Category: Musings

General Thought Posts not related to specific topics

New Normal

As the 2nd anniversary of Pam’s passing approaches, remembering and, in some cases, reliving what has transpired over the past five plus years, I recognize that I have, in deed, settled into a new normal. I realize that what goes on from day to day in my life centers around “normal” chores, tasks, challenges.

This does not change my love for Pam nor feeling of loss. It does not stop the memories and their associated feelings of love, pain, and anguish. They are now, however, intertwined with my “normal” life.

In these times, one is almost expected to question what “normal” is. In this context, normal is what most people live with and feel as part of their every day living. Normal includes a wide range of activities and feelings, thoughts and actions. People normally deal with aging and loss. We normally have health issues and interpersonal challenges. We laugh, we cry, we enjoy good times, and rue the bad. Feelings of doubt and craziness are part of being normal.

My aging aches and pains are normal for someone my age. My self-reflection and perception are normal. My feelings of love, gratitude, frustration, self-doubt, sadness, and loneliness – are normal.

It is normal to go to bed tired and often reflective of the day’s events, sometimes satisfied, sometimes with anxiety. It is normal to wake up pondering what will transpire, both planned and unplanned, psyching up for whatever the day might bring.

Feelings of happiness, sadness, frustration, contentment, and want are normal. Taking care of home, car, body, all normal. Sharing with friends and family, neighbors, and passers by are typical daily events.

And yet, for me, it’s still a “new normal.” Normal used to be experiencing all of the above with someone so close that you can know, without speaking, what the other is going through. Normal used to be buffered with the love and understanding of the one who loves you more than anyone, and with whom you love. Normal used to be softened by feelings of love and compassion for your partner, your soul mate, if you will.

Now, for me, normal is living alone, accepting this fact and being okay with it and myself – warts and all. Many daily tasks and experiences are the same as they used to be, in the “old normal”, but now I experience them alone. The old normal is captured in a poem our daughter framed for us for our wedding. It is attributed to Apache/Indian folklore, but is actually fake lore (fakelore).

Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be
shelter to the other

Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be
warmth to the other

Now there is no more loneliness

Now you are two persons,
but there is only
one life before you

Go now and enter into the days of your life together

from the 1947 novel Blood Brother by American author Elliot Arnold and popularized in the film adaptation, Broken Arrow, released in 1950

Poetic verse, prose, or lyrics describing what is MY new normal are still being written. After all, I am still grasping the scope of it. As the anniversary approaches, I suspect that I will contemplate its meaning with renewed intensity. For better or for worse, this, too, is part of my “new normal.”

Do Unto Others…

I’ve been influenced by religions of various forms my whole life. At times fervently pursuing various dogmas and at other times, heightened spirituality. I grew up with mainstream Judaism – Old Testament – teachings and liturgy. After dabbling in Eastern religions, I converted to Christianity during college, which led me to intense immersion into New Testament teachings and new liturgies, with many allusions to my Old Testament understanding, albeit with new perspective.

As my life has unfolded, I have experienced various levels of faith and spirituality, ultimately questioning whether God even exists. Is there some omniscient being managing the entire universe while keeping close tabs on this little blue ball spinning around in its midst? Or are we all just part of the same universal energy taking on different animate and inanimate forms of matter? Those questions I will leave us all to ponder.

But through all of the teachings I have figuratively ingested from the time I began to walk and talk until now, I realize that I attempt to live my life with this one basic tenet:

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you…

Matthew 7:12 (NRSV) – “In everything do unto others as you would have them do unto you; for this is the law and the prophets

Sometimes it’s in the small things, like just saying hello to a passer by. Or picking up some recyclables blown out of a bin in a neighbor’s yard. I enjoy it when I look at someone, hoping to engage, and they look me back in the eye. A connection, even with a stranger.

Simple gestures acknowledging our common humanity go a long way to treating others with respect, with care, with love. Opening doors. Waiting for and on others who do not enjoy the same abilities as I, knowing that it could easily be me at some time in the future. Or my favorite pet peeve, using my turn signal – even when no one is in the area – making sure I am in the habit for when there is.

These are all fine and dandy and make me feel good too. But doing unto others as you would have them do unto you is much larger and more complicated than simple daily gestures. There are millions living with hunger every day. The homeless are always with us. People with disabilities. The elderly and infirm. What level of empathy and compassion do I incorporate into my inner being, into my daily living? At this level, how do I fare? Let’s just say I’m a work in progress.

