders to chronic ailments like fibro and chronic fatigue. While researching methylation (Fibro Doc #3 believes faulty methylation caused high homocysteine levels, which likely contributed to the stroke in my eye earlier this year), I ran across the work of Dr. Amy Yasko, who believes that most of the complicated, chronic illnesses and disorders that seem to be on the rise today stem from a flaw in a major biochemical pathway called the Methylation Cycle. We're talking Parkinson's, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, IBS, Chron's Disease and Autism, to name a few seemingly unrelated conditions. She says:

A combination of genetic weaknesses, metal toxicities, infections, and other factors can lead to a negative cascade of neurological events.

Yasko also says that if a child has Autism or other spectrum disorders, he or she likely has a mother or close relative with that or other conditions mentioned above, implying that these are genetically inherited disorders. Autism has been accepted as an inherited condition for some time, but Yasko claims that a whole array of ailments are related and have in common digestive problems. She further claims that when supplements are given to "make up" for deficiencies in the genetic pathway, the symptoms clear, whether it's Autism or one of the other named conditions. Yasko's skeptics call her a quack, but it appears that prestigious institutions like Duke University are pursing research along her line of thought. A collaborative study conducted by 13 institutions around the world published just last month identifies the CHD8 gene mutation responsible for Autism. Interestingly, the study also found that the defective gene causes "issues with sleep disturbance and gastrointestinal problems."

But if Autism and other disorders are genetic, what is making the mutation present itself so abundantly now? Why are we now seeing so many hyper, uncontrollable children? Why are so many people complaining of severe digestive problems, debilitating fatigue and unexplainable widespread pain? Industrialization is likely the blanket "other factors" Yasko mentions above. A big emphatic disclaimer here: I am not a tree-hugging-save-Mother-Earth environmentalist in any form or fashion! I'm the daughter of Depression-era parents who saved and conserved and cared for everything in their possession, so I'm not a wasteful consumer, but I do firmly believe that the earth was created to sustain humans (who are indeed obligated to be good stewards) and that the earth also evolves to do that. However, I acknowledge that an ever-increasing number of cars on the road spew ever more toxins into the air; that more people means more sewage, including chemicals from drugs that we take to combat the effects of a sedentary lifestyle and a processed-food, hormone- and antibiotic-laden diet; and that technology and labor-saving devices have actually served to complicate our lives by deluding us into thinking that we can cram more and more into 24 hours. 

Now, Yasko has a whole complicated and expensive protocol of gene testing and nutritional supplementation based on where in the genetic chain the defect lies. My doctor, who obviously doesn't follow Yakso's protocol, clearly does buy into the methylation theory and is having me take three supplements (which are among those Yasko recommends) to lower my homocysteine - and my level dropped to a healthy range within four months of starting the supplements (Vitamin B-12 injections, SAMe, 5-MTHF). Critics of integrative medicine say the homocysteine link to heart disease and stroke is unfounded, but my gut tells me they're wrong - just like they're wrong about using statins to lower cholesterol. (Another post for another day!)

Whether or not gene testing and targeted supplementation is the key to beating today's chronic ailments I don't know. I do know that what I suffer is very real, that Grandson's behaviors are not blown out of proportion by his weary mother, and I do believe there is a  genetic link between the two. It makes sense to me that in certain people, a genetically flawed methylation pathway combined with environmental toxins can lead to unexplainable conditions. Well, only unexplainable to "mainstream" medical folks who don't have the guts or drive or whatever to break out of their medical-school mindset and find some meaningful answers of their own. End of soapbox. For today. What I do wonder, though, is if a genetic mutation is a factor in someone's inability to stick with difficult tasks, does it make a meaningful difference if someone tells us we can do hard things? For sure, it makes a difference that Someone believes in us and encourages instead of condemning us :-)

Today's smile: Husby. 

He's my smile every day because he's constant, steady, completely honest, loyal, hardworking, generous, and good. (Handsome, too, no?) And he unfalteringly and uncomplainingly  stands by, helps, and loves a woman who is grouchy, temperamental and unable to get out and do things a lot of the time. He didn't do anything special today that he doesn't do every day to make me smile, but it's a good day to acknowledge my gratitude for this wonderful man who makes the bed every morning and turns it down for me at night - seriously! - and who my Heavenly Father put right in my path before I thought I was ready to be married, but who is the best thing that ever happened to me. 

Bon Apetit!

Sept. 6, 2014

Today’s smiles: 

• A surprise rain storm and cool front this afternoon. The day started out hot and sticky, but dark clouds rolled in rather quickly in the late afternoon and dumped substantial but gentle rain. It was beautiful! Straight-down rain - no wind - intermittently for a good four hours or more. Flowers and grass know the difference between hose water and the real deal, and the begonias in the front beds changed from transparent-looking pale green to the deep amber their leaves are supposed to be after drinking up that dose of heaven-sent moisture.
• Having a dear friend and her husband (who we’re getting to know and love) and my daughter and her hubby for dinner tonight. I spent the whole afternoon cooking – cutting endlessly, and cleaning up lots of sticky juice and small chopped items that inevitably wind up on the floor, and washing a thousand dishes and utensils. This is not enjoyable to me. However, eating really fresh food prepared from scratch and sharing it with people I love and who nurture my spirit is so worth the work and aching back! And I learned something new in preparing a citrus habañero salsa: what a “supreme-style segment” is and how to prepare it. You slice the rind off of a citrus fruit, taking just the peel and rind, then slicing between the segments so you end up with just fruit sections, no skin of any kind attached (yeah, there's an artful technique to this, and I'm sure really good knives make it much easier). Oh my, juice up to my elbows! But wow, this salsa looks great and should be yumm-O on the citrus marinated fish fillets!

