The Physical State of ME in CA (sorry bad title)

(my dog, who will never be a candidate for adrenal fatigue)

This week some of the past caught up with me. It turns out that wherever you go, there you are, and all of your strengths and weaknesses and neurosis and spiritual tasks are right there as well. I think it's time for a little introspection.

I was thinking about my original goal in this blog :

"I intend to revisit my memories of my recent past in an attempt to knit myself together again and heal the chasm of the last five years so that I can step onto higher ground on the other side. Bring the old me integrated into the new me, pull together the east and the west in my life."

This week I am taking an opportunity to examine where I am at with one of the fairly recently emerged parts of my life that has been the hardest for me to come to terms with. Physical weakness.

For part of this week I felt really, really tired. Tired like my heart is pumping really hard and I am breathing heavy just lifting laundry into the dryer and I am forcing myself, step by step, through an effort of will, to complete simple tasks like cooking lunch and reading an article for my class. In between I flop on the bed and close my eyes. Now, I didn't go out drinking, or do a really intense workout yesterday. I didn't party or overextend myself accomplishing something or take a whirlwind trip or anything that would account for my level of exhaustion. These periodic episodes of extreme fatigue have become part of my life for the last 3 or 4 years, and have had a huge role in shaping it from day to day. My hormones, that wash of intense stop and go signals running through the bloodstream at all times, have just dipped into some unfortunate imbalance. I have a condition called "adrenal fatigue", wherein my adrenal glands and the necessary hormones that they produce are not working up to snuff. Simple, yet disastrous. In my journey with this illness, I am now at the point where what it is and why it came to wield such a heavy hand in directing my life don't really merit much more consideration. I have already spent endless hours lying somewhere feeling crappy and pondering them. I am weary of the incredibly expensive, time consuming, largely unhelpful and sometimes demeaning experiences that I have had with the medical establishment in my quest for answers and help. If information about this illness is of interest to anyone else, and I do totally recommend researching it if you or someone you know could be ill, here are some links that have found to be helpful. You really need to be your own advocate:

http://www.drlam.com/articles/adrenal_fatigue.asp http://www.articleclick.com/Article/Chronic-Fatigue-Syndrome-and-Adrenal-Exhaustion/1009817
Also the book, "The Shwarzbein Principle."

The only part really worth thinking about though for me at this point is how do I live with it and manage it to the best of my abilities. Yesterday I may have been fine. Today I may feel like I got hit by a truck. In a few days I will probably feel fine again. That seems to be how it goes. I do remember though, filling out a form for a doctor's office three years ago this fall, when I was trying to diagnose this strange illness, and estimating that at that point I was spending 30 to 40 percent of my life dealing with extreme exhaustion or some of the other myriad unsavory side effects caused by unruly hormone levels, and I can say now that it is probably less than 5 percent of my life that is affected. I have put an incredible amount of effort and work and sometimes money into recovery, and it has largely paid off as I am usually a normal person now. (At least physically, I know what you all are thinking!) But the experience of being incapacitated, of having to reconsider the assumptions that I had about the strength of my body and the level of my ability, has changed forever the way that I see myself and the way that I live my life.

I used to run. Often and for long distances. Even when it was freezing cold. I was always outside, always up for physical activity and fun. Swimming, hiking, biking, backpacking. In my late teens and early twenties I led back country trail crews, swinging an axe or wielding a cross-cut saw while hiking through the woods. Then in my mid to late twenties I started farming for work and for fun. I would shovel truckload after truckload of manure, turn over large patches of earth with a pitchfork by hand, haul buckets of produce and water in the hot sun and pouring rain and morning mist and evening dusk. I often led crews of other people in this work and I loved every minute of it. It was very hard work but I felt so strong and healthy and alive.

A few years ago my vitality had waned and I started to feel sometimes like there was a grey curtain between myself and the world. I couldn't get motivated for work or much of anything anymore. My body ached, I was often tired, had a headache or felt nauseous, overly emotional or depressed. My heart beat erratically and the simplest tasks could feel dangerously difficult. It was hard to explain this to family, friends and employers and I often didn't even try. I became unreliable with work and social engagements, and my poor family have seen me through some extremely broken down states. All the hard work that I had known previously was nothing compared to learning to be strong and happy and alive in a weak and tired and nauseous body. I am still working on it, and on accepting my body in whatever state it is in every day. I am so far from being good at this.