Clearly, I have ample room for improvement. From swearing at drivers who don’t use their turn signals, to not literally giving the shirt off my back, opportunities for treating others as I would want to be treated abound. Where’s the balance? What are the boundaries? This is the tension I face daily as I travel through my life. And I know I’m not alone in this struggle.

Here’s another one for you:

And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

First Corinthians 13:13 (NRSV)

Please don’t read too much into the fact that both quotes are from the Christian New Testament. I am NOT trying to proselytize nor tout any organized or unorganized religion. My own faith is at the least shaken, if not completely gone. My hope is limited to what I can see and perceive of the universe.

For some reason, though, I believe in love. As I’ve said before, I didn’t understand love until I realized the depth and breadth of my love for Pam and, probably more importantly, her love for me. I recognize love. I want to love. I love the planet and the cosmos. I love people, and all living things. I even love myself – most of the time.

I’ve been told that loving self is precursor to loving others. Maybe so. If loving self is necessary for doing unto others as you would have them do to you, then I’m all for it. It seems so simple. Yet it’s a life-long process. I wish everyone felt and strived for the same. The world would undoubtedly be a better place in which to live!

Strength for a Reason, Strength for a Season

Another from the vault of future topics on which to write. This one, not a quote that I know of, conjures up many potential meanings, none of which I can directly attribute because I did not flesh them out when I added it to the list. I am, however, confident that it had something to do with my grieving process. The need to be strong. The potential that the need may have a finite time frame.

Back from two weeks and 2,400 miles away from home, I begin the process of mentally preparing for the upcoming second anniversary of Pam’s passing, two short/long years ago. I am putting possibly too much weight behind the date. As with my many backpacking trips during which I hope or expect some sort of epiphany about life, I feel the need to attribute some rite of passage to visiting the site in Nebraska where Pam’s ashes were scattered.

Could it actually be a milestone in my grief journey? Have I been strong for this season to culminate in a literal and figurative step forward in my new life without Pam? Based on past experience, I’d say no. Yet somehow I feel like it should. Like it will.

There have been plenty of milestones since May 12, 2022. First it was days, then weeks. Counting months seems to have subsided several months ago. But two years! Is this one particularly significant? In a way, I think so. Not because of a date. But because of how I feel and the way I view life at this juncture.

Being strong through the pain and sadness, clutching almost without hope to the need to play music in Pam’s honor and absence. With the incredible help of family and friends I have come far – much further than I thought possible – through my grief journey. I recognize once more who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And though the two of us were another amazing being together, Pam never lost who she was, nor did I.

We are no longer the same being, nor will we ever be again. Pam is gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Evidenced now only by a bridge to visit on the back country roads in rural Nebraska. I live on with her memory. She lives on through the memories of so many family and friends who knew and love(d) her. I/we cannot change this reality.

Is this the season of transition? Is it the season of change? Of course. There are many impactful changes taking place here and around the world. They are constant – change. I certainly feel that my life’s journey is in transition and that I am ready for change.

I suffer no delusions that transition and change are linear. My emotional ups and downs confirm that change and seasons are cyclical or, as some say about the grief process, a spiral, moving up and around through time. We all live with them. I choose to accept them.

So on I go, embracing each day, remembering yet not living in the past, not afraid of what the future holds. I am thankful for this outlook and hope to continue being strong for good reasons, strong for any season.

May you all find strength and peace amidst life’s changes and seasons.

“Fear is the Thief of Joy”

This is not my quote. I think I saw it on Facebook and liked it – a lot! I retrieved it from a list of future blog subjects I keep online. I’m finally claiming it.

“Would have, could have, should have”, is similar. Often spurred on by fear, the regret this saying suggests is the result of fear retrospectively. Though regret is not always triggered by doing something or choosing not to do something out of fear, it often is the result of it.

There have been plenty of times in my life that I forged ahead into some unknown, fearless of, and often ignorant of, the consequences. We all have. Some are simply bad decisions. In every instance, I have learned some major life lessons as a result. But the decisions I remember so clearly are those when I chose not to pursue something or someone and have since wished I had.

Fear can be a weapon or a power tool to usurp control. This kind of fear certainly robs the victim of Joy. I suspect that it brings no joy to the oppressor, even if there is some sort of satisfaction derived from wielding it.

