Suddenly the big problems seem so little!

This morning I starting writing about trimming my grape vine and the correlation between adjusting the vine to grow where I needed it to be and adjusting my child’s behaviour. I was writing about having energy and sunlight, about happy things. Now, my blue sky's I look out and see have all turned grey and gloomy (figuratively speaking). It's funny how things change with a simple phone call. I was phoning my Mom to borrow back a crock pot that would be suitable for camping and ended up finding out that a long term family friend has Liver cancer and will die in 6 months. They are unable to treat it as his heart is already damaged and would not be able to tolerate any sort of treatment. He is ready to meet his maker and I'm am sure his voice will be heard in heaven above all of the others when he gets there. The sad part is the 6 months of hell he has to go through to get there. He is already extremely nauseous as the cancer cells push on his stomach and makes it difficult to eat. This man who was never what one might consider svelte by any stretch of the imagination is going to whittle away to a husk. We had remained optimistic when he was diagnosed and he has been on my mind and my heart a lot of late. The majority of my childhood circled around church and church functions. We were such a small community it wasn't like a church, but more like a family. Many of the people from the church are still friends today years after the church had been taken down. I'm not so sad that he is going to die, because I know that he has his place, but more sad for the suffering and for his wife who has been married to him for the majority of her life. As I sit hear sobbing with tears running down my face and my nose running I am crying for me as well because I am going to miss him. I don't think I'll ever stop thinking of him when I hear Numbers 6:24-26 “The Lord bless you and keep you;The Lord make His face shine upon you,And be gracious to you;The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace.” I can see him standing up at the pulpit his arms stretched out over the congregation as he blessed us. His voice was so loud and carried so well we didn’t need a microphone. He was a powerful speaker and he was also very down to earth as well. His booming laughter was almost as loud as his church voice. It's almost as if a piece of my childhood is going to die with him. He was my Reverend, and very close family friend and I am going to miss him, but I am thankful for the memories he gave me and blessed to have known him.

As I write this I can hear him sing with the congregation:

Refrain:
I am the church! You are the church!
We are the church together!
All who follow Jesus,
all around the world!
Yes, we're the church together!

1. The church is not a building;
the church is not a steeple;
the church is not a resting place;
the church is a people.

(Refrain)

2. We're many kinds of people,
with many kinds of faces,
all colours and all ages, too
from all times and places.

(Refrain)

Cathartic Gardening Part 2

As promised I made my way out the back door to garden this morning though it was barely morning. I had procrastinated long enough singing away on my computer and gulping down buckets full of coffee. I walked outside coffee in hand and surveyed the situation. My gardens, once full of flowers, life and joy was now filled with weeds, dead wood, and sorrow. I wasn't just going to extract the dead rosebushes and weeds I was battling my demons with a shovel. I sat down in the grass which at this point was warmed by the almost noon sun and extracted the fence between me and my largest rose garden. I eyed the spider webs with a grimace. I was not to be deterred even by the vampires of the insect world. I tenuously grabbed my first handful of weeds and was instantly pricked by a dead piece of rosebush clumsily scattered in my garden. How life reflects life, one must examine closely before reaching in blindly. I think of another saying, “on the fields of hesitation lay the bones and souls of fallen soldiers, so I take that advice and soldier on in my task. I have my bucket standing by and carefully pull handful after handful out of my garden. It seemed a daunting task and I was using my bare hands as I couldn't find my gardening gloves. The more I pulled the louder the echo's of the past seemed. “Baby it's our love fern except it's a rose.” “Play us another tune Pam!” “This rosebush is like our love it will grow and bloom and be beautiful.” “Mommy can I pick some of your special roses for my teacher?” “This rose bush is almost identical to the one that my Grampa had.” “Have you ever been kissed in the rain?” Sadness crept in with my determination and so I prayed for the strength and determination to empty this garden of thorns and sorrow and blessing on the future.

