Category: Just Life

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On a Personal Note

Week before last, I had a stem cell treatment for my hip. I’d been struggling for a few years with arthritis, trying many alternative treatments that helped, but the blasted thing just kept getting worse. Since I love to travel, I knew I’d have to do something more serious sooner or later. Last summer, I got a chance to go to Peru, so I broke down and had a steroid injection just so I could climb all those magnificent sites. And I did it! But steroids don’t last and they’re toxic, so I started researching both hip replacement and stem cell treatment. Stem cells are undifferentiated cells that can differentiate and divide, creating new tissue.

I’ve always been a fan of natural medicine. It’s my first go-to. For me, allopathic medicine has its place—especially for serious accidents and as a last resort—but often there are better options.

I got to know more quite a bit about natural medicine in my life. After graduate school, I worked at Bastyr University in Seattle part time. For those who don’t know, Bastyr is one of only a few schools for naturopaths in the US. When I worked there, the headquarters was in an old elementary school, but now they have a 51-acre campus.

My partner all during the 80’s and into the 90’s was a naturopath, Ruth Adele, who now practices in Colorado Springs. She and I became professionals together, me a professor and she a doctor, and I watched her become one of the best naturopaths I know.

The problem with stem cells is the same problem with much natural medicine—health insurance doesn’t cover it. Insurance is covering more and more natural procedures and eventually, I think the two fields will come together, but this might not happen in my life time. Hip replacements are covered and everyone I talked to said they’re pretty easy these days and recovery time not so bad. But when I stared at that artificial hip in the doctor’s office, something in me just couldn’t quite say yes.

So I saved some money from an extra gig and finally did it. And I am really glad I did! I’m healing well, my pain is way down, and I’m very hopeful I’ll be traveling pain-free soon.

We have several options here in Colorado for stem cell treatment, but the Centeno-Schultz Clinic has been doing research on stem cells and treatments for fifteen years now. People travel from all over to come to it. That’s who I went to. They have a clinic here in Broomfield and one in the Cayman Islands where they can do the best treatment of growing your stem cells so you have gobs of them and reinjecting them at a later date. The US doesn’t allow this now, but it’s done in all over Europe and Asia. You can travel there to have it done, too. But that was a bit out of my price range, so I went for same-day reinjection. I instructed my bones to grow a bunch of stem cells and my doctor said I had the best harvest that day. So visualization and meditation, plus a really skilled doctor did the trick.

This clinic does two PRP injections, one before and one after, to really bring the best healing to the area. That’s Platelet Rich Plasma, a concentration from you own blood of the prime healing factors in the body. Those little suckers really go to work. The stem cells (pictured here) are harvested from your own body as well (iliac crest for you technical folks) and reinjected in between those two PRP shots. Yes, I was a pin cushion, but surprisingly the injections are not as painful as I’d anticipated. The stem cell harvesting was a breeze, but they give you just a little chemical help.

So now I’m growing a new hip. Part of one at least. I still have to be careful with the new tissue, but it will grow stronger and stronger. I’m glad I made this decision.

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The Kindness of Cats

This last month has been intense. The astrological configurations have been through the roof, and for me with my planets, up close and personal. My favorite astrologers and sound healers have been sending out explanations and meditations to help with the rough waters. My cats have been the kindest of all.

Clcleo-in-front-of-the-new-tveo, our tortoiseshell, was raised feral. She’s the sweetest cat imaginable. One day after I was bemoaning all the challenges to Stephen, I came out to my garage office where she hangs out with me when the weather is wet or too cold. I found right next to my chair a headless mouse. How thoughtful.

Cleo comes to visit throughout the day. When I hear the cat flap, I look to see if she’s got anything in her mouth. She likes to share her catches with me. Mostly she brings mice in from the open space. I’ve become used to the crunching of mouse heads. Lately she’s been on a bird kick.

Image result for cat with snake this is perfection

The thing is, though, the critters are not always expired when she brings them in. She sets them down and then chases them all over again. Twice now, the birds have flow up out of her reach and I have to open the garage door to let them fly away. Cleo is so confused by this. “You don’t like my gifts, mommy?”