My education tells me that there is, in fact, healthy fear. Fearing the unknown is entrenched in our instinct for survival. We most likely would not have risen to the top of the animal kingdom without it. Healthy skepticism sometimes can keep us alive.

But we will never know what we would learn, or what pleasure, joy, or satisfaction we would gain, by choosing to let fear dictate our behavior and/or decisions. Like coming to a fork in the path. By choosing one, you never know what was down the other. It is not always the path that looks easiest, flattest, brightest, smoothest, that brings good things to our futures. Sometimes it’s the scary, rough, dark ways where we find our greatest joy.

And that is not always the situation. Sometimes we choose not to do something, say something, offer something, for fear of being rejected, laughed at, ostracized. Social norms, peer pressure, self doubt, keep us from performing such acts as saying hello to a passer by or offering up a compliment to someone who looks nice, speaks well, sings on key. Who amongst us has failed to ask a boy or girl to coffee or a date for fear of a negative response. Fear keeps us from following through. Fear drives us to do things we know we should not. Fear of being alone. Fear of fitting in. Fear that our opinions will meet with resistance, or worse yet, physical harm.

Fear is the thief of joy. My recent experiences have forced me to view life altering decisions in a different way. I am no longer so fearful of taking reasonable risks that might improve my quality of life without harm to others. Another new mantra is “life’s too short.” I cannot afford to delay venturing out, trying new things (something my OCD psyche hates), expanding my circle, making new acquaintances. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. And as I’ve said before, I cannot, and do not live in the past.

That leaves only today to decide what influences my decisions. I choose to be open, kind, empathetic, engaging. I choose to realize that every person is just that. Another human being trying to live their life as best they can with what has influenced them, what they have been given. It’s really quite liberating.

Sure, this MO has its risks. It might even be dangerous. But if the alternative is living in fear, robbed of the potential joys that accompany human interaction, to me it is worth the risk.

What can I say?

It’s late Friday night and I’ve just started this post for Saturday noon release. I’m sitting in a motel room, 100 miles from home, trying to put something together worth your valuable time to read. Not sure I can.

This brief overnighter to visit family is the first of several travels planned over the spring and summer months. More trips to see family, an anniversary trip to Nebraska, and one to celebrate a milestone birthday. Likely more on all that later.

The week went by so quickly! Between appointments, household chores, and much more time playing music, it just seems to have slipped away without enough attention to my faithful readership. Unfortunately, with my upcoming travel schedule, I worry about publishing on a consistent schedule. On the other hand, I hope gather more read-worthy material to write about.

Either way, I’ll do my best to consistently post on Saturdays. For now, I hope you had a quality week and have an even better one to come. After all, wut else javia to do? 😉

What Can’t We Do?

Fire was used beginning approximately two million years ago and was in constant habitual use by about 400,000 years ago. The discovery and use of fire by Homo erectus is tied to the evolution of the human species and helped propel human civilizations from the Stone Age into the Bronze Age.

Study.com

No one knows for sure when language evolved, but fossil and genetic data suggest that humanity can probably trace its ancestry back to populations of anatomically modern Homo sapiens (people who would have looked like you and me) who lived around 150,000 to 200,000 years ago in eastern or perhaps southern Africa [4,5,6]. Because all human groups have language, language itself, or at least the capacity for it, is probably at least 150,000 to 200,000 years old. This conclusion is backed up by evidence of abstract and symbolic behaviour in these early modern humans, taking the form of engravings on red-ochre [7, 8].

BMC Biology

Agricultural communities developed approximately 10,000 years ago when humans began to domesticate plants and animals. By establishing domesticity, families and larger groups were able to build communities and transition from a nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle dependent on foraging and hunting for survival.

National Geographic

There is some evidence of human worked metal from as much as 6000 BC but not firmly dated and clearly a “tool”. Simple copper tools were probably made as early as 4200 BC. Only rarely were identifiable harder tools made from meteorites, dated to 3200 BC.

Quorta

The wheel was invented in the 4th millennium BC in Lower Mesopotamia(modern-​​day Iraq), where the Sumerian people inserted rotating axles into solid discs of wood. It was only in 2000 BC that the discs began to be hollowed out to make a lighter wheel. This innovation led to major advances in two main areas.