I thought of old girlfriends past, friend who had come and gone and the laughter of my child who had once played in the sand box where my grape vine now overgrew. The longer I peered into my garden the more hidden things I found. The spiders had made a home there and I saw Daddy Long-legs in brilliantly neon colours. Usually I am afraid of the creatures but today I examined them as they danced along their paths obviously frightened by the deforesting that was going on, unless they came towards me and then I squished them with my shoe. I was not afraid, I sat patiently waiting for them to hurry along. With each handful of weeds I pulled a memory came up. Some happy, some sad, but all of them mine. My hands were filthy and bleeding from the thorns and the dirt. Each bucket of weeds I dumped lifted a weight of my shoulders and my soul. Before long I had weeded the entire garden and all that was left was the bones of dead rosebushes. I was exhausted and I still had 2 more gardens to pull. It was about then I got a message from my family member asking if I could take out the dog to pee.

It provided me the break that I needed. I picked up my shovel and dug it in the ground. The first one came up with a pop. I had already driven a shovel into several times last night and it came up quite easily. I moved onto the next one. It required more work as the roots had grown deeper, but it too was hollow and easily extracted, same with the next one. The fourth one I groaned with effort. The sun was beaming down and the sweat had started to pour off of me. It was the last one in this garden and I had set a time limit and needed to take the dog out. The bush fought back. I wondered at the intricate patterns of roots that it had. It finally came up with a snap. When I had picked up the thorny tangled mess of wood and roots I noticed that two new shoots were growing off of it.

The preservationist inside me said there is still life, we can nurture it and make it grow. Alas I had made the decision to allow new things and unceremoniously tossed it over the fence. Life reflects life and I had made the decision to start anew instead of waiting to see and hoping for the best. It couldn't stay no matter how beautiful it was. I rushed out to do my chore and came back to my garden. I started pulling weeds from underneath my concord grape vine that we had dubbed Virginia. I thought of my friend who's birthday fell on the day of my wedding and lamented that I couldn't locate her email to send her well wishes on her birthday.

This garden was smaller and held no roses but I still managed to grab a hold of a thistle and cut my finger again. I pulled up my weeds and it too laid bare in desperate need of some soil that had been washed away. I moved on to my final garden. My daughter had come home and was busy chatting on the phone in the house with a school yard chum.

I found lost treasures from my old gazebo and I missed the shelter it once provided for me and my family. I laughed when my daughter came outside and asked, “Mom are we going to replace the gazebo or are we just going to use that umbrella thingy?” Someday I told her we would but for now we have the umbrella. She shrugged her shoulders and started plucking the weeds that had grown up between the patio stones.

I had finished weeding the gardens and the final chore was to extract the final rosebush. I knew that it was going to be a pain because we had purchased it about 7 years before and the thing was a monster. Fortunately I had hacked it down in the fall expecting it to grow again in the spring. Ah life, assume nothing. I picked up my shovel and thrust it into the stalk that in some places was 3 finger lengths thick. It snapped and crunched and every time I thought it was going to let go the shovel slide off. Finally I pulled it up. Some of the roots had been living which was why it was so hard to extract, but this final bush was destined to be extracted. “But it's our love fern” a voiced from the past argued.

It too went over the fence. I looked at my hands. The were dirty and sore, but I noticed something. Long ago I had twin tattoo's on my wrist to remind me of the important things in life. Although my hands were covered in dirt from the weeds and dust from ghosts past something stood out. Hope and Faith. It was my final catharsis. With my hands I had faced my demons and battled the weeds but I still had hope and faith and now my gardens and life were ready for something new. So tonight I dream about lilac bushes, roses, pansy’s snap dragons, flames and hens and chickens that I want to plant next year when money isn't so tight.

Perhaps I might dream of the new things the Lord will bless me with in the coming years as well. One final thought ... although bare I am blessed to have a garden at all!

