Category: health

Re: Trauma

Trauma is talked about today. Film stars use the word, there are whole novels written on the subject, most people would be able to say what the acronym PTSD stands for, regular folk are opening up about the role trauma has played in their own lives. We sometimes define ourselves by it, and this may be a problem to navigating our future selves.

On the living room floor my wife displayed a chunk of tree limb that my father once carved a face into. I gaze at it sometimes and remember how he died in Portugal in 1997. He was alone on the street in the early morning, getting a take-out coffee for my mother. I wasn’t there. On the sidewalk where he fell, few people were present. He died alone. When this news was delivered to me in Canada, I only felt surprise. 30 years later I know I’m still traumatized.

I’ve enjoyed the message of Gurdeep Pandher, The Dancing Philosopher (my title), whose philosophy promotes joy, hope, and positivity. I respect the way he suggests that sorrow, pain, and anxiety can be part of the human condition. Pandher’s teaching helps me understand that all emotions are valid. Trauma cannot be ranked because then some experiences might be trivialized. This idea is also explored in the documentary film ‘The Case Against Cosby’, especially in the powerful scenes where victim Andrea Constand works with trauma specialist Dr. Gabor Maté.

Overcoming trauma is different for every person. Like grief, there is no timetable or standard to navigating the deeper wounds of our lives. We don’t rise above our traumatization, but we learn to accommodate it. Bessel Van Der Kolk is a professional of note on this topic. His immensely popular book, The Body Keeps the Score, makes strong connections between the body, mind, feeling, and spirit that can lead the reader, who is suffering, towards a path to healing. Kolk confirms for me that, “We belong to an extremely resilient species.”

When I get excited about art I think my response is therapeutic. I recognize now that I wish I had spent more time with my father, feeling his joy of expression before he could no longer express that part of himself, or any part for that matter. In that moment of acknowledging my trauma I can feel myself there on that sidewalk, holding him as he takes his last breath. I tell him how grateful I am for his teachings about art.

The many sources of trauma can include death, rape, childhood abuse, military service, or bullying. I suspect no human can live without being victimized, at some point, and in some way. The accepted truth is that trauma never goes away. We find ways to deal with this deep multi-layered experience. I’m not unique in trying to understand my traumas.

My dad was a writer and I find practising this art form helps me fill in the cracks of my psyche. I have proof in my life that practising, participating, and promoting art have eased my pain.

Re: Cause

There was another shooting headline from gunplay in the USA. Also in my newspaper that day were stories of wildfires causing POTUS47 to complain of air quality. Both stories got me thinking of how people process what to do next, after bad things happen. Some folk search for an immediate cause, so that they can put disturbing notions in a box to be filed away. It’s always easier to blame someone or something than get to the real reason for the event that just happened.

When my father-in-law was approaching death, my wife and I tried to figure out how we could help each other through this pivotal moment. An apartment in the same building as her parents was rented so we could just be an elevator ride away. This was one of several details to work out over a two year span of time. It was complicated, messy, and draining on our emotional health. Blaming someone for dying borders on stupidity, yet my father-in-law was the reason we were gathered. I remember assuring my wife at one stressful moment that I was present for her, not for her father: I was present because of the man I called Will.

Finding a cause of something can be as difficult as determining a motive. The difference between reason and cause is not only a question of semantics but one of approach. Will had not earned my desire to be helpful in his palliative care, yet the fact of his lack of planning for his death at 93 was one of the reasons for my wife (his only child) to be in such a dilemma. As support structures were slowly put in place for Will’s care the burden on his daughter became less onerous. Others looking in on the situation showed varying degrees of sympathy. They might see a solution to the crisis by identifying the cause without measuring the impact of potentially creating further problems. Deciding what paths to take that are reasonable requires a deep dive into the needs and wants of many, not just the few. Ultimately priorities will be set.

Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia went through a heart wrenching experience recently, proving that death by gunfire is a global tragedy. Many politicians scurried around giving solace while trying to pin the blame on the various sources. The need to know what went wrong, had to be tempered with the needs of the survivors, responders, witnesses, and citizens. Responsible folk had to step up, regardless of how they felt about the multiple players in this real-life drama. Supporting the grief had to come first while everyone gathered because of something that repulsed their idea of a safe society.

Those wildfires seem to be beyond reason, yet suggesting that a boreal forest floor needs to be  swept regularly is blatantly unreasonable. We can be blinded by rage, or even discomfort, when asked to help in taking steps toward finding a solution to a problem. In this case the why of a heating planet is not as important as finding a way to save humanity.

Re: Date

In elementary school in the 1960s in Ontario, learning important dates was still a required part of the curriculum. Memorization as a skill was still admired. We learned poems by rote for crying out loud! Some dates in history of the world I have remembered from that time in the one-room schoolhouse in rural Markham. A person of a certain age can never forget 1066, 1216, 1492, 1776, 1867, 1917, or 1945, even if we weren’t alive then. Now I keep a journal so I can remember personal dates of significance to me: 1952, 1974, 1977, 1979, 1982, 1994, 2001, 2004, 2006, 2008. These are just numbers to some but when I look at them I see stories.

With search engines like Google we have the answer to questions about dates of origin, or any specific fact for that matter, right at our fingertips. If I want to know when television was invented I can ask Siri, Alexa, ChatGPT, or a growing number of reference robots who can provide the answer. I am aware of typing ‘who’ in that last sentence, as if to personify these technological tools. A recent film that humanizes robotics is M3GAN. The title character is a toy that gains sentience by bonding emotionally to a child. The movie over-stresses the fear factor when the underlying thoughts of questioning the value and control of artificial intelligence may be the key to humanity’s survival.

I wouldn’t want to date a robot. Yet sexbots, griefbots & robocops are apparently going to be the first AI helpers to be in mass production. The act of dating, in my human experience, has been problematic enough that I wouldn’t consider asking Amazon to send me a Companion (another movie I’d recommend). Film fantasies are one thing but expressing real life affections can be tricky. I was in an emotional dilemma when I found myself at fifty years of age trying to understand new rules about relationships, My first wife had died of cancer and I could have used a manual with an easy access index to navigate my life. There were stormy seas until I found my balance. It was smooth sailing once I found an amazing empathic soul. Lucky me as she has cruised with me these past twenty years. And we continue to feel like we are dating!

Currently, my bride and I go on dates as a respite from eldercare. We share our home with my wife’s 97 year old mother. She was born in 1929. Imagine that! When we talk of things she has a whole different perspective on time. In my view she hasn’t passed her best-before date seen as a warning on packages regarding freshness. She’s nearly blind so I bought her a pushbutton clock that speaks the time out loud to her. Her secret to success has nothing to do with eating dates (pitted or otherwise) but in recognizing important dates on the calendar and sticking to a schedule.

To think that in a few short years my special mom may reach the century mark. Speaking of which, the ever creative Mel Brooks just made that milestone. His films are never dated, but I’m feeling that way.

Re: Skin

A quick wikipedia search reveals that the skin on our bodies is the largest human organ; about 15% of the total boy weight. That fact is amazing considering the lack of attention it gets in campaigns for better health. Most likely we consider the heart first. Perhaps this is valid since, once it stops beating, we are dead. But other organs come before skin in discussions too: “Did you hear, she’s got lung cancer!” “He drank so much and his liver is shot.” “I told you over and over that smoking pot would addle your brain.”

Of course we are warned to cover-up in the summer time. I’ve always loved the freedom I feel on a sandy beach. I can lay for hours basking on a towel and absorbing all that beautiful sunny warmth. The last time I went to my dermatologist for a check-up he asked if I would consider using sunscreen. He just smiled when I said, “Nah.” I have my reasons, none of them satisfactory excuses: I don’t like the feel of the SPF cream on my skin. I’ve heard that all those doses, washing off in the water, are killing the coral reefs. It’s just another cosmetic industry scam to make us buy product to line shareholders’ pockets. Anyway, I love sporting a tanned body.