Citeco.fr

As early as the third century BCE, they were using crucibles to smelt wrought iron with charcoal to produce ‘wootz’ steel – a material that is still admired today for its quality. Chinese craftsmen were also manufacturing high-quality steel.

The Steel Story – woodsteel.org

I could go on and on. Development of the calendar, mathematics, astronomy, the scientific revolution, the industrial revolution, technology and the digital age. But this isn’t meant to be a history lesson on the development of humankind. Rather, I had hoped to keep it simple. Mankind has learned or made progress in a multitude of advances that keep us at the top of the evolutionary ladder. It seems there is nothing we cannot do – except live together in peace!

However, as I pondered this further, maybe it isn’t so simple. Or maybe it can all be rolled up into that one thing we have made no apparent progress. We have developed the ways and means to feed the world. But we don’t. We have cured many diseases and found ways to mitigate the effects of many more. Yet we don’t make the cures and treatments available to all. Shelter, clothing, water, space, all are basic human needs. And we don’t think it necessary to provide them.

I believe in capitalism. But greed is antithetical to living together without hatred for those who have, by those who do not. History also tells us that, as our world sets obstacles in the way of survival, humans’ survival instinct, the one that got us to the top of the ladder, turns further inward, toward or against each other.

We dominate every living thing on this earth. We have mostly mastered every inert object on and within it as well. We are even trying to dominate our atmosphere and environment. Based on our past successes, we may just be able to do it.

Yet it begs the question. With all our abilities to reason, communicate, manipulate, master all that is set before us, why can’t we figure out how to use them to benefit all humankind, not to mention every other living thing? From what I have seen in my short lifespan, we have made little, if any, progress.

It’s not that some don’t try. But when push comes to shove, the shoving is done by those who believe that the only way to survive is to control or eliminate everyone else who is either different, in need, or unable to provide for themselves. It seems that it is true that history, particularly human history, is doomed to repeat itself. I wish I had some answers.

With so many physical, environmental, health, and political challenges facing us and our posterity, it is easy to be discouraged or cynical about our future. But you and I do have a say as whether we destroy each other and our planet. This is my say! There may be dark days ahead. No doubt there will be natural obstacles to challenge our survival. We can choose to help as many as possible, or just a chosen few. What will I do? What will you do?

In the not-so-eloquent words of my wife on her death bed, “This [too] is bullshit!”

Assessment and the Amanas

I was still assessing and evaluating last week’s performances while driving between routine medical appointments Wednesday morning, the latter being in Hiawatha IA on the north end of Cedar Rapids. As expected, I had the initial letdown through last weekend. But the funk lingered into this week.

I was pleased with my performance on Friday of last week. I played as well as I hoped. Not completely error-free, but with only minor hand coordination mistakes that I doubt were noticed by the audience. I did, in fact, remember all the words. Everyone stayed for the entire performance, allaying my second deepest fear that people would just get up and walk out. “And the first?”, you ask, was that I would get lost mid-song and freeze up. How embarrassing!

But I was less than satisfied with people’s response to the songs. One person’s comment was that old people don’t want to hear sad songs. I thought I had left those out of the playlist! Another clearly disliked what is probably my most popular song, Bad Habit Creatures. But I suspect it was a political dislike. Most who attended liked it over the other songs.

Returning home that afternoon, I felt numb. Part of it was having worked so hard in preparation, just to have it over in less than one hour. But it also felt empty. Of course, I had achieved what I set out to do, play in public, having an opportunity to share my stories through song.

What I realized over the next few days was that I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy having to pare down my playlist and manipulate it to fit what I thought was the audience I was playing to. I didn’t enjoy practicing only specific songs in hopes of playing ‘well enough’ for that particular crowd. I didn’t enjoy worrying about whether my music would be accepted or appreciated.

By Wednesday, the conclusion I came to was that, though I accomplished this project that I set out to do, I was not being true to my original goal and commitment of just playing what I want, when I want, where I want. What I want is to be able to just play. Play the songs I want as my mood dictates. Like it or don’t. That I can handle.

Still, I was unsettled as I sat in the parking lot in Hiawatha trying to figure out what to do next on this Wednesday afternoon. I had no reason to rush home. I decided to make the trek to The Amana Colonies about 20 miles SW of where I sat. I had read an article in Only In Iowa just that morning about a hotel in Homestead, the only Amana Colony without the word Amana in its name. I thought it might make for a little get-away sometime where I could stay as a base for branching out to tour all of the colonies. I’d been through them, but only briefly in most.

