I’m trying to do anything I can these days, whenever I’m away from work, to get my mind off work. The intensity of each workday right now makes that rather difficult.
So, it was with some sense of delight, recently, when I discovered a “wink” in my home email, from an East Bay woman who found my profile on match.com.
Yes, in case you didn’t know…I have a personal-ad profile listed online. And I’ve been involved, off and on, in the virtual dating world for quite some time now.
Years, actually. (Ah, the stories I could tell!)
Now, usually, I don’t respond to mere “winks” – much preferring someone who is drawn to my profile enough to write me a full (even if brief) message. But this time, for whatever reason, I wrote a short little note back – and after a couple of emails, we decided to meet for tea at an East Bay Starbucks last Sunday.
In short: it was wonderful. We talked for little over an hour and things went very smoothly, I thought. As we parted, she invited me to call or email her.
Which I did, a few hours later. I sent her an email indicating that I was “interested” and: could we get together again?
The answer: no thanks. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. So sorry about that.”
Isn’t it strange how rejection from someone I don’t even really know can still have such yucky feelings associated with it?
I hadn’t put myself out there like that for anyone in a long time. I guess I need to get more practiced, and thicker-skinned.
Maybe I’ll wink at somebody myself tonight. I really do need to get out more.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Another aeroplane Another sunny place I’m lucky, I know But I wanna go home Mmmm, I’ve got to go home
The weather this weekend in Marin County, California, was absolutely perfect. Both days were clear, sunny and hot…with temperatures into the upper 80s. However, as recently as a few days ago (and then again today), the daytime highs were in the 50s - and the blustery winds made it feel even colder. Last Tuesday was very chilly. That was the day I was making my preparations to attend the Olympic Torch Relay.
I had a vacation day scheduled for Wednesday, and planned to take the ferry into The City for a day of observing and photographing the event(s). It surely seemed like a day of potential excitement (what with the recent, well, passionate protests in Paris and London)…and one that held some promise for colorful photos of the planned demonstrations.
Ah, but the important question for me: howdo I keep warm? After all, these happenings were to take place along the waterfront in San Francisco…not exactly the most comfy place in the world on lots of days, what with the probability for low temperatures and howling winds. Given the propensity of my body to tighten up with both stress and cold, and the fact that I’d be carrying heavy camera equipment, I would need to dress appropriately for the occasion and take a minimalist approach to packing and toting my gear.
So, folks, this is the most important factor for me these days as I prepare for a day of protesting. How do I keep these old bones and muscles from freezing up?
Well, I came up with some answers.
First off: long underwear. Yes, here it is April in the Golden State, and for the only time this year, I donned a pair of my silk, REI-brand long-johns. Then, of course, SmartWool socks and my ECCO cross-trainers. The rest of the outfit included:
jeans,
a short sleeve t-shirt, covered by a long-sleeved t-shirt,
covered by a North Face fleece pullover, covered by a multi-pocketed photographer’s vest,
all topped off with a baseball-type cap (with a peace sign on it).
Finally, to keep my body even more toastfully comfortable, I wore (underneath everything) two ThermaCare heatwraps: one around my midsection for my lower-back, and one across the tops of my shoulder blades.
I carried my smallest camera bag that held just one body, one lens, an extra battery, and compact flash cards.
And this worked!
I must report total success. I was there wandering around and taking photographs for three and a half hours. I was quite comfortable the entire time (it turned out to be a sunny, not-too-windy day), and survived the adventure in fine form.
One guy about my age, who was carrying a hand-made “Free Tibet” sign, called his wife on the ferry ride home and said that he’d had enough for the day. “My feet are killing me,” he reported.
It’s no secret that I used to party a lot (back in those alcohol-saturated times of my misspent youth). Once in awhile during those mostly-hazy days, in my often-stuporous state, I would dream of really big-time partying: you know, the kind that takes place in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, or in Las Vegas or Hollywood any ol’ night of the week.
Well, I never made it to The Show. As things turned out, I was only ever a minor-league partier. By the time I made it to (pre-Katrina) New Orleans it was 1999, at which time I had been sober for 16 years. And it was just two weeks ago, in March of 2008, when I visited Las Vegas for the first time (now working on my 25th year of sobriety).
I was only in Vegas for a little under twenty-four hours, and then, specifically, for the occasion of my niece’s wedding. This event took place in a nice little (actually very tasteful) wedding chapel, with just a few guests in attendance. I was lucky enough to be on hand with my camera to document some parts of the occasion. When the champagne corks were popped, I abstained.
The little bit of the town I saw was everything I imagined it to be…and, really, I only saw a small slice of life there. But in just my little taste of the Vegas experience – from airport, to hotel, to dinner, to breakfast, to chapel, and back to airport – there were several sights familiar to anyone who has ever watched CSI.
And then, this last weekend, I got to visit the place all over again. Sort of. I went to see “21” – a film that has been out a couple of weeks now, and is the number one movie in the country. The movie has not enjoyed favorable reviews, but, at least for me, it’s easy to understand why it’s so popular. It is mostly set in Las Vegas (and partly in Boston), and the plot allows us to totally escape our everyday realities for a short time.
It’s the story of a small team of young, smart, good-looking college students (from MIT) who are recruited by their math professor to learn card counting. They eventually get good enough at their craft to make numerous visits to Las Vegas and win tons and tons of money.