 

Cathartic Gardens of my heart

This winter was long and harsh. Ice covered everything and it was a beautiful as it was dangerous. But the price of such a harsh winter was great, the amount of trees fell due to ice was tremendous (no pun intended.... okay maybe just a bit). Sometimes it seems cruel, but in order for new life to grow nature needs to dispose of the old. The other loss that occurred was every single rosebush in my garden died. I had 5 different bushes that never made it to spring. I kept hoping against hope that they might regenerate. I thought for sure that the one rose bush that we had joked was the nuclear rose bush would have lived. The bush was never supposed to get larger than a few feet tall. I hacked it down to a stub when it got to be about 12 feet and again I had to hack it down during the summer. Last summer was the first year all of my roses came out. The red climbing roses that had never done well thrived and I fondly remembered my grandfathers house and bringing flowers to my mom.

They were also the kind that were on the very first house I lived in. I looked forward to seeing them again this year, but alas nothing just dead and rotting wood. My girlfriend and I had lovingly planted them years ago. I couldn't promise her much, my health wasn't good, my income sucked but we'd always have a rose garden. It was really the last remnant that I had around my home that I felt fondly towards revolving around her. But this year there is nothing. Dead sticks around many weeds that I can't manage to pull because they expose the naked rosebushes who's roots after 7 years have grown deep. Today I hacked a bit at it with a shovel, but became so crestfallen I couldn't continue. I thought my life is like my garden sometimes overcrowded with weeds that hide the bones of old relationships. The only thing that seems to thrive this year is my bleeding heart literally and figuratively. 6 years roses have grown in my yard and on the 7^th they shall rest.

But I realized something by saying that. As in my life I need to extract the weeds and clear out the dead wood so that I have space for something else to grow something new and beautiful. Wishing that my dead roses would come to life like Lazarus wasn't the answer, I had to be pro-active. This catharsis is going to happen in my garden and also in my life. Something old and dead must make room for the living and by hanging on to a dead plant it doesn't allow room for something new fresh alive and beautiful. So tomorrow I will don my shovel and my gloves and extract the plants roots and all. I'm sure my hands will be cut by the thorns and my heart will mourn, but for the greater good it must be accomplished. It's funny how life intimates life sometimes. Tomorrow evening I will sit on my patio furniture and light my table top fire pot and think of all the new things to come. My loved ones are welcome to join me. :D

World Pride

I'm breaking with my usual tradition of avoiding Pride like the plague and attending this year. I stopped going to the Toronto Pride festivities because I felt that it gave gay people a bad name. Every year people try and out shock each other and it does nothing to bolster the image that gay people are normal. Now I am no prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel there is a time and a place for some of the behaviour that takes place there. The police don't do anything because they don't want to cause riots, but when your actions become above the law because of fear and not because of injustice there is something terribly wrong with that. Our message is that we are people too and we are tired of being oppressed, but our actions say look at me I can have sex in public and not be arrested. When our actions and words are not congruent we loose our point. This is the reason that I avoid the parade. The heat or the amount of people or even the skyrocketed price of hydration I can tolerate, but I just can't support the bad behaviour that gets photographed and displayed every year for the right wing conservatives to use as ammunition. So why am I going this year one may ask? Regardless of my personal beliefs of the parade, it is world Pride. It is probably the only opportunity I will ever get to attend an event such as this, and I'm also going because so many of the people in this world can't. In a world where loving a person of the same sex can be condemned by death and legalized rape I have to go for those people who can't. I've had my own battles with homophobia, even in Canada where our rights are solidified prejudices and hatred still live on, but it is nothing compared to the daily risk that some gay individuals experience just for being brave enough to be themselves. So I go this year with the hope that I will be pleasantly surprised and who knows maybe I will meet the love of my life there.  Incidentally, I really REALLY like that tattoo and want it!

Drugs or No drugs?