In another lifetime, I must have been starved of touch, because there are days when I yearn for physical contact. In university, I learned about a study done on baby monkeys, involving two fake monkey mothers, one made of wire and holding a baby bottle of liquid nourishment, and another model without the bottle but covered in soft cloth. The study showed that the babies would prefer time on the cloth model, even at the expense of growing hungry. Modern maternity nurses are well aware of the value of skin-to-skin contact from the moment of birth. Skin hunger is a real, documented phenomenon. To crave skin is not a sin, but society has made it suggestively sexual, or perverted, no thanks to stories of flaying, like in Silence of the Lambs.

I would not describe myself as a ‘touchy-feely’ sort of guy. I’m too private a person for inclusion in a Naturist Resort, although I respect the idea that we can be free to be in our Birthday Suit. I don’t walk around with a sign printed, ‘Free Hugs’ at street corners. But I do like to hold hands, shake hands, and other wise use my hands to make contact with another. I’m happy to have found this sort of skin-ship with my life-mate. I still remember the first time she touched me, after asking permission, on my thigh. I’ve talked to others who recall their first hand-hold while walking, which awakened their longing to belong. 

Skin can be a barrier, a germ protector, or a first line of defence against disease. Skin also allows us to feel a oneness with others, even with another species. There’s a reason why pet ownership is so popular. Stroking is part of a healthy lifestyle.

Re: Tray

About three years ago I looked in a bathroom mirror and shrieked like a deranged lemur. For some reason, and apparently almost overnight, my lower middle incisors had crowded together like those crossed cement barriers on WWII’s Juno Beach. That moment was a decisive turning point in my dithering campaign to solve my peg-tooth issue. This ‘dental action’ rivals some military ops and will involve modern prosthetics at some point, so brace yourself.

A tray was once, only something I would get at a cafeteria to load plates onto as I selected my food in high school. A trey in cards doesn’t count because of spelling. I had considered no other use for the word until I discovered trays are the new braces used to realign teeth. When he was barely a teenager, my eldest son had such a painful experience with those old-timey metal devices he actually tried to cut them off with kitchen scissors. The poor lad also had something called a Neo-blastoma that is still being talked about at dental conferences throughout North America. His history was my history so I was a bit squeamish about ‘braces’. But hooray for technology! I was glad when I saw these clear plastic form-fitting trays so I relaxed a bit. But first I had to get an extraction (cue ominous music).

I had never visited a dentist until I was 18. I learned two things back then: I had a strangeIy angled molar which the dentist at the time wanted to pull-out. I said no thanks, but was grateful he had pointed out I had strong enamel. So time passed and I found myself a career as a teacher, which came with a dandy dental plan. With my champion enamel (I kept being told), I have had only three cavities, so I never viewed going to the dental offices with trepidation. 

But now I had to sacrifice one of my pearly-whites so the rest of my teeth could stand at attention properly. I had a 360 degree head scan that captured an amazing view of my jaw, making me look like my head had been found in an archeological dig, and carbon dated to sometime in the BC years. These neanderthal features showed the tooth-that-must-be-pulled, along with my tipping over band of soldiers. I chose to be anesthetized to minimize the trauma. It was done in a second! My bride drove me home while I floated beside her on roads made of marshmallows. 

Why was I making such a fuss, I had to ask myself when I came back to full consciousness. Weeks later I had a better attitude when I was fitted for my trays which would continue the realignment of my smile. I was pumped for the novelty of being in my seventies and wearing invisible braces. Wearing them 22 hours a day made for a readjusted eating schedule. Each time I graduate to a new set of trays I suffer growing-pains but it’s bearable. I like the thought that I have some control over my body as it returns to dust. After all, we’re just part of a celestial wind.

Re: Ego

If having a fragile ego means you’re sensitive to criticism then I guess that is one of my many maladies. My exploration of this word is sort of relating to The Donald who is riding a wave of ‘Make Narcissism Respectable Again’ (nazism, consumerism, and sexism also). My whole psyche is fragile since Trumpet’s Team took over amurca. The white house of horrors holds egotists all, so I’m perplexed how my healthy self-esteem fits into this puzzle that’s so Mar-a-la-go-first.

