It's Time to Go Back to the Future

In Sean Penn's acceptance speech at the Oscars this year, he said, "I think that it is a good time for those who voted for the ban against gay marriage to sit and reflect and anticipate their great shame and the shame in their grandchildren's eyes if they continue that way of support. We've got to have equal rights for everyone."

Hear, hear.

Mr. Penn got a rousing round of applause and whistles from his audience.

I found this part of his speech to be particularly moving and memorable because it asks us to step outside the time and place in which we are immersed; it asks us to move away for a moment and to see with the help of the light shining back at us from the future; and because it asks us to remember the world our grandchildren will live in. I say "remember" not "imagine" (while Penn says "anticipate") because... we have been there already. We are all someone's grandchildren. We are all now arriving in what was once someone else's far-off future. That distant, futuristic time when black men could be President and the Red Sox could win the World Series. It's crazy, right? Except that it happened. Just like men on the moon and women on the Supreme Court. It really did happen.

Penn's speech reminded me of something I wrote in my journal about a month before the Academy Awards, just a few days after President Obama was inaugurated. I share it with you now, on the first night after the California Supreme Court heard arguments regarding the legality of Prop. 8, because I, too, hope that those who object to equal rights for everyone will, as Penn says, sit and reflect and anticipate the future--and then make the brave choice to open their minds in the way that suffragists did; to trust that even if your religious faith or your personal preference mean that you do not approve of gay marriage, that you will stand on the side of democracy, equality, the Constitution, and human kindness, just as abolitionists (and every civil rights advocate ever) did.

Here's what I wrote:

"If you think you are one of the people who--if transported back in time--would stand up for the things you know to be right; if you think you would fight for women's suffrage or to free the slaves or to stop the war in Vietnam; if you think you would protect child workers or poor immigrants or sharecroppers; if you think you would stop the Holocaust, or register black voters, or desegregate schools, or refuse to give up your seat on the bus--then I'm telling you: your time is now.

If you were to travel back in time and be given the chance to end discrimination, fight for freedom, or foster peace, what makes you think you would not tell yourself the same things you tell yourself now: that you are too busy; that it is too soon; that you cannot afford it; that someone else will do it?

What makes you think that you would not go back in time and worry more about whether you looked cool, fit in, or earned enough money? What makes you think you would not obsess about your weight/your love life/your job/or some celebrity's divorce/relationship/plastic surgery/wardrobe/weight gain or loss?

What makes you think you would not just watch TV and buy a house and work to pay your mortgage?

To us, looking back, it is obvious that slavery should end, the states should be united, people of color, poor people, and women should all be allowed to vote, hold office, become doctors or teachers. To us, looking back, it is obvious that blacks and whites could--and should--drink from the same fountains, attend the same schools, and sit wherever they like on busses. (Ditto recycling, wheelchair ramps, accessible bathrooms, and female athletes.)

But to the people of those times, it took vision, determination, and courage. It took imprisonment and hunger strikes and a war time resolution to finally get women the vote. It took even more than that to get it for black women. It even took more than what President Obama likes to call "hope."

To the people 40 years from now, we are 1969. You have traveled back in time from then and you can spark the change that your future self believes in. If you stood up for Barack Obama; if you elected the first black American President, then don't sit down yet. Stand up until a woman President is elected. Stand up until there is more than one black Senator. Stand up to protect a woman's right to make her own healthy, well-informed, reproductive choices. Stand up until the health care system is fixed. Stand up until corporations are treated like businesses (not people) and held acocuntable as such under the law. Stand up until tax dollars are spent responsibly. Stand up until there is an equal rights amendment. And, for the love of God--or if you prefer, for the love of democracy--stand up for same-sex marriage and family rights.

Whatever your religious or personal objections might be to same-sex marriages and families, those same things were said about blacks in the 40s and 50s and 60s, about women in the 1860s and 70s and 80s (and on...), and about Asians, Jews, immigrants, Catholics, Native Americans...

You can't go back to 1969 and tell everyone what their new President is about to do; you can't join the protesters who were trying to stop the war; you can't convince Robert McNamara that later on he'll regret it; you can't be there to help at Stonewall; you can't save Mary Jo Kopechne or Sharon Tate or the civilians at My Lai; you can't watch the first men land on the moon or attend Woodstock; and you can't stop AIDS.

But you do have a chance to travel back in time from 2049 to 2009, to the difficult and magical days just after the first African-American President was elected in this country; a time when the world found itself facing a nearly unprecedented financial crisis brought on and perpetuated by corporate greed, bureaucratic apathy, a bloated and distracted government, and a confused and overmatched electorate. The system is broken. This is an opportunity for change. You have a chance to go back to the future. So what will you do?"

People Who Need "People"

Last night, after we finally completed the interminable drive from Northampton to Bucksport, I had to go to bed because I was just plain exhausted and I had to work the next day, but my boyfriend decided to stay up a bit. He settled in at the kitchen bar with a cup of tea (compliments of me) and read the first thing he saw, a "People" magazine (compliments of our host).