I have learned a few things though, that I may never have learned otherwise. At first I waited to get better, assuming that this would be pretty quick and easy, because I was so strong and healthy and have never had any real health problems before. I couldn't wait to get back to normal and forget that I had ever felt weak. That was not the future that the fates held for me. Three years later I can barely remember what I used to feel like before the illness, and I have come to accept that what was normal for me never will be again. This illness has been a great teacher for me. I learned to rest. Simple as this sounds, it does not come naturally to me. I learned to not care so much what others think. People have often been disappointed as I, who used to be one of those people who never said "no" and organized everything, broke engagements or didn't follow through with plans or missed meetings or parties. My social world has shrunk, but my family and dearest friends have still been here for me. I also learned the joys of fat and protein! My Dad and husband were pretty jealous when I received a medical recommendation that plenty of Americans probably wish for: eat MORE fat and protein. Bacon here we come. And I learned to ask for help. As well a very difficult one for me, that I am still working on. I thank the universe regularly for my husband, who is a strong, trustworthy and caring person. This would have been so much harder without him. The biggest one though is that I learned a little better how to let go and trust. It was extremely hard to get this illness diagnosed. More than half of what doctors told me or prescribed for me to do just exacerbated my problems. I have improved with the help of a few wise healers, but mostly by listening to my own body, and trusting my own instincts on what will work for me and make me heal. It has often been a question for me as well, while wracked by intense nausea for hours on end, or catching my breath from blindingly terrifying heart palpitations, if I will indeed ever heal? And it is really only trust of the universe and of my own instincts that reassures me that I will completely emerge from this someday, and I will be stronger from it. My fledgling trust has proven correct so far, because as each year goes by I slowly climb toward complete strength and wellness again.

I still wish that this had never happened to me. I still wish that I was one of those people who could remain strong and active and healthy with the strength of a 20 year old into my 30's and 40's. But I don't think about it that much anymore. No one survives the years intact, life takes it's toll on us all. And the gifts of stronger faith and trust and patience, while they are not as fun or flashy as the ability to run 5 miles and barely break a sweat, are probably more useful. I am starting to be able to even feel a little bit grateful.

Joining the Flowing River of Headlights and Taillights

(Bounty from the trip to the farmer's market.)
Life is starting to come into focus a little more. We did some errand running this week. Got some furniture. Had to take one of the dogs to the vet. Found the nearest Trader Joe's. Got a home phone. Made some dinner dates. I started another grad school semester. The free time is sliding away and my mind is honing in, focusing.

As I have more social experiences, I have more opportunities to match my expectations against the community scenarios that are presented. It is a different culture here. For example, we went to a "back to school" picnic at my youngest step-son's public elementary school the other night. I baked a dish from scratch, expecting when it said to bring food that this must be a potluck. I thought that we would meet is teacher, see the classrooms, maybe hear a little speech from the principal. This is what would have happened in Maine, or even southern Arizona, where I first started out teaching. When we arrived though, there was no sign of any teachers or other school staff, and no potluck table, but all of the parents were camped out on the over-irrigated lawn on blankets with picnic baskets or take-out containers of their own food, sipping on wine and beer and schmoozing it up while rock music blared over the p.a. and the kids ran around like happy little animals. There was definitely no speech from the principal, but sitting there with their wine were some famous actors and many of the minds sitting at the writing tables behind network sitcoms and Hollywood blockbusters. West L.A. is a weird place, man. It's dripping with money, which I find to be unappealing, but there is an air of irreverence and a laissez-faire attitude about structure, (school schmool, who cares abut meeting the kids' teacher? Let's have a drink), that is kind of conducive to the creative mind. And I do have one of those.

While I am on this topic of cultural expectations, those Northeasterners among you will appreciate the fact that the local NPR station seems to play mostly reggae and world music! That is just a little different from MPBN's Bach and maybe letting loose with some classic jazz on Friday nights. But you know, I prefer reggae. I'm just not used to it mixed with my Scott Simon and Nina Tottenberg. It's not all bad, just different.

Tonight I was driving home from a visit to my step-daughter in Claremont, passing over the endless miles of highway, watching the mountains, the lurid billboards and the city skyline darken against the incredibly beautiful sunset. (One benefit of smog is that it can help produce really colorful, striated sunsets. Everything really does have a positive side to it somewhere!) As I was traveling in the flowing river of other headlights and taillights I was thinking about the myriad lives that are existing all around me here. I, with all of my garden love and dirty, wood chopping hands now live in this huge, beastly city amongst all of these other people and all of the lives that they made or brought with them here. And the coyotes and the owls and the pigeons and the rats. We all live here. Before arriving I just couldn't picture it, me as part of all this. Now I feel the pull, I'm sinking into life here already. I'm glad to have this time when my head is still above water, and I can see it all fro the outside, because I can already feel how that won't last. I'll admit, I am still a little afraid. Will diving into this world make me different? Will it change me in ways that I wouldn't like now? Will that matter later?

Fears of change aside though, there have also been some immediate opportunities for affirmation of my existing skill set and experiences. The first woman that I met at the aforementioned picnic is a fellow Vermonter who went on with me to extol the virtues of Vermont living and in comparison disparage everywhere else on earth, (as all good Vermonters will do when we meet each other outside of our native homeland.) Also, it turns out that the woman who lives across the street from me is the Community Service Coordinator for the local high school, and they just inherited an overgrown plot of land and want to make a garden. Not many people can say that they have a lot of experience with that kind of thing...but for better or worse I can! Perhaps my talents will be put to use here. And as my mind turns to the future, I am dreaming big dreams for my backyard. I see a garden, I see tomatoes spilling over the pots in the driveway, I see nasturtiums and cucumbers overflowing the flower beds. I see a couple of hens eating kitchen scraps and laying eggs in the side alley. I have already begun talk to our gardener, Jose about this. (I've never had a gardener before but he came with the house and though frankly he is kind of old and I could weed circles around him, he's very sweet and methodical and he rakes the yard once a week and helps us bring in our trash cans and I'm very glad that he has a job here.) Anyway, once I get organized I'll have some garden beds up and planted in no time. (At least this is what I tell myself now.....) I wonder where I can find a wheelbarrow around here?