I was taught to be humble, and also to be proud of my achievements. I learned in Kindergarten that it’s better not to budge into line. In high school I saw value in advocating for myself. In a competition I feel better if I’ve won yet I want to acknowledge, with sincerity, the efforts of my opponent. Joining self with others is a complicated maneuver. It would be nice if a trusted AI could pose in a Freud persona so I could grill the robot questions about Ego, Id, and Super-Ego (I still can’t sort them out). I suppose that makes me a failure (or conversely I could  just blame the whole school-of-psychology movement for not making things clearer). It’s all their fault, because I’m perfect just the way I am!

Being a self-published author, I question whether my writing is good, since I haven’t been assessed by the literati. Of course my ego gets boosted when someone compliments me. Don’t we all? My mom used to warn me not to inflate my self-image lest my head get too fat to fit through the door. The big theme right now suggests that a person shouldn’t need others to validate them, yet even loners like me are connected somehow.

There is a decent film called Freud’s Last Session where the titular character and C.S. Lewis debate the existence/relevance of God. It is a contrived meeting yet beautifully imagined. Both actors get their egos stroked as they spar over the consequences of their conclusions. Lines from the script are illuminated to show weakness, fears, bravado, and compulsion. The conclusion I drew while watching this duet was that humans are fragile yet resilient. We must be patient enough to discover our own value while acknowledging the value of others.

Which leads me to the vintage television show that depicts this human conundrum expertly, ‘Cheers’. Bartenders are stereotyped to be expert at counselling, but amusingly, in this show if Sam Malone can’t help you then there is always Dr. Frazier Crane. Over the course of the series the characters learn from, and about, each other. The braggarts get their comeuppance and the meek get their moment in the sun. Tangentially, amidst the laughter, the mindful viewer gets to analyze their own self-esteem, self concept, self-loathing, and self deprecation without the heavy financial cost of psychoanalysis. Seek and ye shall find! Just don’t let the beer get in your way.

A healthy sense of self-respect is warranted when it comes to making your way in the world. You don’t need to be a braggadocio, just love others as you would like to be loved.

Re: Allergy

People with allergies can be the butt of jokes. When schools had to design policies around the potentially deadly outcome of peanut allergies in children, controversial comedian Louis CK got headlines because he suggested that “If touching a nut kills you, maybe you’re supposed to die.”

Today, I was tempted by a fresh black cherry. When I am exposed to certain foods I can get allergic reactions that could include; a runny nose, sneezing, coughing, shortness of breath, swelling, itchy palate, or red eyes. I can relate to the ads on television during allergy season promoting their product’s efficacy in removing all these sorts of symptoms. I know about the risk of certain foods, but that cherry looked so red, ripe, and delicious. I ate it and felt fine, for ten minutes, then I got all the reactions I just described. I didn’t die, but I was a noisy, mucus-filled mess for half an hour. ’Twas not a pretty sight.

I didn’t always suffer from the A disease. In my twenties, I moved from southern to northern Ontario and that particular summer was apparently the worst pine pollen bloom of-all-time. The yellow powder was smeared on vehicle windshields, it coated clothing hanging outside to dry, and was a sticky icing on the surface of lakes and rivers. I can’t see how anyone could avoid having their lungs clogged by this powdery air. From that bio-hazard summer to this day I can start sneezing over unknown elements in the air, or in the beverages I drink, or on the animals I pet, or in some of the foods I ingest. It’s a crap shoot.

Many medications are available for allergy relief. My doctors have prescribed many remedies (the best being codeine) and I have settled on a formula of antihistamine, decongestant, and anti-inflammatory to reduce most of the symptoms, most of the time. Sometimes I can predict what might bring on an attack and take the necessary pill(s) in advance. I always carry a tissue in my pocket. It’s usually damp.