He read it cover to cover and then came up to bed and said, "There's nothing in that thing. It's only about celebrities eating ice cream and the celebrities they're dating."

It's funny because it's true.

In Defense of Marriage--For All

On Tuesday, three states passed propositions that would limit the rights of same-sex couples to marry. The next day, at my Facebook page, I posted a status that said, "Naomi is exhausted and sad."

My friend Elizabeth asked, "why sad?"

And I responded thusly: "I'm sad because there are still so many people determined to deny others the right to marry. three states yesterday...and because bigotry makes my heart ache. And because someone blew up a predominantly black church near here this morning. And because, truth be told, I really, really, really wanted to be celebrating the first woman President today, and while I threw my full support behind Obama--and am humbled and proud and full of respect for the progress we've made as a nation in electing him--I ache with a longing so profound I can barely articulate it for the day when this same sense of victory and equality will be shared by women."

I also changed my profile picture to the one you see above and joined a couple of Facebook groups that are rallying to repeal Prop 8 in California. The California proposition was especially upsetting because I used to call California home, and because two of my best friends were married there this summer, only to now experience the devastating news that their marriage vows may be rendered invalid.

And here's the beauty of Facebook. I was able to feel less alone in my grief and upset. I received coomfort from friends and was also able to offer it to others. And I also received this note from a high school friend that I enjoy connecting with on Facebook, but who I haven't seen in more than a decade.

She identifies as "moderate/conservative--purple," Christian, and is married with a young child. She wrote today to ask me this:

"enlighten me please....why is it okay for homosexuals to reject christianity and our God, which is where marriage gets its origin, but it's called bigotry or discrimination for christians to ask that they establish civil unions for their relationships instead of marriages (which is a christian institution)? if we are to respect all people equally, does that not go both ways? i'm not saying that their relationships should have any less legal standing, they should have rights too, as everyone should, but if they so reject the premise of marriage, which is between a man and a woman according to God and christian principles, why do they so crave to have their union referred to as a marriage, not a legal union.

i'm not trying to sound mean or better then anyone, i'm legitmately asking a question from someone whom i respect and believe is more enlightened then i am on the subject. thanks naomi."

I am sharing my response to my friend here, and welcome your comments--and also encourage the sharing of my response with others. Forward along, if you see fit.

Here is what I told her (my response was so long I had to break it into parts in order to send it through Facebook):

"I am so glad you asked...

I think the answer to your question lies in our understanding of what marriage is.

You are defining marriage as being “between a man and a woman according to God and Christian principles,” but, while that may be true in your church and for you personally, it’s not actually true universally and should not be a lawful definition of marriage under civil law. Would you say to a Jewish couple that their marriage is invalid because it was not made according to Christian principles? Certainly not. (I hope not, anyway!)

I understand your attachment to the definition of marriage as being according to God and Christian principles—it’s very important to you--but marriage pre-dates Christianity and it also exists in myriad valid forms outside Christendom. Thousands of people get married every day, all over the world—and in our own country—in faiths other than Christianity and their marriages are still “marriages” despite not having a single wit to do with Christian principles. If a Buddhist couple in Japan or a Muslim couple in Afghanistan or a Jewish couple in Israel or a pagan couple in Ireland or a Hindu couple in India or a couple of secular yahoos in England (or California, for that matter) get married, they definitely do not define their union as being according to “God and Christian principles,” but those marriages would all be recognized as marriages in the United States.

Just as being married—and calling it that--is incredibly important to you, it’s equally important to non-Christian and same-sex couples who may hold different definitions dear to them, based on their personal or religious beliefs. How would you feel if you couldn’t call your husband your husband any more because some other religious group said so? (You’d feel frustrated, dismayed, angry, and awful, I expect—and rightly so.)

Giving same-sex marriages a different word is exactly the same as giving black Americans separate train cars, schools, and water fountains. To give it another name is to make it less-than, separate—and as Barack Obama (and the Supreme Court) will tell you in a heartbeat—separate is inherently unequal.

A different path

There are, essentially, two kinds of marriage, religious and civil. At issue here is only the legal contract of a civil marriage, as recognized by individual states, not the religious ceremony. (The Defense of Marriage Act prevents same-sex marriages from being acknowledged across state borders, so for the purposes of our discussion today, the issue is at the state level.)

The two kinds of marriage, religious and civil, often overlap one another—most Americans do both--but they are two separate and distinct events. One happens in a church, synagogue, or other sacred venue; the other happens at city hall (or wherever you file your marriage license). They are related, but they are not the same thing. For instance, it’s the civil marriage that you have to break when you divorce, not the religious one. (That’s why you need a lawyer.)

What same-sex couples are seeking is equal treatment under the law. They want to legally marry, not according to God and Christian principles, but according to a lawful civil definition of marriage.