My second motive for going was to pick up some wonderful smoked salami’s at the Amana Meat Shop and Smokehouse. That place is so much fun for a guy like me. So many meat, cheese, and kitchen gadget choices. Plenty of other tasty morsels as well. As usual, I came out with more than I went in for.

Having increased my groceries and decreased my bank account, I sat in the car again, planning to head for Homestead, just a few miles away. But it’s almost past lunch time. Surely there are places to eat in Amana. Then I remembered that Millstream Brewing Company, the first craft beer establishment in Iowa, had added a brew pub, “Millstream Brau Hous.” Since I’d never been there, I decided to go.

Somewhat typical in style, but with the cultural design on the exterior as well as the interior, I was greeted and ushered to a window-side table. Sitting down, my eyes immediately fixed on a blonde Ibanez guitar hanging on the wall on the other side of the room near the bar. There were few people in the room. I asked if someone played it. It belongs to the owner and is there for anyone to play.

That was all it took. I quickly ordered my burger, fries, and Widow Maker hazy IPA, and headed for the guitar. Nice tone. New strings. Sounds good. I planted myself on a bar stool facing the bar, and began to play. It came easy. It sounded good. I was having fun. I barely noticed that my food had arrived across the room.

However, the beer was not at the table. I finally went to the bar to ask for it. The server apologized, saying he was distracted, enjoying the music, and forgot. I took that as a compliment.

After enjoying the food and quaff, I went straight back to the Ibanez. I noticed the bar tender tapping his hand on his thigh as I played an instrumental riff that I enjoy. Turns out he is also a musician.

Returning to the table to pay the tab, the two ladies at the table next to me expressed their appreciation of my playing. That’s the effect I am going for.

My assessment complete. My analysis spot on. I never wanted to be a performer, though I like to play for people, hoping they enjoy and get something out of the listening. I just want to play my songs whenever and wherever I can. Be it in the garage, in parks, in brew pubs or coffee houses. I’m not in it for the gigs. Now I remember the vision and the commitment. I hope to be true to it.

On to Homestead Iowa. Home town to Ashton Kutcher. Homestead is literally a one street town with its homes and businesses lining it. Stop signs only at the two ends of the half-mile long road. I found the hotel about 3/4 of the way through town. It had a for sale sign on it. So much for that cozy getaway.

Just drive on home. Play my guitar. It’s a good day. I’m back on track.

PPA:

It’s a TLI
PA: It’s also a TLI, or a TLA

I used to do this in the classroom. There were so many abbreviations. In my jargon, a TLA is a three-letter acronym – and also a two-letter acronym. But I know that actually, PPA is not a three-letter acronym. It’s a three-letter initialism.

Acronym

a word (such as NATO, radar, or laser) formed from the initial letter or letters of each of the successive parts or major parts of a compound term

Merriam Webster Dictionary

Initialism

an abbreviation formed from initial letters

Merriam Webster Dictionary

“Okay”, you might say, “Wut’s this all really about?” Well, I thought I might be coining a new acronym/initialism, but once again, Google search saved me from embarrassment.

PPA is an initialism for Pre-Performance Anxiety. According to WebMD, pre-performance anxiety is stress and anxiety about performing in front of people and causes performance anxiety. PA can be considered either an initialism or an acronym since its letters also form a colloquialism for father. Performance Anxiety is also known as stage fright.

Now do you see where I’m headed with this? I now have two performances scheduled for next week. On Thursday I will participate in an open mic at Sidekick Coffee & Books in Iowa City. I recently added this venue after previously committing to the 55+ Connections Lunch at the North Liberty Recreation Center.

I’ve known about the 55+ gig for some time and have been practicing a set of songs that I hope will engage and somehow positively affect the lives of those who attend. Now that the time is near at hand, I find myself second guessing. Are my music and lyrics really “good” enough for public consumption? Is my presentation polished enough to expose myself to scrutiny? Will my aging, stiff fingers work!!!? On the up side, I do think I’ll remember the words.