The first thing I’m asked when going to a hospital is, “Do you have any allergies?” I want to be dismissive but I usually say it’s only seasonal. When I sneeze (loudly) in a grocery store aisle I want to go to customer service to tell them to assure everyone with an announcement, “It’s just allergies folks!” I fell in love with a woman who took out a Kleenex after her first bite of food, from our first restaurant meal, just as I did too! It’s breezy to be sneezy, when you’re in love.

Jeff Bridges was in a film about a plane crash. Surviving this ordeal, he finds that he no longer has a severe strawberry allergy. In joy, he becomes fearless in attitude, thinking he was somehow blessed by the tragic experience, making him immune to normal human frailty. There are many ailments that afflict our species. Within the great spectrum of illness I know that I am lucky to only have a response to a few allergens. It’s not likely to kill me.

Re: Comedy

My mom used to tease. My sister, father and I found her intentionally mean jokes discomforting. Consequently I learned that having a laugh at someone else’s expense was not comedy. John Cleese, of Monty Python fame, posted a message on Substack regarding the difference between affectionate teasing vs nasty teasing. I took exception to his exceptionalism because I’d seen the devastating results of my mom ‘taking the mickey’ out on innocent angels. It’s no surprise that her favourite comedians were Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, and Rodney Dangerfield. Mom was dead before Ricky Gervais made a name for himself through insults, but I’m sure she would have liked his style. Teasing, Insults, Swearing, and Sarcasm can be found in my Book of Humour under the chapter titled: Cheap Shots.

Humour is subjective. Art is required to be judged by the individual. It’s how we figure out that our mouth is not the only place where taste can be discerned. And, of course, it’s impossible for all to agree on what comedy means, anymore than we can be uniform in our response to the flavour of olives. My love of humour tends toward the silly and the slapstick. I don’t understand how my bride absolutely hates silly comedy yet she loves scatological humour. To me, the silliness found in Monty Python sketches is innocent and wise at the same moment. The Three Stooges enthralled me as a child with their antics of mayhem. Later, I laughed at the absurd body language of Jerry Lewis, Dick Van Dyke, Rowan Atkinson, and Jim Carrey.

My favourite actors are also comedians. Sometimes the line between pathos and buffoonery can seem gauze-like. Robin Williams mastered this dichotomy as did Jack Lemmon before him. Humour is perhaps the most provocative art form. The double entendre found in most witticisms sets up a conflict in the mind, making it difficult to decide the truth. Stand-up comedy is challenging in this way as it reminds me of the court jesters of centuries ago trying to please the royal master while playing to the impoverished masses. Editorial cartoonists like Michael deAdder perform a similar function of pillorying political figures to make an inconvenient truth apparent. In these cases we might join in mocking laughter; “The joke’s on you!”

Comedy has to catch you at the right moment. This year is the 50th anniversary of that comedic phenomenon Saturday Night Live. Lorne Michaels deserves credit for creating this iconic television show and nurturing hundreds of comics in the process. Dark, silly, political, sexual, racial, religious and physical humour are blended like a box of specialty chocolates. The spontaneous nature of the sketches, the improvisations, can land with a bang or a plop. Something coming off funny can depend on the mood of the audience as much as the skill of the performer.

What strikes your funny-bone may be arbitrary, yet comedy is necessary to our mental health. It’s no accident that situational comedies on television have been a staple of that medium. We need to laugh most when the situation seems most dire.

Re: Hospital

My dad hated hospitals and I wished I had probed his reasons why. Everyone has a different experience when it comes to seeking or getting medical care. I view hospitals as places to get repairs for the hard knocks of life, however I’ve never needed to go to one in an emergency. Lucky me; I go when I feel it’s time for mending.

My heart needed correcting for atrial fibrillation so I opted for a surgical approach. The wait was longer than a year so that added to my jubilation when I got cleared for the procedure. My bride escorted me to the correct wing of the complex and I was patient Number Five for my turn with the medical team. The plaque above the nurse’s station said CSS; Cardiac Short Stay. This ward had 18 beds with a ratio of three beds per nurse. The place was a constant buzz of activity from my arrival at 7:30 a.m. to my departure at 8 p.m.