There, but for grace

You, as a Christian, understand marriage to be one thing. You have a strong and clear belief about what marriage means in your faith, but each faith sets its own parameters for what marriage is and what it means.

Your idea is vastly different from my Mormon friends who were sealed in a private ceremony in a temple for all eternity. And it is also different from my Jewish friends, my Jehovah’s Witness friends, my Buddhist friends, my non-religious friends, my Wiccan or pagan friends, and even from some of my other Christian friends—the Unitarian Universalists, for instance. In some faiths, marriages are arranged. In some, there need not be witnesses. In others, a dowry is still required. Because there are so many different forms of marriage based on faith, it is not fair—or legal, in my opinion—for any one religious group to control what marriage (or any other religious practice) means to other religious or non-religious groups. Just as a church has a right to baptize its members by dipping them in a river instead of anointing them with oil or holy water (or whatever other form they find sacred) at whatever age they feel is appropriate, if a religion wants to allow same-sex marriages, then that is its right; if it doesn’t, then that is its right, as well. But when it comes to rights granted by the states, those should absolutely not be dependent upon one religious group’s interpretation of the right.

When I had a Jewish girlfriend, for instance, I could not have married her in her temple—not because I was a woman, but because I’m not Jewish. No one is trying to pass a law saying that Rabbis have to marry non-Jews in temple—nor, for that matter, that they have to marry same-sex couples. That’s entirely up to them. Decisions about religious marriage belong in the faiths; decisions about legal contracts of marriage belong with the states (or, I would argue, at the federal level, but again, that point is moot for now).

To have and to hold

What is particularly egregious about the Prop 8 situation in California is that opponents of same-sex marriage, motivated by religious doctrine, voted to amend the state’s constitution in order to explicitly deny the right to marry for same-sex couples. The U.S. Constitution and the state constitutions are documents designed to grant rights, not take them away. It sets a dangerous and disturbing precedent to use the Constitution to single out a group of people and deny them a civil right based solely on one religion’s interpretation of marriage.

The First Amendment was designed to prohibit the establishment of a national religion, or the preference of one religion over another, or the preference of religion over non-religion. To use a religious definition for state marriage contracts is to impose one religious view on the populous, flying in the face of what is arguably the most important tenet of our entire society (along with freedoms of speech, press, and assembly).

If you don’t believe your church should marry same-sex couples, then I would argue that’s a battle to fight in your congregation or with the leaders of your faith, not something that should happen at the constitutional level.

We are all granted by our beautiful, necessary, incredible Constitution the right to practice our faiths freely. In fact, it’s so important that it’s the very first line of the very First Amendment. This is true not just for marriage-related rituals, but for all sorts of other things as well. My Mormon friends don’t baptize their children until the age of eight, for instance, and are forbidden from drinking hot beverages or alcohol. I assume that you baptized your child sometime shortly after she was born and perhaps, if you are Catholic, she will have a confirmation—or if you’re not, she won’t.

I think to get a good view of the issue, if one is in the majority religion (as you are), one has to try to take a big step back from one’s religious beliefs, take a deep breath, and then imagine what life would be like if one were in the minority. What if, for instance, Mormonism were the dominant religion in our country? It is, after all, the fastest growing religion in the world and it spent a reported $22 million backing Prop 8 in California. What if, after marriage, leaders of this religion moved on to amend the Constitution of your state to ban alcohol (we tried this once, remember, and it was the origin of organized crime) or to ban coffee (egad!) or to remove the right to baptize a child within its first year of life, etc.? What if this were about requiring or banning circumcision?

I assume this would bother you. And it should bother you. At its center, the United States is a place where we should be able to live free from religious oppression. It is the very thing the pilgrims came seeking when they fled; it is part of what we will celebrate on Thanksgiving. (And, it’s what the ancestors of my beloved Mormon friends were seeking when they fled violence and persecution to go west and eventually create a safe haven for themselves in Salt Lake. Unfortunate that now this church is apparently leading a movement to oppress others…)

Religious freedom is an essential part of what makes our country great. Separation of church and state means that if you want marry in your church, whatever wacky church that might be, then “mazel tov!” The state won’t stop you. So, why should the church be able to say to the state, “No way, no how, you can’t ‘marry’ unless you do it our way”?

I believe that every adult has a right to make a loving commitment to another consenting adult to join their lives and finances together as spouses and to make a family, if they so choose--and to call this marriage. Remember, it used to be illegal for a black person and a white person to be wed, but now we acknowledge that those people have a right to marry—regardless of their faith. I believe same-sex couples are entitled to this same basic human right.

For me, it’s not about homosexuality. I would be just as sad today if someone from another faith were preventing you from legally wedding your husband; I would fight for your right to marry, too.