I am not self-absorbed enough to think I am the only person who experiences performance anxiety (stage fright). I immediately think of my 13-year-old granddaughter who landed a major part in a community theater musical that opens next Friday, the same day as my 55+ performance. Break a leg, E! And there are others in my immediate sphere who have upcoming meetings and interviews who may deal with similar anxieties.

I found an interesting article, Get excited: reappraising pre-performance anxiety as excitement, on the National Library of Medicine website. Just reading the abstract helped me reframe my perspective:

Abstract

Individuals often feel anxious in anticipation of tasks such as speaking in public or meeting with a boss. I find that an overwhelming majority of people believe trying to calm down is the best way to cope with pre-performance anxiety. However, across several studies involving karaoke singing, public speaking, and math performance, I investigate an alternative strategy: reappraising anxiety as excitement. Compared with those who attempt to calm down, individuals who reappraise their anxious arousal as excitement feel more excited and perform better. Individuals can reappraise anxiety as excitement using minimal strategies such as self-talk (e.g., saying “I am excited” out loud) or simple messages (e.g., “get excited”), which lead them to feel more excited, adopt an opportunity mind-set (as opposed to a threat mind-set), and improve their subsequent performance. These findings suggest the importance of arousal congruency during the emotional reappraisal process.

Alison Wood Brooks 
PsycINFO Database Record (c) 2014 APA, all rights reserved

Next week will be a culmination of an extensive period of hoping, dreaming, and preparing that began even before my retirement and Pam’s illness and death. I’ve conveyed many times my desire to “take it on the road” with Pam during our retirement years, using venues as a tour guide for going places and seeing things together. Something we so enjoyed together.

These two gigs also mark the beginning of a new phase of reaching for the dream. Though I have performed at very limited open mic sessions and in front of a friendly audience of family and friends at a church, these are the first true public appearances in front of people whom I don’t know. No one will have heard the songs. No one will know what to expect. At the 55+, I’m not even sure they know that the program is a musician. They only know that there is a program every last Friday of the month.

Success will look like people not walking out during the first song or shortly thereafter. It will look like people looking at me, perhaps nodding with some sort of mutual understanding. Maybe even clapping? Success will catapult me forward in my journey, give me confidence to book other performances, find other ways to get my music out there. Obviously, failure will look and feel quite different.

Therein lies the fear with pre-performance anticipation. I am excited that I have followed through with the commitment to pursue my music. I believe that I have a message of humanness, one that not everyone is willing to share. It happens to be through music. I am fearful that my musical message will not be received, even though those who have listened have encouraged me.

Performance anxiety, stage fright, is another matter. My mouth gets dry, my heart rate goes up (even more than when I just play the songs), and I have trouble staying focused. My eyes and ears seem to work overtime to ferret out any peculiar distracting input, of which there are ample, when one is on stage. Practice, even trying to imagine myself at the venue, helps. Just thinking about looking out over the audience during practice is enough to distract me. Thus, the more I do it, the better I will be able to focus – I hope.

Again, none of this is unique to me. I am sure that many of you can relate at some level. And again, I am just egocentric enough to think it’s worth writing about. That you might enjoy the reading, and maybe get something worthwhile out of it.

By this time next week, all of the anticipation, anxiety, excitement, and of course, the performances will be over. I will have an emotional let down, as I always do. I will review and evaluate the outcome. Then I will pick myself up and figure out the next plan. Yet I have made a greater commitment – to Pam:

I will go on. I will be okay.

Privilege

a right or immunity granted as a peculiar benefit, advantage, or favor : PREROGATIVE

especially : such a right or immunity attached specifically to a position or an office

Merriam Webster Dictionary

As I ponder Webster’s definition of privilege, I’m not sure if it is an accurate reflection of my topic. But I think my discourse does reflect common understanding of the word.

He walked into the dentist's office asking for help with a tooth that, by the way he talked, was clearly causing him discomfort. He explained that he had been to another office that he previously patronized where he was told that they would have to begin a new, complete work-up. Apparently, it had been a while. "Can you help me?", he asked. "I just want help with this tooth right now. I don't want to start with a whole mouth evaluation."

Assured now that this office would not deny him or make him jump through hoops to get immediate relief, he began looking for his dental insurance card to assist with the sign-in process. As he fumbled through a stack of cards in his wallet, he began to explain. "I know it's here somewhere. No, that's for my health insurance. Oh, that one's expired. I know it's here somewhere.