I saw my neurologist in September of last year and finally told him that I was no longer taking the Avonex (interferon beta-1a) that he was prescribing and had not been in sometime. I started my treatment for MS with Rebif (interferon beta-1a). The three times a week subcutaneous injections weren't so bad, but the side effects from the drug were terrible. I started missing doses because I just didn't want to feel like hell anymore. I went back to my neurologist and was perscribed Copaxone (Glatiramer acetate) daily. There weren't supposed to be any adverse side effects. The problem with this drug is it is highly acidic and injection site reactions are extremely common. The first time the nurse shot me in the flanks it swelled up so badly she had to phone her supervisor to see if I required hospitalization. I stopped injecting my butt and rotated between legs and stomach. I wasn't too concerned about the necrosis in my abdomen as I had already had a child and there was no way that it would ever look “normal” again. The daily stings were a small price to pay for a drug that was suppose to have 0 negative side effects. A few months later I went to the dentist and found 9 cavities that had to be filled in 2 sittings. Prior to this I had one cavity at 20 or 21 which I cried about. I stopped taking the copaxone as it was the only drug that could have caused the problem. I switched to Avonex a short while after and faced the same (but worse) side effects of the Rebif. This was a once a week intramuscular injection. They say flu like symptoms which is a laugh because I have had the flu before and never thought I was going to die. I remember putting a cold cloth on my eyes trying to hold them in my skull. When I woke in the middle of the night I was incapable of speech and through my chattering teeth my ex would ascertain that I needed some tylenol with codeine. I'd hop in the shower at 3 am which warmed me up, but each water drop that hit me felt like a stab of a pin. Once I was warm the sweats would kick in and I'd sweat and shiver at the same time. Ever had a fever so bad your hair hurt? Kinda similar. The drugs prescribed for MS don't actually battle the disease it's self, but reduces the rate of relapses which lead to the disability. If an attack or relapse happens the only way to treat it is with a big dose of steroids and I mean big. 1000 mg daily for three days. Having only once had the experience of taking so many steroids I can say that it isn't fun. Having my face and arms swell up was not a thing I wish to repeat. My life is nicer not looking like a Mr. Potato head doll. It's also really difficult to get the supply of steroids needed. The pharmacy which I procured my near lethal dose of drugs only did so because they were familiar with the procedure. I decided to come off the drugs all together because my quality of life was so poor. I have not regretted it at all. The only drug for MS I take is Modafinil which battles the crippling fatigue that is most times more debilitating than the disability. This being said, this is MY experience with the drugs used to “treat” MS. Individual experiences may vary.

Honour Integrity and Loyalty

Sometimes in order to act with Honour and Integrity your loyalty must be sacrificed. There has been a couple instances of late where I have had to act on my own honour and integrity and toss loyalty to the wayside. In both cases children have been at risk, or I have felt that children are at risk. Not only as a counsellor, but as a Canadian citizen I am bound by law to report any act that I may believe is in danger to a child. Child well-being is a serious matter and reporting it is mandatory regardless of the social ramifications. A child has no choice in some cases and it is our responsibility as adults to keep them safe no matter if they are blood born or not. In both cases recently I have voiced my concern about child safety and done what I believe is right regardless of the social ramifications, and trust me there have been some. My life revolves around several small circles and both cases I have experienced social isolation because I believed I was acting in the best interest of children. Does it bother me that I have lost friends? Sure why wouldn't it. The knowledge that I can look at myself in the mirror and know I have acted according to my own integrity gives me honour even though the act was not loyal to the people in question. I was loyal to my beliefs and that gives me more strength than anything. The knowledge that a child is safe allows me to sleep at night. That is a priceless feeling.

Social-cultural gender-roles

Social-cultural gender-roles 

We have passed the age where women are expected to be silent in church, please their husbands in bed while taking no pleasure in it for themselves and remain uneducated and at the beacon call of their husbands. Or so we think. In the GLBT community there has almost always been gender role issues just as in the hetero community. Gay women who dress in stereotypical “man” clothing have often been attacked for perpetuating the myth that women who are gay want to be men. Femme women have been accused of complying with the gender role stereotype and been frowned on. There has always been some measuring stick that you have to compare yourself with. So where does this leave us now?