Arwen, the older calico, is more tradition in her consoarwen-on-chairling of her humans. She allows us to pet her. She sits on the couch between me and Steve and gets stroked from both sides. Seriously though, she is kind and expresses concern if we’re ill or upset. She stayed with Stephen while he healed from a recent surgery. I’ve felt a little paw placed on me from time to time when I’ve been upset. She grounds me. She tells me I’m loved.

Even Sekhmet, the famous warrior lioness, is kind. The first time I saw her at her shrine in Karnack, she looked down at me as if through several layers of worlds. I felt a deep compassion from her. She felt for us that we have to struggle in this world. She offered unconditional love.

sekhmet

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Fireworks: A Poem

From the Mysteristas Blog:

Something a little different. Today I’m offering a poem I wrote way back in 1996 about watching fireworks on a 4th of July night after leaving a long-term relationship. I hope you enjoy it.

Another 4th of July

I am sitting again
in the dark of your yard,
waiting for the fireworks
on this hot 4th of July night.
I can hear the crowds down on Ruxton
answering the firemen as they shout from their trucks,
“Are you ready?”
holding out boots and helmets for donations.

I move to a better view and brush the planter.
The smell of a bruised tomato leaf follows me.
I never thought last year
I would watch these fireworks alone,
but only the dark and the smells and the stars
press against me tonight.

The first boom,
a spray of white light,
the waterfall.
A gasp
and then a cheer
rise from down the hill in answer.
And then we’re off.
Booms that shake the windows,
vibrate my chest like the bass from certain passing cars.
Bursts of yellow, red, violet
Screaming rockets leave tails of light
Corkscrews
Long arcs fall
then bust into showers
Mandalas
of light.

And I begin to forget that I am alone
As I watch those colors explode against the dark sky,
The secret chambers of the heart
climb the heavens and explode.
Distance is closed.
We breath together,
the crowd lining the streets three blocks down
and me.
We ooh as one,
clap our hands and gasp as
another explosion shakes the night awake.
We have become united.
Our desires run down the dome of the sky.
We lie beneath the Sky God, awed
as his seeds of light explode and swim
in search of connection,
the fertilization that moves the wheel of life.

Manitou Springs
August, 1996

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Coming Home from Egypt

Monday morning about 1:00 a.m. I opened the door to my home after spending two glorious weeks in Egypt. The cats greeted me with yawns and stretches, then purrs. My husband, Stephen, stayed behind for one more week.

Before I acclimate to being home and am no longer surprised by things I had grown accustomed to before I left, I want to say a few words about what the U.S. feels like these days. I actually started noticing it in Egypt when I’d check Facebook. I had to be on the web to teach my online courses, so I posted some pictures of our trip and read a few posts.

When the Boston bombing happened, I noticed that everybody seemed to have to take a stand on it. Why is that? Terrorist bombings happen in lots of countries. People don’t get up on soap boxes and make speeches about them. They don’t apologize to the world or make public pronouncements about praying or rail on about catching the culprits. They do wish them to be caught, but they don’t obsess and feel self-righteous about it. Or like special victims.

When I got home, people were still talking about it. Salman Rushdie commented on this phenomenon when he was on the Bill Maher Show last week. When the IRA bombed London during the 1970-80s, people were irritated, yes. Some people died. Very sad. But your average citizen, after being sad and annoyed, simply replanned their route to work. They moved on.

I got a newsletter from a writers’ organization and the president felt the need to say something about it in her monthly column. Just to acknowledge that it had happened. Like we could have missed it? It had nothing whatsoever to do with the organization or content of the newsletter.

On the other hand, everyone wondered if Egypt was safe. Yes, in fact it was very safe. Our group was welcomed everywhere we went with only one exception, and there people just didn’t smile or catch our eye. How violent is that?  Once our bus was rerouted because of protests. A slight inconvenience. Otherwise, everyone was happy and polite and making the best of life. We saw long gas lines. Prices are going up. I’m confident the people of Egypt will rise up and make some changes in their government soon. I was only encouraged not to feel safe when I returned home.