"I'm glad to have insurance", he continued as he fumbled. "The place I work has been laying off. It sounds like more layoffs are coming. Oh, that looks like it. No, that's for prescriptions."

His frayed baseball cap, faded plaid jacket covering a just as faded hoody, well-worn jeans, and scuffed up work boots betrayed his economic status. It certainly was not one of privilege.

While still looking, the assistant was checking the schedule. "I can get you in at 12:30 and it might be a bit sooner. "I don't think I can do that. I have to go to the unemployment office and then get groceries for my mother."

"How about two o'clock? Or two thirty?"

"Well, I'm not sure... Let's just make it for the 12:00. I can just go to the unemployment tomorrow and get the groceries after the appointment. Oh, there it is! I really need to clean out this wallet."

Sitting in the lobby, waiting for the hygienist to call my name for scheduled teeth cleaning, I was aware of the different world this man lived in. I have lived a life of privilege.

Oh, I’ve had my difficult times, economically as well as physically and emotionally. Everyone does. This man, at least from my snap judgmental viewpoint, is living harder times than I.

My father died while I was young. My mother, with four young mouths to feed, had to find a job. She did. But she and my father were really just trying to get ahead in life before he died. Now it was a much larger challenge. I knew times were rough, but didn’t really understand.

But I was young and unaware of how anything in the world works. I was unfazed by economic struggles, even when mom married again. A man in between jobs. That didn’t last too long and as I grew into my tweens and teens, our household was one of upward economic and social mobility. I have benefited from that economic stability throughout my life other than a self-imposed poverty period in my early 20’s.

My father’s death and that poverty did manage to instill in me some empathy for others who are less fortunate. But I did attend an almost all white high school in the suburbs and wasn’t exposed to many alternative cultures until going to college.

So what is this really about? It’s about trekking through my life with some empathy, and a lot of guilt. I am guilty of not being empathetic enough. I am guilty of not doing more to help others in need. I am guilty of judging them by their apparent economic status rather than by their character. I think, because I have been privileged. Although I know such judgements go both ways.

I am thankful for my parents’ hard work to keep me fed and clothed; to provide me with more than my needs, to give me at least some of what I wanted. I am thankful that, at many tipping points in my life, my parents and family have supported me and, possibly most importantly, have provided safe haven when my world was anything but safe. So many around the world don’t have the luxury.

This post is a reminder to all of us that we (you and I) have lived some level of privilege in our lives. Though we might be on varying levels of the economic spectrum, most likely if you are reading this, you are not on the lower end. I dare say that most of you can relate to my empathy, my thankfulness, and my guilt.

Times being what they are, it is difficult to determine how to help. We are deluged with requests for donations in written, online, and multi-media forms. Who can we trust? You already know of some of my choices that include the Arbor Day Foundation, Parkinson’s Foundation, EWALU, Habitat for Humanity, and our local community pantry. Organizations I know first hand, or have researched and trust.

But assuaging guilt goes beyond giving of my fixed income resources. It must include a change in perspective, a change in judgement. I have been working on this for decades now and still have work to do. It must be a conscious effort to recognize biases and prejudices. Then, act in opposition to those preconceived notions. And that I try to do.

Regardless of my ramblings, it is a privilege to be able to share my personal struggles with you. I do hope that the sharing adds value to your lives. You may empathize, you may think I’m out to lunch. But I hope I make you think. That, too, is my privilege.

Iatrophobia

Fear of Doctors

Originally, I planned to write about fear in general. But that subject seemed too broad. I may take it up in multiple posts at some later time.

Cigna Healthcare defines iatrophobia as “…people [who] have such an intense fear of doctors that they are said to have a phobia of doctors. The clinical word for this is, ‘iatrophobia.’” They further define symptoms as follows:

  • You cancel doctor appointments or keep rescheduling them to avoid dealing with the fear; you don’t even get the preventive care and important vaccinations you may need to help stay healthy.
  • Instead of seeing a doctor when you’re sick, you try and self-treat.
  • In advance of a doctor appointment, you are unable to concentrate on anything else, lose sleep, may not eat, or cry at the thought of the upcoming appointment.
  • Do you have a fear of dentists, hospitals, and even sickness or illnesses? Some or all of these other types of fears are commonly combined with a fear of doctors.
Cigna Healthcare

