During Thursday and Friday this week, I attended a retreat of UCC faculty as part of our beginning-of-the-school-year inservice activities. The event was held at the Big K Guest Ranch in Elkton, Oregon (about 30 miles from here). The place is truly in the middle of nowhere. After driving about 18 miles north of (I-5 Exit 136) Sutherlin on Highway 138W, you take a right-hand turn onto a gravel road and proceed onward for another four miles…an experience bound to rattle your bones and car frame, even at 15 mph. However, the setting is quite idyllic, and a great spot for a group our size to get away and do some retreat-type work. The organizers constructed a very worthwhile agenda, and I was amazed at the effort and energy expended to make this a wonderfully-successful experience for everybody.

A lot of the time together was spent in small groups, examining topics relevant to both new and returning instructors. Even though I am not an instructor anymore [I was one of two administrators present (the other being the college president)], I found I was able to participate fully. And, the greatest benefit to me was getting to know faculty from my new, large division (as well as the entire campus).

On the final day, yesterday, we held discussions (during both the morning and afternoon sessions) on a variety of hypothetical ethical-dilemma situations. The final scenario involved a student who wore a t-shirt to class that had a (unidentified) racially-offensive message on it. The questions: what to do? How to handle this?

A variety of perspectives were offered. One person offered thoughts about a dress-code. Others provided suggestions aimed at trying to control student behavior and, hence, suppression of the t-shirt’s message.

I could not hold my tongue. At the end of the discussion (and our time together), I raised my hand. I offered the thought that a t-shirt was not offensive in and of itself, and that this was neither a dress code nor a student-conduct issue, but rather a free-speech one. Freedom of expression is one of our most cherished and important constitutional rights, I said, and that, especially in a college environment (where we are presumably devoted to a free exchange of ideas), we cannot stomp on such a fundamental American freedom. I observed that quite a number of campuses over the last couple of decades have attempted to restrict student behavior with speech codes, virtually all of which had been struck down by the courts on constitutional grounds. I tried to convey the message, and personal (legal?) opinion, that we cannot attempt to silence a student merely because his or her message might be offensive to some.

Of course, I likely sounded like an over-the-top civil libertarian. And, I know, I delivered this message with some degree of passion, but hopefully not so extreme as to offend my new colleagues. The ACLU has an excellent summary of this issue on their website, as well as descriptions of many specific cases involving freedom of expression (including t-shirts).

I was educated as a chemist (a lot of my formal education is in that discipline, anyway), and I remember thinking a long time ago that chemistry is life. Well, that orientation has changed; biology is life is more where my head is at now.

I spend so much time these days paying attention to my body (primarily its limitations), that it’s practically laughable. And, here I am trying to learn all I can, as fast as I can, frustrated a lot by mostly having to teach myself.

Of course, I speak of the incredible learning curve I’m experiencing right now regarding myofascial pain. I have an entire new discipline to master as I try to learn all about myofascial trigger points, referred pain, self-massage, and living with a chronic pain condition. The Trigger Point Therapy Workbook is rapidly becoming my bible, from which I do daily readings, guiding my daily practice for health-seeking.

Here is another definition of a trigger point (see also “Survival”): “a highly irritable localized spot of exquisite tenderness in a nodule in a palpable taut band of muscle tissue” (Davies & Davies, p. 19)…which they elaborate on by saying “a trigger point hurts like the devil when you push on it.” There are apparently several methods available for relieving trigger points (and the pain that can subsequently be referred to other parts of the body), some of which require the services of a professional (a savvy doctor or physical therapist, for example); there are other methods one can pursue independently. I have a doctor, of course, who diagnosed this condition for me, but in the time I have before my next appointment, I’ve been studying up and attempting to start a regimen of self-care that includes locating and massaging the trigger points responsible for my pain. This is requiring a lot of time with the trigger-point reference manual, trying to identify muscle groups with which I have limited familiarity, probing my body, and struggling to locate my trigger points so that I may massage them. (This is turning out to be a non-trivial task!)

At any rate, I have intensely steep learning curves both at my new job and in the health area of my life. This is incredibly tiring, but I guess it’s merely playing out the hand I’ve been dealt right now.

Inspired by NPR’s This I Believe series...

I believe in listening. And in leadership. And that the two go hand-in-hand.

In the past two years, I have been in leadership positions that more directly affect the lives of people I work with than I ever have been before. While I’ve long seen myself as a student of leadership and organizational culture, and have led countless groups while working on specific tasks and projects, lately I’ve been called upon to provide direction, vision, and a voice for a large collection of other people on a day-to-day basis. It’s been a period to put my values regarding listening and leadership to a real test.