It’s based on a true story, but, for most of us, it’s total fantasy. Personally, the movie was a vehicle to dare to imagine another kind of life: a different way to (perhaps) have utilized my math skills – and have ended up among the rich and famous. Well, at least the rich.
In these trying economic times, who can’t use a healthy dose of escapism to get our minds away from our everyday bill-paying struggles? And, if you’re a Boomer, as I am, who still doesn’t see a retirement date in sight…well, any way to find a “quick fix” to a tenuous financial situation seems quite an attraction.
When you watch “21” you’ll find yourself vicariously living a high-risk, high-adrenaline, beautiful-person life.
But don’t get too used to it. Afterwards, you’ll go home and heat up some left-over pizza.
Reality resumes.
Soundtrack Suggestion
I used to smoke, I used to drink I used to smoke, drink and dance the hoochie-koo I used to smoke and drink Smoke and drink and dance the hoochie-koo, oh yeah But now I’m standing on this corner Prayin’ for me and you…
When I moved down here to the Bay Area, and accepted a new “permanent” position as an academic dean at the College of Marin, I vowed to not use my work life as fodder for blog material. I just don’t want or need the kind of scrutiny that that kind of reporting might bring.
Not that my day job isn’t worthy of some commentary. Au contraire. For now, though, I’ll continue to leave it to other folks to describe my current workplace…
When you’re down and out, When you’re on the street, When evening falls so hard I will comfort you. I’ll take your part. When darkness comes And pains is all around, Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down.
As I was mulling over options after my visit to the neurologist, and in the context of my entire off-again/on-again relationship with Fibroplex (described in the previous entry), I scheduled another appointment with my primary-care physician. This is a report on that little adventure.
My primary-care guy is the one who has been ordering some tests and making the referrals to the specialists I’ve seen lately. During my initial appointment with him, I, of course, explained the history of my chronic-pain issues, including the opinion of one of my previous doctors that this is likely fibromyalgia I’m dealing with here. He was not exactly receptive to that theory, and suggested that, as much as anything, fibromyalgia is a diagnosis of exclusion. That is to say, before we could justify a fibromyalgia diagnosis, we should rule out a whole bunch of other things that just may be causing my symptoms.
I said, “OK.”
Hence my experiences, reported here previously, with such things as X-rays, bone scans, MRIs, blood and urine tests, physical therapy, and the neurologist consultation. As a result, we have ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, including: tumors, diabetes, lyme disease, Hashimoto’s disease, lupus, multiple sclerosis, Vitamin-D deficiency, and heavy-metal toxicity (to name just a few).
This has all been quite a relief, of course. It seems as if I’m not going to die anytime soon. At least of what ails me currently.
Of course, I am still in pain. All the while, I continue to take my daily regimen of vitamins and dietary supplements (including, now, a slightly-reduced dose of Fibroplex). And I continue to see my Feldenkrais practitioner, a person who is helping me change some of the personal habits that apparently have contributed to my bodily woes.
So. Back to the story of the doctor’s-office visit.
I related to him my recent experience of stopping Fibroplex, and the negative impact it had on my body in the space of only about four days.
He took a look at the bottle of Fibroplex I had brought along for my show-and-tell and asked me how it was I came to take this supplement at this dose. When I informed him that a naturopathic physician in Oregon had suggested it, he replied that I “might want to hire a lawyer to talk about that,” implying, of course, that I sue my naturopath.
I said, “well, that’s not going to happen.”
Then came the really good part. “There’s just no way that stopping this (as he held the supplement bottle in his hand) could have produced the effect you describe. I think you’re ascribing a great deal of power to these pills to keep you functioning. But that just couldn’t be. I think we have to consider that there’s a significant psychiatric factor at work here.”
Oh, good. How entirely wonderful. My own doctor, instead of saying “how interesting, I wonder how we can figure what’s really going on with your body, given this information,” …. instead chooses to think I’m, well, (to use a technical term) nuts.
Here’s what I believe.
We don’t understand a lot about our bodies. There are many things that just can’t be explained. And, with some of the explanations that do exist, there are many folks out there who don’t, or won’t, accept or believe them. For example, take the recent article in the New York Times entitled “Drug Approved. Is Disease Real?” This piece discusses the recent FDA approval of Lyrica as the first prescription medication for fibromyalgia (a condition “characterized by chronic, widespread pain of unknown origin”). The author contends, not-so-subtly, that fibromyalgia is not a disease and that people who suffer from the constellation of symptoms typically characterized by the condition simply have not learned to live with pain that most people are able to cope with. Further, there is really no benefit of the recently-approved drug, other than for the drug companies to make a lot of money. (Well, of course, this last part is likely accurate.)
I don’t know whether fibromyalgia is “real” or not. Whatever that might mean. And, if it is, I don’t know whether or not I have “it.” For the time being, I continue to have a condition that has no label, except to describe what is actually happening to me: chronic pain.
Yes, I acknowledge that there is quite likely a mind-body connection operative here. I wholeheartedly believe that. Psychoneuroimmunology is an established field in the scientific community, and I have confidently theorized that my long-standing anxieties associated with job loss; rejection and relationship loss; and dramatic life change, have all had a profound impact on my body.
So: let’s explore that. Let’s work with that. Let’s not dismiss my condition as merely “psychiatric” with no plan of action.
Because, the thing about pain is: it always hurts.