To be fair, Cigna also states from the outset that some level of stress leading up to any type of healthcare visit is normal. Based on the symptoms listed above, I cannot definitively say that I suffer from iatrophobia. However, based on my personal experiences in the past couple years, well, let’s just say, I suffer! I found it interesting that Cigna also suggests working with a therapist to help alleviate the symptoms. Okay. I know that therapists aren’t necessarily doctors. But seriously. When you have this phobia, don’t they count?! (sorry Cynthia 😉 )

About three years ago, I finally went to the dentist due to an ongoing toothache. I hadn’t been for a few years. COVID, and caregiving were great excuses to avoid the dreaded chair. Unfortunately, this pain would no longer wait. I had a cracked tooth, presumably from clenching my jaw as I sleep. I later got a mouth guard to assuage that issue.

So I went through the process of getting a root canal and crown. It was stressful. In addition to my personal angst, Pam’s cognition was deteriorating and, as a result, I had to take her with me, leave her in the waiting room (and give instructions to the front desk assistant) while I went under the drill. But we got through it without a mental breakdown (on my part).

Forward to after Pam’s passing

About this time last year, I had a similar problem on the other end of my lower jaw. A persistent toothache. I knew the symptoms and the process. Still a result of clinching my jaw. Schedule a visit to the dentist, go for a root canal, get the crown. I can handle this. Except this time I was told that there wasn’t enough bone left for a crown and I would have to have the tooth pulled.

Instant anxiety. Another loss trauma. I broke down crying while still in the chair! And, I had to schedule with another oral surgeon to get the procedure. Unfortunately, that meant I had plenty of time to “stew” over the appointment. Mind you, I was in a fragile emotional state, dealing with losing my Pam and trying to get my health and my life on a new trajectory.

I knew I was not in a good place when I went to the appointment that day. The first thing they do when you get in the chair is take your blood pressure. Mine was extremely high. They were almost afraid to do the procedure. Take it again, similar results. And again, just a bit better. I told them that I have the anxiety and elevated blood pressure every time I see a doctor and this is extra stressful. Procedure done. Take blood pressure again. Still very high. Now they were afraid to let me get up. But, having no other symptoms, they let me go.

Over the next few days I knew that my BP was still elevated. Still no symptoms besides a feeling of high anxiety. Got a monitor. Yep, still high. Ended up at the hospital. Everything normal except BP. Long story short, I’m on BP medicine now.

I’m not sure how much of this I have already written. But I came to the realization, somewhat recently, that I was living every day in fear of dying. I’ve been afraid, to an obsessive extent, that if I eat the wrong foods, don’t exercise enough, don’t sleep well, high BP, whatever, I was going to die. It is an irrational fear, due mostly, I think, to watching my Pam deteriorate and die in front of me. It is not abnormal in those who lose a close loved one.

Forward to current events

Well, backing up for a moment. Last year my right thumb began to lock up at the joints. Movement was painful and I lost range of motion and gripping capability to the point that I could hardly hold a guitar pick. Problematic! Over time it eased, and I was able to avoid seeing a doctor.

Last November, my left thumb locked up and it’s been a problem ever since. It has impeded my ability to play guitar to the point where I stopped for days at a time. I’ve tried to work it out on my own and discussed it with family and my chiropractor. She, along with a daughter who knows of such things, suggested that I look into physical therapy.

I have an upcoming performance, the first for a bunch of people I do not know, in a public setting. I’ve been working through the pain and impediment so I can practice in preparation. I finally made the move Wednesday when my chiropractor recommended a specific physical therapy company. I went directly there. They were great and, after a quick referral from my primary care, I had an appointment for Thursday. Now I have a therapy plan and high hopes for long term recovery from tendinitis. I also found out that, at least on my left side, it may be related to issues I’ve been having with my shoulder. So much for fear of doctors.

I’m not sure if I suffer from iatrophobia. I can relate to some of the symptoms. Maybe you have similar issues. Hopefully, with recent success, increased knowledge, and recognition of the normalcy of my experiences, I can better deal with health issues and abandon the fear of eminent death.

Monday I have a teeth cleaning and PT for my thumb. Wednesday, it’s an appointment for my hearing devices and PT. If getting out there and doing it help with overcoming a phobia, I must be on the right path. Hopefully also, with life in general. I guess the moral to the story is, if you have health issues, work with the professionals.