Endless Summer

We've been in CA for a little over a week now. It's like suspended summer here. Ever day is sunny. Being from Maine, this is still hard for me to believe! In Maine we study the forecast, holding onto sunny day predictions like guiding lights that sustain us through the fog. Those sunny days in Maine are the prefect gems that remind you why you live there, and if you miss them..buddy you are in for some sad times. You have to pay attention and hurry, get in that picnic, that day at the beach, that camping trip in the mountains quick, this weekend, let nothing interfere because it might be our last chance! And you must remain vigilant and not give up hope. If it is rainy for the entire months of June and July you can't give up on summer...you just need to rearrange everything and cram it into those two golden weeks in August. Otherwise you miss it until next year!

If I were home in Maine right now I would be scurrying like everyone else to pack as much as possible into the last precious days of summer. Every swim could be the last. I would be hauling the biggest, heaviest, most precious items out of the garden: the tomatoes, the eggplants, the peppers, the melons, the squash. If I were back on my old homestead I would be caning over a hot stove late into the night, stacking up those jars on the shelves. I would be feeling the pressure to get the wood chopped and stacked on the back porch before snow. I would be studying the forecast and keeping the frost cloth ready, and closing the hoophouse doors at night. This has always been such an exultant but bittersweet time of year for me. I am usually tan and muscled and dirty and tired much of the time from the summer's labors. It's my favorite time of year, but it marks the end. The harvest has come in, the work is done, there is bounty everywhere and the days of warmth are numbered and silvered around the edges with frost. They soon slide into a slow decline of warmth and light....into the darkness. The activity is over, the rest of the year is a time to rest and wait. It seems a long time until it will come again.

Here...there is no such pressure. Each and every day is a shining array of sunshine, ocean breezes and 80 degree weather. It is ALWAYS cool and refreshing in the morning and in the evening, ALWAYS hot in the afternoon. Variations include perhaps a slight bit of fog in the early morning or a slightly stronger and usual breeze in the afternoon. Ther are ALWAYS fruit and flowers here. To my New England sensitivities this seems wrong and suspicious somehow. Truly, how do people ground themselves and orient their lives without commanding and punishing weather patterns? I guess I will have to find out. As it stands for me right now though, I feel suspended in summer, with time on my hands stretching out ahead of me. I can hardly remember the last time that I felt that way. Probably my early twenties? My suspicions about the unnaturalness of the climate really hold very little clout in my mind at the moment. Perhaps it's the sun already causing a haze in my thinking? Soon I may have a perma-tan and spend my days rollerblading Venice beach in my bikini with my toy poodle. Anyway it is just too nice to not just enjoy it. It's a quick bike ride down the hill to the beach from our little rented house, and over the last week I have experienced a few incredibly precious moments of complete lightness, complete opening, while watching the sun on the waves. It was like I stepped outside of my life and even my mind for a moment and floated above it all on the breeze. Complete joy. For no other reason than just...'cuz.

Another much more mundane element helping to create my suspended life at the moment is a temporary cash shortage. The move and the family transitions of the last few months have been very expensive and we are in a period of just trying to catch up from that. I am not crying poor because we live very fortunate lives and I am sure that we will be fine very soon, and the only reason that I mention it is because, although some moments of worry and annoyance have come of it, some really good and important things come clear when you are .....well, broke, even if it is just temporary. We don't drive around running errands all of the time. I hate errands. We don't go out much. I love to cook! Many meals from the last week have included the delicious and free mint, rosemary and lavender that happen to grow in our front yard. ( I would use these anyway, but I am extra appreciative of them this week.) We don't have a TV yet so we read at night. This reminds me of a time in my life when I lived a life relatively disconnected from mainstream society and I had pretty much forgotten how nice it can be. I can hear the crickets. We look for fun nearby, like the beach! I have been to the beach more times in the last week than in all of last summer in Maine. And I lived near the beach! In the larger picture, I have thought this week that we, probably like most people, more often look up the socio-economic ladder than down, and that is not a good thing. I have also thought that the things for happiness and survival are simpler than we realize most of the time. This sounds really cliche, sorry, but it is true. I hope I remember it next week.

Someone asked me today what I think of living here, and it is still much too early to say much for sure. As I said, I feel suspended, and parts of me are slowly arriving, as I suspect they will for a long time. I am outside the heavy turn of the season in my native home for the first time in a long time, and I am outside of the rituals and routines of any community at the moment. My life is feeling pretty wide open, and I'm not finding it hard to appreciate that.