What is at issue here is that people—of any gender—who wish to marry should have the right to do so, even if it offends or upsets members of certain religious groups. Same-sex couples seeking a legal marriage are not “rejecting Christianity and your God” as you say. They are trying to embrace a life of romantic and social commitment. As difficult as it may be to let go of your religious perspective, this is a civil rights issue, not a religious issue. The voters are not trying to amend your church’s canon; they are trying to amend a state’s constitution. And this is wrong.

I welcome your feedback and hope I’ve answered your question. :-)>>

I haven't heard back from my friend yet, but what I love about this is that she respected me enough to ask--and I care for and respect her enough to answer. I hope that my respect came through in my response.

As President-elect Obama says, "I will listen, especially when we disagree."

On whichever side of this issue you stand, I hope that you will really and truly open your ears and your heart and listen to the voice of the other side--and speak with respect in return. It is my great hope that you will come to stand on the side of tolerance and human rights and equality. But, whether or not you do, the Obama Presidency is not just about an African-American family in the White House; it's not just about ending war in Iraq or helping the middle class or resolving our economic crisis. It's about this great, intangible thing that he articulated on election night. It's about becoming a new America--a United States of America--where we can achieve change; where we can be honest, even when it's difficult; and where we can listen, especially when we disagree.

How I am (part deux)

I had some posting difficulties (cursed Word meta tags!) with this post. Here's the second half of the post that should have gone up last week. Cheers.

...I stopped taking the pills and never went back to her.

The hormone pills have been out of my system for five months, but the weight gain continues unfettered.

I returned to my PCP a couple of weeks ago to complain (for what feels like the umpteenth time) about my fatigue and especially my weight gain. She was kind, but said it is not from water retention (as I had suspected) and that my bloodwork is normal, apart from something being off with my red corpuscles. She suggested that perhaps I was eating more than I thought now that I have a live-in boyfriend and that I should exercise more. I told her this wasn’t the problem.

She ordered more blood work, but I left so furious and discouraged that I barely slept for two days.

The day after that office visit, I was determined to do as she said—to get 30 minutes of aerobic exercise into every day. After work, I walked for 30 minutes on a level surface at a moderate pace. It was very painful. I got through it by digging deep into my athlete-self and my stoic Yankee self, to plod along, no matter how tired, no matter how painful. I longed for relief and when I finally arrived home, I went straight up to my yoga room to stretch, in the hope of relieving some of the pain. I made it through a couple of standing stretches, but then, collapsed to the floor and blacked out.

The next day I resolved that on my next visit, I would use this as a specific example, so that when I say, “I can’t exercise more,” or “I am deeply fatigued,” or “I can’t recover from exercise,” or “I have no energy,” she will understand what I mean.

**

I am an athlete. A debilitated, overweight athlete who can't exercise, but an athlete nonetheless.

Believe it or not, I have a relatively high threshold for pain. While training for the San Francisco marathon eight years ago, I tore something in my right knee on the tenth mile of a 12-mile training run, but I finished that run. I couldn’t walk the next day, but I finished—and had surgery instead of running the marathon.

When my ACL was torn completely off my femur last summer and my bone was bruised so severely that I was in pain 24x7 for 15 months while it healed, I refused the morphine and the prescription pain killers they offered me. I remained a good sport the day of the injury—howling in the first moments and crying—but also cracking jokes, making decisions, and staying calm.

That ability to function while under pressure and in pain is part of my athlete self and it comes in handy in a crisis, but I now believe that it has prevented friends, family, and most importantly doctors, from grasping exactly how serious the problem is--because I don't let it show.

I realize now that I must find a way to set aside my determination to slog through it, get past my belief that somehow I am just being weak, being a victim, and find the words to communicate to my PCP that something is really wrong. Even though I do my job faithfully for 40 hours every week and I am as active as I can possibly be given my limitations, we can't ignore that I’m not okay. The fact that I have the stamina to get through a 30-minute walk of pain through terrible fatigue comes not from a healthy body, but from the sick grit that makes athletes play through injuries and exhaustion.

But this is not a game—it is not 40 minutes on a court or on a soccer field. This is my life. It’s not a race or a training run. And it’s not just about today—it’s about all these days, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them when I have been too weak to move, when I have functioned only because I can dig down and find another gear that makes it possible to buy the groceries, do the laundry, weed the garden, sweep the floor, and file my stories.

I tell this here and now as much to myself as to anyone else. I need to get my story straight so that I can communicate with the physicians or practitioners who might have an answer for me. And I tell it to you now, so that if you are my friend, you will understand what has been going on.

This is why I couldn’t go to Anna’s wedding. It’s why I can’t go to Tom’s wedding in October. It’s why I couldn’t go to the trade show in San Francisco earlier this month. It’s why it takes me a long time to get things done sometimes and why I’ve had to cut back on my duties as a class officer, and limit the other volunteer work I care about. It’s why my office is a mess. It’s why we haven’t moved. It’s why I haven't done a good job these last five years of keeping in touch. It’s why I’ve gotten so very large.