For I believe that effective leaders should listen to those they are charged to lead. All too often, I see leaders who seem to be “know-it-alls” or “fixers”: individuals who only listen to their constituents long enough to have a reply or “the solution” at the ready before the other is even finished talking. This kind of behavior is extremely off-putting. Who wants to be around somebody like that?

And I believe that listening demonstrates our respect, valuing and trust of others. For leaders to earn respect, they must show respect. So I believe that true, just shut-up-and-sit-there, good old non-judgmental listening is the primary way to do that. Trust and respect just naturally flow from good listening.

I have a dramatic personal experience illustrating when, as one being led, I was not listened to. A couple of years ago, with the most honorable of intentions, I was attempting to speak to the CEO of an organization on behalf of a group of employees; at one point in my report, I was rudely interrupted and informed the information I was sharing was not welcome or appropriate…that everything in the organization was, now, as “good as it gets.” It’s difficult to convey the intensity of that episode in this brief description but, I was, in essence, verbally and emotionally assassinated in public for attempting to express the “sense of the group.” For me, it was the single most appalling example of “leadership” that I had ever witnessed. I left the experience embarrassed, hurt and angry. And, forever, unable to respect the “leader” any more.

I run my show a lot differently. A LOT DIFFERENTLY. I believe in the power of stories, and love listening to them. I encourage my folks to come in, sit down, and tell me what’s going on in their lives. I listen. Because I care. And, I because I respect the variety of the human experience. That is, I respect them. I appreciate everything everyone does on behalf of the organization, and, after I have listened to them and their issues, I frequently advise them to pace themselves and to stay healthy. We’re all in this together, and we must take care of ourselves and trust each other along the way, or bad stuff will happen. Of course, bad stuff will happen anyway, but we’re much better equipped to handle those times if we tackle problems as part of a trusting team, rather than a stray collection of individuals who happen to share the same organizational space for a part of our lives.

Leaders. Followers. Everyone. Believe in this.

And listen…

The people who come to see us bring us their stories. They hope they tell them well enough so that we understand the truth of their lives. They hope we know how to interpret their stories correctly. We have to remember that what we hear is their story. (Robert Coles in The Call of Stories, p. 7).

Dear Roseburg,

Yes, I know: I’m the new guy and maybe I should wait awhile before I offer you any specific suggestions about how to make this a better place. But I guess I just can’t help myself! Here’s my idea for the day.

Recycling. We can do better.

This is what I mean…

When I first moved into these apartments in mid-July, you’ll recall that I noted the dearth of recycling bins available. I was sure I was missing something. I mean, yes, I found the recycling bins; it’s just that there appeared to be only a very, very few, very, very small, garbage-can-size containers available to handle the recycling for about 150 apartments! How could that be?

Well, I found out. When I was at the Douglas County Fair last month, I had the opportunity to chat with the county employee who handles the local recycling. He let me know that the apartment complex is within the law (by basically doing the minimum allowable). Apparently they are obligated to provide a way to recycle, it’s just that there are no specifications regarding the scope or seriousness of the effort.

So, this is legal. Wow, too bad. I asked: so, how about if I want to recycle items on my own that aren’t accommodated by the inadequate apartment-complex bins? Where do I go, and how do I do that?

I knew there were a couple of recycling “centers” around town. I had found one of them when I wanted to recycle the newsprint packing-material from my move; this was a small, unattended facility in a parking lot, and I had stuffed the material into the bin marked “newspaper” there. I was somewhat mystified by the very modest nature of this place, but it handled what I needed it to at the time. I kept wondering where “recycling central” was, though. Surely, in this day and age, a city the size of Roseburg had more ambition than I was discovering!

However, I found out at the fair, not only was my path of discovery on track, but that it was really worse than I had imagined. For example, all recycling items need to be carefully sorted here (we’re still separating brown glass from green, for example), and then physically carted to one of the recycling places. Which, only a very small percentage of us here in Roseburg, or in Douglas County, actually do. There is no curbside recycling, with intermingling of items to be recycled. (Portland! I miss you!)

I know that the entry a few days ago, entitled “Hope,” likely sounded, well, hopeful. And, at the time I wrote it, I was in that kind of space. However, I’ve actually found myself on an emotional roller-coaster since the Chronic Myofascial Pain diagnosis. One moment I’m feeling grateful for more information and for finding a doctor who believes he can help; the next I’m feeling anxious and depressed and overwhelmingly fatigued trying to cope with not only my physical stuff, but with trying to absorb a new way of interpreting the signals my body is sending.

