I thought I’d return, today, to a discussion of health and health care…issues that are constantly on my mind.

Ten days ago I had a second appointment with my neurologist. After my first visit late last year, I had a battery of tests, including brain and spinal MRIs – and more blood and urine work than I had ever had done at one time before. So, during this subsequent appointment, I was prepared to receive the results. After arrival, and hanging out for a few minutes in the waiting room, I was soon called to the back office where the doctor’s nurse practitioner saw me first.

She asked why I was there.

(Huh? Why am I here? You don’t know that?!)

I politely (as I could) informed her that I’d had a lot of tests done since the last time, and I was here for the follow-up. She asked if anything had changed with my condition, and I said, “no, we’ve done no interventions, only tests.”

She looked up my results on the computer in front of her, and quickly found the report from my brain MRI. She read from the screen, noting that the result was “unremarkable – that’s a good thing.” Then she scrolled to the report from the lumbar MRI, and started reading. She was totally winging this, I surmised, and when she got to a certain part that sounded like it might be going into delicate territory, something about an “irregularity” perhaps (I forgot the exact word, I was stunned that she was so obviously unprepared), she abruptly stopped and said, “well, we should probably let the doctor interpret these findings for you.”

I icily agreed. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Why don’t we let her do that.”

And then: I was left to hang out in the office alone for the next 25 minutes as I contemplated my fate, wondering what it could possibly be that we had left unread and unsaid.

Well, it turned out that the waiting was the hardest part. This clueless nurse practitioner had led me to the brink for nothing, really. When the doctor arrived, she stated that the lumbar MRI indicated I have a disc pressing on a nerve in the L5-S1 area, which, if I were symptomatic, should be causing shooting pain down my leg. Well, that’s not an issue I have, so the theory is that my body may have adjusted to this condition – and I may or may not ever experience this as a problem.

The MRI results apparently ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, though, including MS. Despite the bumpy start with the nurse practitioner, I was now thinking, “this is going well.”

The more interesting result was from the blood work. It seems I have a terrifically high level of Vitamin B6, to the point that I am now diagnosed with “B6 toxicity” – as a possible explanation for my array of bodily aches and pains, especially my peripheral neuropathy. She ordered me to cease all forms of B6 intake immediately (in my ambitious daily regimen of dietary supplements).

When I got home to read the labels of my supplement bottles, I discovered that the major source of Vitamin B6 for me is in the supplement that I attribute to saving my life last year. It’s called Fibroplex, and it’s been nothing short of a wonder drug. So, I wondered,  what would happen if I stopped? …might my body have healed enough in the last thirteen months that I don’t really need it any more?

Well, despite my nervousness, last week I eliminated all B6 sources. Cold turkey. Including my beloved Fibroplex.

It didn’t take long to get an answer about the consequences. Within a couple of days, my head started to hurt. My ears clogged up; my hearing diminished. Within three days I had a splitting, mind-blowing headache, and I started to feel a veil of depression descend over me. By the fourth day, the pain from my head was becoming more generalized throughout my body, and I was remembering the awfulness of what my condition (whatever this is, perhaps it’s fibromyalgia, maybe something else entirely) can really bring to my life. And, I was thoroughly depressed. I showed up at work that day, but I was totally worthless. I was in an absolute fog the entire time.

It was during that morning I concluded this particular experiment was an obvious, utter failure. I went home at noon and started taking Fibroplex again. And I took some more that evening, so by the next morning, day number five, I was practically back to normal (for me).

So, what with all my recent doctor appointments in the last few months, and thousand and thousands of dollars of tests later, all I know is that I have a disc/nerve irregularity that appears in an MRI – and likely a case of B6 toxicity. Except: it just so happens that my major source of B6 is actually allowing me to function in this world. With a (mostly) manageable level of pain. And depression-free.

I have had another look at living on the edge. It took me only four days to start a very real journey into a living hell; thankfully I knew how to bring myself back to something resembling health.

This whole journey called life is pretty scary at times.

And, I’m still looking for answers.