**

While I was home in Maine last month, I saw my grandfather. In front of everyone, the first thing he said to me was, “You’ve put on a lot of pounds.” Then he squeezed the fat on my arms between his fingers and pinched it. Hard. “You need to exercise,” he said.

I doubt he’ll ever see this blog post. But for everyone who’s ever thought I should be in better shape or making different choices in my life, here it is: I’m tired. I’ve been very, very sick and very, very tired for a long, long time. It drove me into bankruptcy. It nearly cost me my life. And trust me when I say, I’ve worked very, very hard to get well--and I'm still not there.

**

These are just some of the things I've done to try to get well:

• acupuncture
• acupressure
• psychiatric care
• psychotherapy
• several forms of yoga
• physical therapy
• homeopathy
• chiropractic
• orthotics
• massage and other body work
• reiki
• ayurveda
• the Perricone diet
• the Eat Right for your Type diet
• a vegan diet
• a vegetarian diet
• a diet incorporating meat
• a semi-vegetarian (lacto-ovo-pesce) diet
• meditation
• exercise
• craniosacral
• the reduction and removal of caffeine
• three different hormone treatments
• herbal colon cleansing
• prayer
• psychosynthesis
• energy work
• Bach Flower remedies
• tissue salts
• vitamin and mineral supplements
• visits to the doctor
• lab tests
• sonograms
• a new bed
• new apartments
• new relationships
• aromatherapy
• new bedtime routines
• attention to fluid intake
• epsom salt baths

Currently, I don’t take any prescription medication, apart from things that come up as needed.

I take Tylenol, ibuprofen, or naproxen, as needed for pain and inflammation.

I take Methionine-200 (amino acid) twice daily and evening Primrose oil 1000 mg as prescribed by Dr. Lasneski, an alternative practitioner who is very expensive, but has a unique method that gets results.

I also take:

Copper (2 mg/day)

Iron (68 mg/day)

Vitamin C—1,500 mg

Niacin 35 mg

Folic Acid 825 mcg

B12 85 mcg

Calcium 1050 mg

Magnesium 460 mg

Zinc 17mg

Manganese 2.5mg

Chromium 130 mcg

Sodium 70 mg

Potassium 205 mg

Glucosamine 500 mg

Chondroitin 400 mg

Alpha Lipoic Acid 1mg

Quercetin 1mg

Vitamin A 10,000 IU

Vitamin D3 400 IU

Vitamin E 400 IU

Thiamine 25 mg

Riboflavin 25mg

B6 100mg

Biotin 60 mcg

Pantothenic acid 25 mg

Iodine 150 mcg

Selenium 70 mcg

Proprietary blend 480 mg (Bromelain, pancreatin (4x), choline biatrate, borage oil extract powder, chastree berry extract poswer, amylase, citrus biflavonoids, chamomile poder, inositol, papain, rose hips powder, rutin.

Bach Flower remedies: Rescue remedy as needed (usually daily), Clematis, Water Violet, Honeysuckle.

September commitments: This month I am removing cola from my diet to see if I receive any beneficial effect. Starting 9/13, I am beginning my day with an ayurvedic tonic that promotes weight loss: 1-2 cups hot water, 1tsp honey, squeeze of lemon juice. I drink this first thing upon waking. I also take another ayurvedic tea that includes ginger and promotes weight loss by flushing ama. I also take a weekly anusara yoga class with my teacher (one hour). I do daily meditation in the evening. And I am being gentle with myself: not pushing through fatigue, but rather going with the flow. Attempting to listen to my body and my energy force so that I can exert only that which I have to give on any given day. And I persist in getting results. And drink plenty of spring water, often with lemon. Weekly psychosynthesis. Monthly body work with my chronic pain specialist. And prayer.

**

At my last visit with my PCP, the metabolic panel she ran again showed mostly normal results. And when she had finished explaining them, I burst into tears. “I’m just so tired…” I said. I don’t want to be sick. I’m glad the tests say I’m okay—but I want to know what’s causing this, so I can get better!

She suggested that I should get some therapy and that for many women, childhood abuse is linked to their adult pain symptoms. “I know it’s kind of bullshitty…” she said.

It’s crazymaking to sit in that room and try to be taken seriously, to be understood. I’ve told her I wasn’t abused as I child…I’m not sure it gets through. (Every year when I come in for my annual exam, she says, "Now, you were sexually abused, right?"Sigh...No. I tell her. Again. I never had to endure that.)

And then I start to wonder, does what I went through as a kid count as abuse? Is my physical pain now the result of emotional and physical trauma? How unfair is that?

I assured my PCP that I was doing consistent and good work in the therapy department, through yoga, psychosynthesis, and body work that incorporates a psycho-spiritual release and healing element. She cares about me, but I’m still not sure she gets it. I’ve got that part covered. I need her to rule out—or locate—a cause from a medical standpoint.

