This is Life
So, I’ve decided: my life is not stranger than fiction. My life is precisely like a real life, filled with joy, sadness, large and small risks, successful experiments, failed ventures, good people, weird and bad people, health, illness, disappointments, met and unmet expectations, and lots and lots of loss.
The differences I spoke of in my last entry turned out to be, as I had thought, irrefutably irreconcilable. There was simply going to be no way for the two of us to pursue a life path together with the clash in values that had emerged.
In an incredibly brief meeting yesterday, we parted ways peacefully and amicably. It took less than ten minutes at a local coffee shop to exchange keys and trade a few personal items from car to car.
While there are residual feelings of sadness and loss, feelings that I imagine will hang around for some time, at this point those negative emotions are offset by a profound sense of relief.
I tried. She tried. In the end, it simply didn’t work.
What Do I Know?
In the movie Stranger than Fiction, IRS auditor Harold Crick (Will Ferrell) is asked by university professor Jules Hilbert (Dustin Hoffman) what his favorite word is.
“Integer,” is the reply.
Now, that isn’t a bad choice for an accountant.
I’ve often thought about how I might answer that question; I believe what I’d say is “epistemology.” It is a word with such lyrical quality and, additionally, has great meaning to me as an academic. Epistemology is the branch of philosophy concerned with the nature and scope of knowledge, asking such questions, “what does it mean to know?”
Of course, one does not have to be an academic, scientist, or philosopher to love that word or be concerned with epistemological issues. How it is we know, how we come to know, and what we count as knowledge, are concepts everyone deals with in everyday life, in our ordinary and not-so-ordinary interactions with others.
Naturally, what we know, or think we do, bumps up against the elusive, oft-debated, and intellectually-and-emotionally-charged notions of “truth” and “reality.” What is true? What is real? … are questions we do not typically spend a lot of time thinking about, mostly because we tend to take a lot of things for granted. But our differing beliefs about what we know as true and real, as individuals, groups, organizations and nations, are the source of immense miscommunication, angst and conflict in the world. Perhaps we could and should spend a little more time paying attention to how it is we know what we know.
As I write this, I am in the midst of a gigantic inner struggle about the nature of reality: about what I think I know. Over the course of the last couple of weeks or so, a significant person in my life has expressed a worldview about our shared experience that is hugely at odds with my own. In fact, where once there was some sense of shared understanding, and a mission of mutual purpose, it all seems now to have been replaced with confusion, defensiveness, anger and distance.
Our versions of reality are, to me, incomprehensibly disparate. They are, perhaps, totally irreconcilable.
So, here I sit with my thoughts: about the nature of reality. And relationship.
Breathing in and out, in and out. Alone. Confused. Finding myself, once again, in the middle of a life that’s stranger than fiction.
My Mission Statement
Last March, I posted an entry entitled “Really: Who Are You?” – an essay where I attempted to outline, as clearly as I could, some views on the meaning of my existence. Since that time, it’s been a summer of continuing reflection as I significantly changed most of my vacation plans in order to address health issues and to confront, once again, the matter of my mortality.
As I was browsing some of my older computer files yesterday, I came across a document composed sometime in 2004. [That was the year I found myself struggling to redefine my identity after being involuntarily displaced from long-term employment (with the Oregon University System) and commenced a process of job-search (and high stress) that ultimately lasted three and a half years.] I entitled that 2004 file “Personal Mission Statement” – which I restate here:
The multiple purposes of my lifetime on this planet are to:
Nurture my intellectual, emotional, physical, and spiritual selves
Have deep and meaningful relationships
Experience life to the fullest and live until I die
Show up, be present, and tell the truth
Be involved, yet free of attachment, and, above all things
Be true to myself.
Amazingly, I still stand by these statements of purpose.
This is my life.
Man plans, God laughs
I have a European friend who, like me, at this moment, is on vacation. And, somewhat parallel to my experience, it appears that her time “on holiday” is not exactly all red roses and vanilla ice cream. (Whatever that might mean...I just made that up.) I know of this through her tweets...as I listen to her voice (on Twitter) speak of tears and pain.
Now, my vacation does not feel as viscerally low as hers sounds. However, I did schedule my vacation time this summer to relax, re-charge, and re-energize. And it’s not turning out that way at all.
Life: how cunning and clever you are. Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. (Man plans, God laughs.)
My first week of vacation was scheduled for the week of June 22, and I had plans to re-visit Santa Fe and take lots of photos. Well, you know what happened then...June 22 was the day I ended up scheduling my prostate biopsy. The entire week was devoted to that procedure and my recovery. No break there.
I tried to be philosophical and say, “well, I’ve always got the time away in Oregon and two days of the Oregon Country Fair!” This weekend was supposed to be another photo-filled few days for me in my old stomping grounds, at one of my favorite events in the universe.