About my friend: She’s a couple years older than our daughter and attended church with us while she was working on her doctorate degree. She’s smart (obviously), and she has such a good heart, is generous and considerate - beautiful in every way. She loves to cook good, healthy food, so we enjoy eating together. She became like a daughter to us, and in fact, she and our daughter could be sisters. I have girls’ nights once or twice a year, and one time I invited her and my daughter so they could meet. As predicted, they hit it off. Friend married a nice guy and they moved into his house on the north side of town. We’ve made it a point to stay in touch with them; I meet Friend for lunch every so often, Friend & Hubby had us for dinner in the spring, so it’s our turn to treat tonight. It just makes my heart smile to be with these kids. Bon Apetit!  

A Week's Worth

Sept. 5, 2014

I have some catching up to do! Gaps in my posts don’t mean I haven’t noticed things I’m grateful for, just that I haven’t gotten around to writing them down. So here are a few from the past week: 

• This summer I have diligently kept my hummingbird feeders filled and clean, which means making nectar at least once a week and emptying/cleaning/refilling the feeders every 2-3 days. I can see the level of the nectar going down in the tube feeder, but I never see any birds sipping from it. Since I see it going down, I keep up the routine, and I was finally rewarded a couple of days ago! While eating lunch, I looked up and a hummer was at the feeder right outside the window. He perched and drank for the longest time, then flitted around to each of the holes. He must have stayed for five minutes. Later in the day while in the pool, I saw hummers, or maybe the same one, at both feeders, again for quite a few minutes. Definitely a smile for the day!

• While shopping at Costco last week, I got in line behind an elderly woman and her daughter, who looked quite a bit older than me (which says how elderly the elder woman was!). Mama had a rebate check to cash, so her daughter went on the “customer” side of the checkout to pay for their order, and Mama went on the “cart” side to cash her check and apply it toward the purchase. She was having a hard time figuring out what to do, then figuring out how to sign the check, then she couldn’t understand that she needed to show her Costco card so they could start ringing up her items. She told the checker she’d really like a cart, and checker said, “But you have a cart right here!” “No, I want one of those carts you can ride on.” Daughter was getting impatient and whispered to the clerk, “No, she doesn’t, she’s fine.” A second clerk looked around and told Mama apologetically that all the riding carts were taken. When they finally got her and Daughter through the line, they started on my order, but Mama hadn’t quite moved beyond checkout stand. I wrapped up my checkout, and Mama was still standing there blocking the road, with a shoe in her hand and was now having trouble getting it back on. The clerk motioned for me to meet my cart on the other side of Mama; I smiled at her and hurriedly made my way for the door. (Tai Chi hasn’t broken my hurrying habit yet, I’m afraid.) Coming toward me was the second clerk at the checkout, riding toward Mama on a cart and calling out to her, “Hey, look what I found for you!” I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time, and to sandwich-hug the clerk, Mama, and Daughter.

• I got myself into playing the organ for church this Sunday, kind of a musical chairs of substituting for someone who substituted for another organist last week. At any rate, I haven't touched the organ since Easter Sunday because playing the organ is stressful for me, and at about that time I elected to remove as much stress as possible to allow all the therapies I'm doing to actually work. Here's the thing with the organ: it is not like playing the piano, which I'm fairly good at. On organ, you don't get a sustain pedal to help you play legato - you have to actually hold each key until the next tone plays, so you have to meticulously plan - and write out - fingering, until you get really good at playing. To make it work, the left hand has to take some of the right-hand notes, which is confusing to a normal brain, but to Freddie, it's pure, intense frustration. Oh, and add feet playing pedals, often in opposing direction to hands, and it's ... stressful. Add in stage fright, and well, I had to leave organ playing behind. So back at the church practicing several times this week I was reminded of what sitting on a hard wooden bench with arms raised to play on two different manuals (higher than a piano keyboard), chin tipped up to see the music does to my body. It helped somewhat to remember the Tai Chi visualization of head pulled up by a string, the rest of the body suspended and relaxed, but even so, my hand muscles were in a cramp last night from using hand muscles that haven't been used in months, I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders, and my ribs are hurting really bad. But here's what I'm grateful for: The swimming pool - again. I came home from each organ session barely able to move, my hips, torso and legs were so stiff and painful. In the weightlessness of the water, I feel no pain; I kick, stretch and move, and the water figuratively and literally washes away tension and pain and refreshes body and spirit. I'm also grateful for Tai Chi, which is giving me actual relaxation tools to use during and after stressful events; and for sacred music that I do love so much (just not playing it in front of other people); and the opportunity of having learned how to play the organ - and not having to do it every week!

• And today's smile: Talking to my BFF from third grade for more than an hour this afternoon. She's one of those few people I absolutely trust, and when either of us just needs to talk to someone, we are the Someone we both think of first. We live thousands of miles apart now, but we meet up for a girls' weekend occasionally, and although we don't talk weekly or even monthly sometimes, when we do talk, we pick up right where we left off. We can say what we honestly feel and we know that neither of us will think less of the other one. She would come this minute if I needed her, and I would do the same for her. How precious is the gift of that kind of friend?!