She ordered more bloodwork in two months. Referred me to a rheumatologist and an endocrinologist and ordered an ultrasound. And she wants me to keep her in the loop. She also thinks a sleep study might be a good idea.

It’ll be two months before I can see the rheumatologist and four before the endocrinologist can fit me in. (Our health care system is so broken...and I have health insurance!)

In the meantime, what can I do? Continue my healing paths with yoga, psychosynthesis, and body work. Keep trying to sleep right, eat right, and exercise when I can. And I will continue my meditation practice, I think. And continue, perhaps, the ayurvedic path.

There are millions and millions of people suffering with these symptoms…we are exhausted. We are overweight. Many of us are depressed and anxious. And yet we are tasked with all this work of getting answers…because there's no clear path to wellness.

What on earth is going on?

How I am

Last weekend, I drove down to CT to celebrate the wedding of my friends Anna and Heidi. Anna and I have been friends for a long time and she has helped me through some difficult days. I love her to pieces--and Heidi is wonderful, too. We always have fun. They were married last month in California, but I could not go. I was too sick.

After the reception on Sunday, which was low-key, creative, family-oriented, all-girl, and lovely, Anna and I (that's us with Phoenix, above) got to spend some time alone together in the car on our way to her sister's house--her sister who recently survived an amazing bout with a rare cancer.

Anna is one of my closest friends, perhaps my closest female friend, in a lot of ways, and yet we haven't been able to see each other much or talk much this last year or so. She lives in New Jersey now, so it takes some effort to get together. And I have been too tired, and for many months after the accident, too debilitated.

In the car, she said, "How are you?" and she asked in such a gentle way, I knew she wanted a real answer.I struggle with this question. I struggle to answer anyone honestly, partly because I can’t always tell how much people want to know, partly because I feel so confused by the tangled thread of the truth that I can’t get at an answer that can be explained quickly in any linear narrative way—let alone in one word--and partly because I often feel so much better when I’m around people who care about me that I feel cheerful and then I can’t remember how bad things are. It’s like living in a dimly lit room, but then having someone light a candle and then turn to me and say, “How is the light in this room?”

It’s terrific now, thanks!

But then they leave…and it gets dark again, and they don't understand that this is happening to me because I haven’t told them. So they leave, thinking I’m fine, when really, I’m not.

There’s also a large component of stubborn adherence to my rural Maine upbringing and my mother’s fierce determination that one should never be a victim, which translated to my child self meant one should never have needs or—God forbid! Express them. One doesn’t complain, one sucks it up, no matter how extreme the condition. Add to this a high threshold for suffering and pain and an even higher expectation of what I should be able to tolerate without complaining, and I get very confused by this question, “How are you?”

But, I had made up my mind before I left for the drive down to the reception that I would be honest with Anna about my health if she asked. I didn’t know what the words would be, but I knew I would try—and so I made a few mental notes, a crib sheet for describing unwellness, so that when the light came on I wouldn’t forget about the shadows.

**

“How are you?” she asked.

And I told her that the fatigue was still very bad, but that other things had improved. The migraines, the vertigo, the allergies, a handful of other things have gotten much better or gone away entirely. But the fatigue, while somewhat improved, remains a big problem. And now there is this mysterious and dramatic weight gain that seems to be an unstoppable force of nature, there are the feelings of helplessness and discomfort that go along with that—the irritating inability to find clothes that fit or feel attractive, the yucky swelling in my face and hands—along with the pain.

“It’s very difficult for me to walk or stand,” I told her. And it’s not just my knee—that injury has healed mostly—it’s like when I stand up, there are lead weights on all my joints, especially my hips and sacrum. It feels like there is extra gravity pressing on me and it makes it painful and difficult to function—or to exercise, which I’m sure doesn’t help with the bizarre piling on of weight.

To my great relief, Anna said she’d been having a hard time physically, too. I want Anna to be happy and healthy always! And she looks fit and attractive as ever. I was relieved because she got it. Because she wasn’t living on the outside of the glass box I feel I am always in, with the healthy people on the outside not comprehending what it can be like to be plagued with illness, particularly the kind of illness that has no name, no successful treatment, only Byzantine corridors filled with doctor’s visits and blood work and attempts at therapies and questions that only lead to answers that create even more questions or that result in dead ends.

Anna’s health issues are her own so I won't describe them, but we were able to say, “me, too!” to one another here and there, and in this feeling there was great calm for me. There was dismay that someone I love has struggles, of course, and there was also comfort in that we could talk with one another about it—and that perhaps we could help one another find answers.

Her sister took steroids as part of her cancer treatment and experienced a weight gain that should have gone away by now, but won’t. This is very much like what happened to me. Last fall, I saw a psychiatrist about my severe PMS depression. He prescribed a tiny dose of Prozac—one quarter of the smallest does usually prescribed—and in the six weeks I was on the medication, I gained two cup sizes in my breasts, my hands swelled to the point that I could no longer wear my rings, I gained 15 pounds—and I got no relief from the PMS.