I have noticed an alarming trend in the last few years of women who are “stereotypically butch” who are objectifying women and treating them as conquests. This is supposed to be acceptable behaviour because they are both women. It's not. I've notice that even in my own life, because I'm “butch” I am expected to make the first move (that's not going to happen because I'm painfully shy) or approach the cute girl or while I'm around other “butch” lesbians brag about my sexual prowess. Whom I have had any sort of intimate relationship is NONE of anyone's business but whom I have expressed myself physically with. I find it very distasteful to speak about such things with anyone else. It's not that I am a prude, but I would expect that anyone with whom I share a physical relationship no matter how great or small would be respectful as well. Intimacy is just that. We need to stop trying to meld ourselves into stereotypes and realize that regardless of gender or orientation that we have to be respectful. Not only do we have to stop objectifying women ourselves, we also have to stop shaming each other. Shaming women for enjoying sexual relationships is equally bad. Women have wants and desires and should not be made to feel foolish or slutty if they have a high sex drive. There is nothing wrong with that. As long as it's safe sane and consensual who cares? We all don't share the same shoe size why would we share the same sex drive? We can enjoy women with out being disrespectful, we can enjoy sex with out being labelled as “sluts” or “horn dogs” and the best way to show respect is to be respectful ourselves. You can't expect someone else to respect you if you are being disrespectful towards others.

Respectfully yours;

Pam

Companions

My old companions visit me, their names are Multiple Sclerosis and Depression. They are by my side no matter what I do or where I am. They walk hand in hand, one is never far from the other. Sometimes they are invisible, sometimes they are so painfully obvious that I want to hang my head in shame. Why should I be ashamed of these companions whom I have not chosen to walk beside me as life partners? Because society has made it a shameful thing. These companions are weak and any weakness that you show to society will tear you apart and devalue you. I am a sum of my parts and when your parts are not fixable then you become worthless to society.

Imagine these companions are real people. Imagine a morning walk in a bright and sunny park smelling the freshly cut grass feeling the warm sun beat down on your shoulders. You are bare foot feeling the soft plush grass underneath your toes Suddenly the ground underneath you becomes a stony beach and each step you take becomes painful and arduous. Your friend MS is there holding you hand, or riding on your shoulders. You are okay, but the surrounding people don't understand why you are walking so funny because they are walking on soft grass and only you are walking on stones that they can not see. You must be drunk they infer and so you gather your wits and grab a cane or an arm of someone who is close to you for not only support but as a visible sign that you are not impaired of your own choosing. Although the walk has become painfully difficult you still enjoy the things around you, the fresh air the sweet smells. Suddenly your companion Depression appears decides to join in on the fun and tag team you with Multiple Sclerosis. A black mesh bag is thrown over top of you that is translucent, smells of garbage and is heavy and wet. No longer can you feel the warmth of the sun, but the heat bakes you inside your invisible sac. You feel like you are in a sauna running a marathon trying to walk on your path that is covered in stones. No longer can you smell the fresh air or grass, but only garbage. You are aware that others around you are enjoying themselves and they reach out to you to join them, but can't see that you are covered by a shroud of darkness. They notice that you are having difficulties and are aware of your companions and reach out to you to take their hands, they grab your arm to steady you, but you can't feel it, or worse yet their grip becomes painful as if the bag is covered in tiny wires that electrocute you every time it touches you. The bag is cinched around your chest and each breath you take is laboured and your chest can't expand to get a breath of air. Everyone else around you sees a beautiful park with fresh air and sweet grass, yet you are stranded in an envelope of pain  darkness and sadness. You try and speak but the words come out in a mi-sh-mash of sounds. Your helpers try and guess what you have to say and speak the words your mouth can not make because the bag, in every breath you take, fills your mouth. You cry tears of frustration but the bag changes them and it becomes uncontrollable laughter. You suddenly and urgently need to use the bathroom unsure of it is your bowels or your bladder sending the signal. You want to go home, but they bag distorts your view and you simply can't remember where you have left the safety of your car.  Keeping your eyes open becomes a momentous achievement and this battle you are fighting invisible as it is sucks the energy out of you until you pass out. 

This is the hell that someone with MS can experience in a moments notice. This is my hell. My companions. They are familiar to me and when I feel their dark embrace, you may not notice. You may wonder what to do. You may feel as helpless as I do watching me struggle inside a sack of despair or along an uneven path. The only thing to do is wait along side with me. Be patient until my companions have decided to give me release. If only for a little while, and enjoy the moments when I am not encumbered. For those moments are so precious that to share them, that is truly priceless.