We don’t have to participate in this. It does take some refocusing of one’s attention. And we are all affected by the general atmosphere we live in. Let’s ask ourselves why this atmosphere of paranoia and fear and victimhood is being perpetrated. Let’s just say no to it.

Picture by Carmen Miller

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Great Grandbaby

I woke up to the news that my granddaughter, Ashley, is in labor. Her baby is a girl and they’re naming her Taylor. New baby soon!

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Halloween, the Third Harvest

Samhain is upon us. Halloween. All Hallows Eve. The beginning of the Celtic New Year. The day out of time in the Celtic calendar. The night when the veils are thinnest. The cross-quarter holiday between autumn equinox and winter solstice. The opposite of Beltane or May Day. The day when the Pleiades shine the brightest at midnight.

Samhain is also the third harvest. We harvest meat on this holiday. Not a pleasant time, like harvesting the grains at Lammas (August 1) or the fruits at Mabon (autumn equinox). This harvest may have contributed to the gruesomeness of Halloween costumes and movies.

My grandmother tried to teach me how to be a responsible consumer of chicken and kill what I eat. She was unsuccessful.

It was an ordinary summer day. She didn’t pick Samhain to teach me, since she was a Christian, a German, and not familiar with Celtic lore. She asked me if I wanted chicken for lunch and I said yes. I was about five. Maybe older. I can’t really remember. She told me to go pick one out in the chicken coop. Not understanding what was to come, I went out and picked a pretty hen.

“Not that one. She’s a good layer,” grandmother said. “Which one looks good to eat?”

It was then it dawned on me. “You pick.”

“No, if you eat chicken, you have to learn how to kill them and clean them.”

I dawdled. I picked the scrawniest one.

“There’s no meat on that one. Let it put on some weight. Pick a plump one.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Come on, now. I haven’t got all day.”

Chicken picked, Grandmother made me catch it and told me to wring its neck. I tried, but I couldn’t make myself do it. She kept telling me to wring it harder. “Just snap it. Don’t make it suffer.”

I tried. My chicken ran off, head cocked funny.

“Now you’ve hurt it.” Grandmother grabbed it and snapped its neck quick. “You need to kill them quick. They shouldn’t suffer,” she instructed.

Then I had to pull off its feathers. But I just sat in the dirt and cried. Cried and cried, while she plucked and plucked. “See how pretty the feathers are? Don’t you like chicken?” I cried harder. I’d never realized the cost of liking chicken.

She cut up that bird and fried it, and I have to say it smelled great. Then she served lunch. She gave me vegetables and milk and bread. No chicken. As much as I begged, she wouldn’t give me any chicken. “If you can’t kill it, you don’t get to eat it.”

Then suddenly her shoulders slumped. “I’m tired of this,” she said.

I imagine she was. She’d taught every one of her nine children how to kill a chicken, and several of her grandchildren. I guess I was the last straw.

She gave me some chicken to eat. I ate it. Feeling guilty, but not enough to declare myself a vegetarian at that age. I did become a vegetarian for a long time. Then I became a lapsed vegetarian.

I’m still an irresponsible chicken consumer, but at least I buy cage free birds that have been fed organically. I have yet to kill a chicken myself.

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Happy Fall Equinox

Today is Mabon, the Fall Equinox. The day and night are equal. The sun rises due east and sets due west. This is the harvest of fruits. Lammas (August 1st) began the harvest season with harvesting grains. In Greece it was the time of the Eleusinian Mysteries, a major initiation. It’s also my granddaughter’s birthday, and she’s bringing us a new life next year!

I remember watching my grandmother and her daughters can during August and September. She had a wood stove, so this was quite an undertaking. Someone stoked the fire, another cleaned the jars, another put the jars in the big pot to sertilize them. Then others were cutting up vegetables or fruits, putting them in the pot to cook just a bit. Then there was getting it in the jars, a touchy business. My favorite was waiting for the tops to seal with a wonderful pop. I was very young then, always underfoot until Grandmother decided to put me to work keeping the fire in the stove burning. It was hot in that kitchen, before air conditioning.

It’s harvest time. Time to enjoy the fruits of your garden, trees, writing, work and life.