The psychiatrist said he’d never seen anything like it. “That’s impressive,” were his exact words.

I went off the Prozac, but a year later, I do not have my body back.

I saw my primary care physician (PCP) (who is actually a Physician’s Assistant) who tested my thyroid, my sugars, my iron levels, and found nothing wrong, so she never followed up. I pursued another primary care physician who suggested I take B vitamins. (I did. It didn’t help.) I tried a gynecologist thinking she’d know something about hormones. She put me on a birth control pill, which did help with the depression, but which put my libido into a coma and left me feeling generally sort of odd. I also put another almost a pound a week on my body during the 12 weeks that I took it.

After eight weeks, I went back to the gynecologist to express my concern about the weight. It was February. She said it was just “weight from the holidays” and not to worry. (What holidays? It didn't even occur to her that I don't celebrate whatever the hell eating festival she thought I did.)

[9.26.08 There's more to this post, but I'm having technical difficulties and haven't been able to get it live yet. Stay tuned.]

Calvin Graychase: One Year Later

One year ago today, I lost my sweet Calvin, my Little Bug, my guy. It still hurts too much to spend time dwelling on it today, but I do want to share a couple of things.

First, I want to say publicly that without my friend Dan, I wouldn't have made it through all the assorted and sundry traumas of last spring and summer, most especially Calvin's death.

Second, while I ache every day for Calvin and I still miss him so profoundly, it hurts less now than it did a year ago. Time heals, if you let it.

I have learned that grief is best when not contained. As horrible as it is, holding it back is like forcing poison to stay in your gut when really, the best thing to do is to get through the awful vomiting part so you can begin to recover. Grief isn't meant to stay still or to stay inside. When the floods of grief came, I let them take me. I sobbed until I drooled and coughed and collapsed on the floor. My body was literally wracked with grief, contorted and thrashing. I cramped, I caved, I cried.

But, by doing this, the torrent of grief passed through. I did not fight it.

Each time it comes--now in smaller waves, rather than full out floods--I let it wash through. I feel it, open to its flow, and then it passes. I don't fight it, dam it, try to surf on top of it, or pretend it isn't there. I open my arms and close my eyes and let it splash me in the face and take me wherever it will go. It is awful and it is necessary. It makes things better in the end.

The big flood came just after he died, and it did its work. Just as flood plains are the most fertile soil for growing, so became my heart after the worst of grief had passed.

Since Calvin left, I have found love, both in my work life and in my romantic life--and also in my internal life. I can see now that I was loved in a constant, unbreakable fashion since the moment I became me--in other words, always. I saw one day in yoga that there is a thin, immutable thread connecting me from the moment I was created to this moment today, and that it will continue on, as long as I am being. This is true for all of us. And it does not come from our parents or our friends or other humans--or even cats. It is a fact of our existence that we are infinitely loved, that we are all entitled to this love and given it freely, constantly, no matter what. It is permanent, irrevocable, and unconditional. It is Love, the love that is Ever, the love that is Life, the Love that connects all living things.

I have this comfort now, always. It was something that my mother tried to tell me once, but I wasn't ready yet to understand. But, since losing Calvin, I have found this: I used to suffer greatly because I believed I wasn't loved and couldn't ever be lovable. There was so much evidence to support this fact--it was overwhelming. But now I know that no matter what the other humans do, no matter who can see me and who can't, no matter who comes and who goes, no matter who hurts me or abandons me or leaves me alone, I am still loved and worth loving.

And, just as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, my love begets love. Since learning that I am infinitely loved and lovable, I have found work that sustains me. Work that I look forward to doing every day. Work that enables me to reap the rewards that come with prosperity--peace of mind, enjoyment, safety, the ability to give to the causes and people I care for, power and agency, and more.

I have found a partner, a loving companion (who, by the way does not like being called a "partner,") who does so many of the things I always wished someone would do. He gives me a place to return to, a chest to rest my weary head upon. We laugh. We do crosswords. We love.

We have spent nearly 24 hours a day together for six months and only grown happier and more interested and content. We struggle and we learn and we grow and we keep getting better. I bring to this relationship a more honest me, a more compassionate me, because when we know we are loved we can be more generous, both with ourselves and with others. And he loves me for my authenticity. He comes with me as I flow and grow and I love him for this.

It is, for me, a dream come true. I have good company, affection, and laughter. When I have a migraine, he sees it on my face before I think to tell him, and he brings me an ice pack and a glass of water and some Tylenol. He says, "What do you need?" and he means it. When I am hungry and sick, he cooks. I like taking care of him, too. We are partners, whether he likes the word or not. :-)

As for the more literal garden in my life, Calvin's memorial garden is flourishing. The tulips I planted for him in the fall came up this spring--the first ones to bloom in the whole Valley, I think, and they were gorgeous and long-lasting and tall. And today, just as the anniversary of his passing arrives, the first roses are blooming on the bush I planted for him, a gift from my friend Becky.