I had lots of time to witness what a hospital (at least in this section) was all about. Computer monitors and tech-looking machines were everywhere but it became clear to me that people still drive this institution. I witnessed many types of workers with things to do, surprisingly most had a piece of paper, or a folder of papers, in one hand. Many papers were filed with other papers, which were then located and typed into an available computer to create what I imagined to be a permanent record. As time passed slowly, I pushed boredom aside by creating stories, most of which were true. I was prepped in several ways for my Pulsed Field Ablation (a new computer assisted technique). I was shaved in areas I’m too shy to mention. An IV that meant business was hooked up to my arm. In one instance a four-foot-tall nurse in full PPE hooked me up for an ECG. Meanwhile several nurses clustered nearby laughing hysterically over a gift shop novelty bag filled with stationary items, and labelled “For Those on a Diary Diet.”

I was there long enough to feel part of the gang. And then it was my turn. Anaesthetic is no laughing matter but somehow I managed to spill some unintentional jokes in the operating room. Through the mental fog, I shouted to all who were near that I was a man of words, not of numbers. Once in the doctors’ Total Control, a snake-like device entered my body to find its way to my heart where it corrected my arhythmic heart’s cadence. Seconds later (or so it seemed) I was coming out of that dreamland with difficulty; sore throat, disorientation. I even made manic calls for an imaginary chiropractor when my neck refused to work. Traumatic!

In conclusion, hospitals are institutions that rely on professional integrity. Real people seemed determined to help me feel better and I felt like an adventurer choosing a brand new medical procedure to lengthen the quality of my life. In short, it was a pretty decent way to spend a day.

Re: Worst

I had an incident involving insurance and it made me spiral to thoughts of worst case scenarios. As clouds of worsening doubt gathered about, I found surprising comfort in ranking the worst moments in my life in one paragraph. The effort convinced me that my current situation was not that bad. I just had to get a grip.

Making a list of tragedies and traumas sounds depressing but it did offer me a sense of control. Control can sometimes bring a certain calmness. If you like order in your life then putting things down on paper offers perspective. The list I made that day was revised several times. That’s a cool thing about judgement; our sense of a moment’s impact more or less changes as we gain the wisdom of hindsight. I call it My Best Worst List. This summary list became a therapeutic accounting of the crappy moments that I wish hadn’t happened, but did.

My first wife died of cancer when we were both only 50 years old. That was entered as the worst on my self-therapy list. I suffered clinical depression 7 years before that, making it second on my collection of lifetime worst events. A simple surgery went wrong so I had a hellish night in an emergency room. A family trip was once aborted due to a flat tire that nearly killed us all (I was driving and I still have chest pains from the memory of that experience). My sister ending her life prematurely is on my list. I had a best friend who bailed on a European hitchhiking trip AND being my best man at my wedding, which was a total bummer. In grade nine I got the one/two punch of my parents separating then we moved to a city AND I had to go to a new high school. Too cruel!

Bad things don’t have to happen before we know what the good times feel like. Pain is pain in the moment. Time heals if we don’t focus on our suffering. Feeling low is normal and it doesn’t have to be linked to one happening. Identifying something on a scale of bad to worse is the first step to understanding the bigger picture of your life. For me, sometimes it was a matter of encouraging myself to hang on for-one-more-day. On the worst days I felt lucky to have someone provide the guidance to see the way ahead, out of the gloom. Humour helps at the right time, delivered in a positive way. Silliness tends to lift me up before things get worser.

A ruined birthday party can be the worst thing in the whole world for a four year old. You grow older. Tragedies mount. You learn from the school of hard knocks. It helps to share your story, comparing war wounds over a beer and liverwurst lunch. You can laugh with a soul mate while discussing the value of worsted wool over synthetic fibre. Always remember; things could be worse! I’m resolved to leave the past where it belongs.