At the time of my biopsy, it didn’t much occur to me that I’d still be recovering this far down the line (it’ll be three weeks tomorrow from the day of the procedure). But, recovering, still, I am.
Because of the rather unpleasant symptoms associated with this bumpy recovery process, I’ve been advised to limit my physical activity. And, since my visits to the Country Fair typically involve hours of walking with heavy camera equipment, I decided against attending at all.
Bummer.
Not that my time in Oregon has been a total waste. Actually, quite the contrary. I’ve had time to visit with a few of my favorite people in the world, which has been quite delightful.
However, here’s what I recognize: I’m not rested. I’m not relaxed. I’m not re-charging. And, I’m mildly depressed. My body issues have tended to dominate both vacation periods, necessitating a change in my photography plans (my preferred time-off, relaxation activity).
I feel out-of-control and cheated. You know, the “life is not fair” kinda thing.
Doctoring in the Western World
Please note:
This long essay (it’s at least four times optimum blog-post length) makes my personal case against the “medical establishment.” I do not take on the insurance companies here, though, but rather the doctors who provide front-line health care for us all.
Although I deal at length with the PSA blood test in the discussion below, I totally omit mention of the controversy currently raging about this procedure.
Caveat lector: this post would likely merit an “R” rating near the end...
I’m one of those old geezers for whom the TV commercials advertising such products as Flomax and Proscar are made: I have an enlarged prostate [benign prostatic hyperplasia (BPH)]. BPH is characterized by a number of urinary symptoms, one of the most obvious being the number of times I have to get up during the night to relieve myself. (For a list of other symptoms, click here.)
As I have monitored my condition over the last 12 years, with the assistance of various urologists in the cities I have lived, I have regularly (at least every six months) undergone the blood test for prostate specific antigen (PSA), the front-line screening protocol for prostate cancer. During this time, as my prostate has grown in size, my PSA has risen slowly, steadily, but not dangerously. I keep track of the results by means of an Excel spreadsheet and graph, and even furnish my doctors with a least-squares plot of these data at every appointment. At one point, back in late 2002, there was an unusual spike in the one of the readings, and I was advised to have a prostate biopsy. This procedure is a very invasive and uncomfortable one, but I went ahead, in early 2003, and did it anyway. After eight full days anxiously waiting, I finally was informed that the result was negative. Since that time I have simply continued to monitor the slow, steady, predictable rise of my PSA level.
Well: except that that all changed recently. In both January and March of this year, my PSA tests have yielded significantly higher readings – data that do not fit neatly within the paradigm of my least-squares analysis. After the January result, my urologist reacted as I did: one test alone means nothing. Let’s wait a bit (a few weeks) and do it over again.
And that’s what we did, though the second test in March indicated a slightly elevated level compared to the January number. It was at this point that he stated that it was time for concern and said, “you know where we go from here.” He meant a biopsy, of course, and I declined, indicating that I wanted to wait for one more blood (PSA) test before undergoing that procedure again.
However, he was very insistent that we do a biopsy, and I was just as opinionated that it was not yet time. I told him that I had one more hypothesis to test out before I would submit to the procedure. Simply put, my theory is: my PSA number is inflated due to a new dietary supplement I had started taking. Last October (over two months prior to the January blood test), I began a product called ArthroZyme, advertised as an anti-inflammatory agent, to see if it would help me out with the chronic muscle pain that has plagued me for the last few years. The active ingredient in this product is a proteolytic enzyme called serratiopeptidase. And, as it turns out, PSA itself is itself a proteolytic enzyme. I believe it is much more than coincidental that immediately after I began taking a proteolytic enzyme supplement I start testing differently for a specific proteolytic enzyme. I believe the two phenomena are connected and that this is the simplest possible, and most likely, explanation. I contend that this hypothesis is one that merits serious consideration, and that I should, therefore, simply stop taking the supplement and re-test.
As it turned out, I was only able to leave the urologist’s office in early April after hearing the strongest language he could muster that I was making a mistake and the he strongly recommended this test. NOW.
Of course, I don’t think I’m being at all unreasonable.
I’m the guy, after all, who was told, by TWO doctors, in no uncertain terms, one night in an emergency room, that he had bladder cancer. But I didn’t, as the cystoscopy (now there’s an invasive procedure), performed a couple of days later in a doctor’s office, conclusively demonstrated.
I’m the one who submitted to a biopsy back in 2003 on the basis of a PSA spike. And I didn’t have cancer, then, either.
I’m the one who has been totally discounted by my primary care physician, to the point of being told that my body aches and pains were “psychiatric” in origin and that the supplements I take (and rely on) couldn’t possibly be doing me any good.
And, I’m the person who was kept waiting for a half hour in a neurologist’s office after having experienced the intake nurse botch the explanation of my test results – only to finally talk to the doctor and learn that the (MRI) result in question was inconsequential.