There are dozens of violets with heart-shaped leaves and very special lilies, which I splurged on in his memory. They all survived the winter and they will bloom later this summer and fill the air with the sweetest scent I know. His lilac tree is in its infancy, but growing up nice and strong. The lupine--my favorite wild flower--are thriving. I planted them from seed just after Calvin died and they have sprung up tiny, but everywhere. The one I planted from a starter has grown tremendously and flowered out in ten giant stems. The peonies, the mums, the lillies of the valley, the daisies, the day lilies--all of it, everything made it. Everything is living and growing. I am fighting back the invasive weeds and relishing every single green and lovely day with these flowers planted in his name.

I even stuck some lettuce in his garden this spring. If it does well, I'll have a little Calvin Memorial Salad later on this summer. It seems the soil here is just as fertile as the metaphorical plains I found inside myself after the floods had come on through.

Eventually, we will have to leave here--this place does not make us happy and I cannot manage a life here for much longer. I'm struggling with the idea of leaving Calvin's garden behind. But, for now, at least, I am committed to making it as beautiful and perpetual as possible, just like my love for little Cal.

On the day that I had to take him in and let him go, I prayed for the strength to fulfill the promise I made to him, to end the seizures and the suffering that day and let him pass out of his sick body and go on. It felt an impossible task as he lay curled up and resting, purring. I needed to be more brave and more strong than I ever thought possible.

When I prayed, I got an instant response. It was the word, "Beauty." It hovered in the air above me all the while that I was gathering up my courage. It enabled me to change my clothes and gather up my beautiful Calvin in my arms. I focused on that word, that feeling during the ride to the vet...and it was what I saw and felt while I held him as they stopped his heart. It was Beauty that enabled me to carry his body home, which felt so different without him in it, and lay him to rest.

His garden is about preserving and honoring and continuing to see and feel Beauty. Last year I was too injured to maintain it, but this year, despite my continually aching knee, I can bend and walk and stand enough to be there a little bit every day. And that's kind of what life is about, I suppose. We are all hobbled and limited by various injuries to our bodies and our souls, we have all suffered losses so great they threatened to shut us down, but if we can find a way to tend to our gardens, to find a few moments to really care for and nourish or at least take a moment to recognize Beauty in our days, then perhaps we are doing okay.

Because I have to leave Calvin and his garden behind eventually, I love it as much as I can while I have it. I love it consistently, ferociously, fully; I love it even when I can't lay hands on it; I love it even though it's work; I love it even though it is flawed. I spend as much time as I can looking at it, so that when it is gone, I will always remember how it looked and felt and smelled, how it grew and changed and became more and more beautiful each day. In other words, I love it just like I loved Calvin.

I am making a memorial donation in Calvin's name to the Helping Paws fund at Northampton Veterinary Clinic. If you would like to join me--or offer something in the name of a companion animal that you have loved--you can send them a check made out to the clinic. Write Helping Paws fund in the memo field, and Calvin's (or another animal's) name.

With love and roses,

Naomi

Count the Votes in Michigan and Florida

I wrote this letter today to the DNC. On May 31st, they will meet to decide about Michigan and Florida. If you want those votes to be counted and those delegates to be seated, please take the time to contact the DNC today. Feel free to use any or all of the text below from my correspondence.

One way to contact them is through this form at Hillary Clinton's Web site. You do not have to be a Hillary supporter to use this form to tell the DNC what you think.

Yours in support of democracy,

Naomi

>>Dear Mr. Dean:

While I understand that the DNC intended to take a hard line with Florida and Michigan when it set the punishment for moving up their primaries/caucuses, and that the democratic leadership in those states undertook the decision to move elections knowing full well what the punishment was, it is clear that some action must now be taken to include the voters in those states.

It was too harsh a punishment, devised naively and unfairly, in my opinion, and a remedy must be sought--something fair and reasonable.

What is paramount is this: the voters in Michigan and Florida must be heard. It was not their decision to move the primaries, but rather that of their party leaders. We must not penalize the citizens for the mistakes of their party.

Further, because the race for the Democratic nominee is so close, so hard-fought, it is vital that every state be counted. The entire country should be allowed to choose its nominee.

I know that both candidates consented to run knowing that Florida and Michigan would not be counted, but what choice did they have?

And, of course, we cannot ignore the vital importance of considering two states, which can swing the final outcome in the general election in November. Democratic Floridians, in particular, have been injured profoundly by elections-based mistakes and misdeeds in the past. It is vitally important that we make right by them this time around.

Please, count the votes and seat the delegates from Florida and Michigan at the convention.

Sincerely yours,

Naomi Graychase
Easthampton, MA>>