I have recently written, rather pointedly, about the way technology tends to keep us disconnected – that is, out of touch with each other on a human level – more than ever before. Today I have yet another example of this. To wit, I have recently been on a very frustrating technological mission: one that totally consumed me over the course of an entire weekend.

The story starts ten days ago when I took delivery on my new laptop computer.

(Yes, in addition to my new camera body, I have indulged myself in still another updated piece of technology. And one with a certain, defined learning curve associated with it, of course.)

After spending a few days loading software onto the new machine, and generally trying to acquaint myself with some of the features, I decided I wanted to put together a home network. No sweat, right? Microsoft boasts about how easy this is, and, it seems, everyone is doing it. Plus, I had already purchased a wireless router and installed it (so my laptop could access the internet): my network was practically complete! (Or at least I thought – and was so informed by a techie friend of mine).

Not. Quite. So.

Consider this: I now have two Windows computers, each with a different operating system (the new one has Vista Ultimate installed; of course, the older one has XP Pro), and a different version of Norton Internet Security (the popular firewall and anti-virus software). It just so happens that the way that one sets up a network within these two operating-system environments is totally unique, so one has to learn two ways of doing things…and to deal with the inevitable incompatibility issues (but it’s all Microsoft software! …what’s the problemo?).

Well, let me tell you, there are LOTS of issues here. I spent an entire lost weekend trying to put this all together. During the last two days, I only took time out to eat, sleep, and watch the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl. And it was only just tonight that I finally have a fully functioning home network.

All of this activity kept me in the house, out of touch, and totally frazzled for the days just past. I didn’t even write my usual weekend blog entry yesterday! For the entire time, I gave up both human contact as well as virtual contact – for the sake of technology?

What have I been thinking!?!?

As I mentioned awhile back, I scheduled myself to attend a session of Nikon School this month…and yesterday was the day. It was the epitome of Geekdom (spending the entire day in a darkened hotel conference room with 200+ other photo-nerd types), as we really didn’t talk photography, per se, but rather, all those detailed technical tasks that must be accomplished in the world of digital photography after you snap the shutter. So: we covered the process of downloading the images to the computer; browsing and culling them; organizing them coherently; editing; and, finally, outputting the final product to the web, slideshow, or printer. In case you’re interested, the full set of notes from the day is available here.

Today, I’m feeling like a fully-credentialed Geek. (And I have a Nikon School Certificate to prove it!)

Soundtrack Suggestion

Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don’t take my Kodachrome away

(“Kodachrome” – Paul Simon)

Recently I received one of those “chain-letter-type” emails from a friend in Nevada (I was one of 25 who received the mailing); the message contained a series of silly personal questions, with the request that you delete the friend’s answers, fill in your own responses, and then send them out to a whole new series of contacts. I’m still thinking about whether I’m going to subject anybody I know to this exercise, so I haven’t forwarded the letter as of yet. However, one of the questions that got me thinking was: “what do you want to do before you die?”

My Las Vegas compatriot offered up a very good (and succinct) reply: “live.” Now, this is something I’ve been saying since my 30s: I’m going to live until I die. So, I smiled when I saw this answer.

However, that goal is pretty non-specific. It doesn’t say anything, exactly, about what you’re (I’m) going to do, or how you’re (I’m) going to do it. Or when. Or why.

So, how might I respond to this question? And say something that has a tad more meat? Well, I guess I’d offer: I’d like to take about a zillion more photographs.

For over thirty years now, I’ve been more-or-less obsessed with getting out there in the world, a camera hanging around my neck, and snapping away. Even after this much time, having attempted and then moved on from the life of a professional photographer long ago, and having changed the rest of my life, personally and professionally, over and over (and over yet) again, photography is one thing I just can’t let go of. As much as anything, I’d say this passion defines who I am.

Yes, for sure: I’m an academic. After four college degrees, how could that not be the case? I’m a researcher. A writer. A counselor. An administrator. A TechnoMonk. Yes, there are many different labels I could apply to myself, all of them apt.