I’ve been doing some web-surfing on the topic of chronic pain; I’ve been reading Fibromyalgia & Chronic Myofascial Pain: A Survival Manual; and I am trying to decipher some meaning from this. After all, this is not a trivial kind of development. I’ve received a verdict, even if it’s still somewhat tentative, of a chronic disease.

Ugh!

So, let’s talk about: how do you pronounce the name of this condition? What is it? How did I get it? What do I do now?

In case you’re wondering, the proper pronunciation of myofascia is my-oh-fash΄-a (so that fascia is pronounced similar to “fashion”).

I’ve been learning that this is not exactly an easy condition to explain. And, there seems to be quite a lot of information out there that is not consistent with what the Survival Manual says. For example, both my doctor and several websites call this affliction Myofascial Pain Syndrome – that is, by its former name. When this condition was given “disease status” it became known as Chronic Myofascial Pain about six years ago. It’s a little disconcerting that my doctor is using outdated terminology.

I’m trying to come up with simple language, with information derived from my reading, to try and describe what it is we’re talking about – but even Starlanyl & Copeland (2001) struggle with this task. They say, “one of the problems in discussing myofascia is that there is no familiar metaphor to help…visualize what and where it is.” (p. 17) They then indicate, however, that myofascia can be described “as the thin and almost translucent film that wraps around muscle tissue (think about the sticky white film you see covering some of the chicken parts you buy at the butcher shop).” But, really, it’s much more, given that myofascia can be visualized as a gauze- or web-like network permeating the entire body. Further, they indicate that “malfunctions due to trauma…can bind down the fascia. Restrictions…can create pain of malfunction throughout the body, sometimes with bizarre side effects and seemingly unrelated symptoms.” (p. 19) Myofascial pain is caused by “trigger points,” which are “extremely sore points that can occur in the myofascia in taught, ropy bands… or as painful lumps or nodules.” In essence, “a myofascial trigger point is a hyperirritable area of skeletal muscle.” (p. 23)

OK, OK! I know, enough already. Yes, my eyes glaze over when I try and understand this too…

You might be getting a little bit of the picture, anyway. I have tight, taught muscle tissue that is causing chronic pain (primarily in my left leg and foot, but also in my other extremities to a lesser degree). I’m theorizing that this inflammation of muscle tissue is pressing nerve against bone in my left leg, leading to the tingling and numbness in my left foot, especially the toes.

Here’s the short story of how I believe I got myself into this state…

In the few months following the episode I described in the last post (the winter of 2004-05), the stress at work was monumental. While still in the process of learning my job and becoming acclimated to the campus and a new working environment, I was directed to eliminate three of the programs in my division, requiring me to inform people that their programs and their jobs were going away. Additionally, after months of frustration, I let go the administrative assistant I had inherited. I also dismissed an instructor who was behaving badly and had likely gone off his medications. In sum, I dealt with multiple personnel and student-complaint problems, one after the other, all the while attempting to perform the myriad other responsibilities of an academic dean. And, many days during this time, I nearly froze to death in my office – a space that, on the surface, looked nice, but that had large windows which allowed the brutal east wind from the Columbia Gorge to permeate my working environment. If you will: imagine a tense, stressed-out guy, huddled and shivering in his office all day every day, and you can sort of get the picture: my working conditions were absurdly sub-optimal. One morning in May 2005, days after an intense episode of tortuous verbal abuse directed my way from the big guy, I awoke with incredible tingling and burning sensations in my left foot.

And, now, here I am. I went in to have blood drawn today so that we can rule out other possible explanations for my symptoms. I am gradually taking myself off the anti-anxiety medication I was using as a sleep aid every night (with the warning and the knowledge that my sleep and anxiety issues may worsen for a time). And what I’m doing now is trying to learn as much as I can about this disease before my next doctor appointment, which will happen at the end of September. I’m hoping that I can find enough energy and mental focus to be able to digest a lot of this information and be a fully-informed participant in my treatment plan.

Soundtrack Suggestion

At first I was afraid I was petrified
Kept thinkin’ I could never live without you by my side;
But then I spent so many nights
Thinkin’ how you did me wrong
And I grew strong…

Did I crumble
Did you think I’d lay down and die?
Oh no, not.I. I will survive
Oh as long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive;
I’ve got all my life to live,
I’ve got all my love to give and I’ll survive,
I will survive. Hey hey…

(“I Will Survive” – Gloria Gaynor)