The thing is, most days I wake up thinking, not about my day job, nor about my consulting work (the activities that pay the bills), but rather about picture-taking and camera equipment.

Weird.

I admit that even my other preoccupations, namely health and chronic-pain issues, are intimately linked to my thoughts about photography. I often describe my art as “wandering-around photography” – which means that I find a setting and simply walk about with my camera, seeking to discover some image that’s there waiting for me.

Obviously, I can’t really engage in such physical activity without a certain level of health. So, the healthier I am, the more I can wander around, and the more I wander around, the more photographs I can make. All the time and energy I throw into maintaining and improving my physical health are really investments to help me find the time and energy to pursue this one true passion.

I’m mystified by the individuals who, upon retiring, eventually seek to return to their former work because they don’t know what to do with themselves. That would never be the case with me. There are not enough hours in the day, not enough days in a lifetime, to do all the things I can imagine doing. I am a high-performer in my day job, but what that activity is really geared to is allowing me to finance the more interesting parts of life.

Yes, I’m going to live until I die. And during that time I’ll be wandering around: with the camera’s viewfinder glued to my left eyeball.

Within these pages, I continue to visit and revisit the themes of our culture’s relationship to cell phones and the general level of noise pollution we’re all subjected to on a daily basis. There are precious few places to go, it seems, to escape and find some peace and quiet.

I suppose part of my personal issue here is that I am a rather quiet guy myself…a quality that happens to go along with my reputation as a good listener. Everyone says so. For example, when we talk, I look you in the eye. And I pay close attention. I don’t interrupt. I strive to really grasp the meaning of what you’re trying to say to me. I ask questions of you to help deepen my understanding. I try not to insert my opinions where they’re inappropriate or unwanted. I really hope I don’t say anything to discount your ideas and/or feelings. And then: I’m just plain silent and attentive while you’re speaking.

Simply put, I’m a highly-skilled active listener. My training as a counselor, years ago now, has served me well in developing and maintaining a healthy set of communication skills. In fact, I have even been characterized as “scary” in this area. A female friend of mine once told me that I likely frighten other women away…since people are generally not very accustomed to being paid attention to so intensely. “Your ability to be present is very rare and actually a little scary,” she said.

Today, in the Sunday edition of the Marin Independent Journal, I found a reprint of an article from the Vallejo Times-Herald. The headline is “Performers Confront Cell Phone Offenders,” and the piece talks about entertainers’ issues with folks who show up to performances (plays, musical events, stand-up comedians, etc.) without turning off their phones. This is, of course, maddening for all concerned. For example, as an actor, how do you continue in your rhythm if a cell phone rings during a dramatic moment of a live on-stage performance?

My question for the day is: how does this very dynamic play out all the time in our own lives? How are we supposed to keep our personal rhythm when all anyone wants to do is pay attention to those electronic devices hanging from their belt, rattling around in their jacket pocket, or buried in their purse?

If we, as human beings, ever had the ability to really pay attention to each other, it seems to have totally evaporated. The article I read today contains a quote from comic Johnny Steele who characterizes this as a “national discourtesy epidemic.”

I absolutely agree. For all our gadgets that supposedly keep us connected, we are, in reality, totally disconnected. I submit that we just do not know how to be present with others: how to be present with just one other person. I believe we’re always paying attention to something else.

I was having dinner the other night with a long-time friend who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I was trying to explain the stresses related to employment changes, and the physical challenges of my life, in recent times. I was unsuccessful in my communication efforts. During the conversation, I needed to halt at one point as the cell phone on his belt apparently vibrated: he held up his finger and then checked a test message that had just come in. And then, while trying to convey my mood and worries about these challenges, the message I got? My feelings don’t really matter: all I need to do is think of all the poor folks in Bangladesh who have it worse than me…and I should perk right up.

Truly, I believe, we’re a disconnected society, unable to care about or pay attention to each other. And I know it’s probably not the fault of cell phones, or TVs or computers. But regarding keeping us connected? They do just the opposite.