Thursday, September 04, 2008

One more medical mystery....


By Claudia Ricci
This is a story about a medical puzzle. It involves a very successful research physician and his father, a dentist who was also a hypnotist. It also involves the research physician’s wife, who is suffering from ovarian cancer.

I am writing this story because I am truly mystified by the doctor, who I will call David. I met him and his wife a few weeks ago at a dinner party. We got talking about medical issues. He did his training at Harvard, and my husband, who was at the table too, mentioned that I had been treated at Dana Farber, a Harvard-affiliated hospital, for Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

David asked me how long I had been healthy, and I told him five or six years and he gave me a big smile and a thumb’s up. As we proceeded to dine on barbecued chicken and string beans and orzo salad, David told one amazing story about his father the dentist.

Somewhere along the line, his father (I will call him Isaac) had learned about the power of hypnosis. Being an open-minded kind of guy, Isaac decided to try using hypnosis – instead of anesthesia – on his dental patients.

David himself experienced the astonishing power of hypnosis. Just before he went off to college, David needed his wisdom teeth removed. His father did the oral surgery, using only hypnosis. A day later, David had to leave for school. Isaac arranged for David to be seen in another city by a different dentist.

When the second dentist peered into David’s mouth, he was puzzled. “When did you say you had your wisdom teeth removed?” he asked David.

“Yesterday,” David answered.

“But that’s impossible,” the dentist said. The four holes in David’s mouth were virtually healed. A day later, David traveled on to another city, and a third dentist inspected his mouth. Same reaction: David’s recovery from oral surgery was absolutely astonishing.

David said he suffered no pain at all, until the third day, when suddenly he felt some twitches of discomfort. He called his father. Isaac told David that he wasn’t surprised that David felt pain after the third day.

“When I hypnotized you, I told you that you would have no pain on days one, two, and three,” Isaac told his son.

I was entranced by David’s story. But there’s more.

At age 75, Isaac needed open heart surgery for a bypass. At that point, his son was a physician. Isaac explained to David how to hypnotize him before he went into surgery. David did the hypnosis. Isaac had the heart surgery – they opened his chest at the breastbone with a long incision. They closed him up with a long row of metal staples.

Isaac sailed through the surgery. A day later, he reported no pain. Two days later, he told his son, and his doctor, that he felt he was healed enough to have the staples removed. Naturally, the doctor was at first reluctant, but when he went to remove the staples, they came out with ease. Indeed, a miracle had occurred.

This 75 year-old man with a mammoth breast incision had virtually healed in two days.
By now our dinner was over. I was completely mesmerized by David’s stories. And his explanation for why hypnosis had led to such rapid healing.

“I believe that the hypnosis gave the subconscious mind an instruction to release some kind of healing substance,” he said. I nodded in agreement, and suggested that it might be interesting to test it further.
But this is where the real mystery ensues.

At this point in the conversation, David’s wife, whom I will call Carla, leaned toward me and whispered that she has ovarian cancer. And that recently it had recurred for the third time.

I am always at a loss for what to say when someone confides information like this in me (it happens because of my health history.) I don’t really like to ask a person about their treatment, or their prognosis, but I did inquire very gently about how she was faring. Carla was vague but suggested that she was getting additional treatment. I nodded.

She turned the conversation back to me. Was I getting follow-up treatment for Hodgkins? No, I said, I had completed my treatment five years ago. But I told her I was trying to live as “meticulously” as I could. She wanted to know what that meant.

I told her that I focus on a good diet, low in sugar and fat, and big on greens and garlic, everything organic. I told her that I take barley powder at least twice daily (with my doctor’s encouragement) and a second fiber blend powder to “detoxify.” I told her that I meditate and do yoga daily, to try to stay positive, and to keep stress levels low.

I didn’t mention the chanting I do. Or the visualization. Or the Reiki I’ve had. Or the jin shin jitsu. Or the classes I take weekly in gnosticism.
I did say, however, that I spend a good deal of time in prayer of one kind or another.

Carla was intrigued. She wanted the internet address for the company from which I buy the barley powder. And she was astonished to learn that sugar was a no-no. She turned to her husband.

“David, did you know that I shouldn’t be eating sugar?” she demanded. He looked confused. “Why didn’t my oncologist tell me that?” she snapped.

I pointed out to her that none of the three oncologists I saw when I was treated for cancer ever said a word to me about avoiding sugar; nor did they ever attempt to offer any nutritional advice. They had no interest whatsoever in what I ate, only in what chemicals they were pumping into my veins.

At that point, with Carla’s prompting, I tried to explain to David why I do what I do to try to stay healthy. I told him that the more I read and learn about medicine, the more firmly I believe that the human body is, at heart, a complex energy system. And that the mind plays a critical role in controlling how the body fares.

This is where the most astonishing part comes in. After spending most of the evening explaining to me in great detail his father’s miraculous use of hypnosis both to stave off pain, AND to heal in miraculous ways, David told me that he didn’t buy into alternative medicine, not one bit. He dismissed it all in one sentence, saying that he was a scientist (he works as a pathologist) and that he is highly suspicious of people who adhere to unscientific notions with a kind of blind faith, or idolatry.

I don’t remember his exact words, but basically he said: “There is no scientific evidence for most of what the alternative practitioners play around with.”

Well, OK, I said, but at least you must agree with the idea that we should try to reduce stress.

Nope, he said. Why should we?

Why? I said. “Because high stress levels leave us more vulnerable to illness.”

“How do we know that for sure?” he asked. “We need stress in order to stimulate our fight or flight response.”

At that point, I just looked at him and thought, this man may be a brilliant Harvard-trained scientist and doctor but he is also….arrogant, and a little nuts. There was no point in trying to convince him that alternative therapies, and herbals, and other non-traditional remedies are worth a consideration.

Dessert was being served. I decided to get up from the table before cake arrived.

I wished his wife well. She seemed vaguely irritated at her husband, as if she had relied completely on his knowing what was best for her, and now, she was hearing that maybe there were other ideas that might also make sense.

I left that party thoroughly puzzled. And I still am. Here is a highly-intelligent doctor with so much first-hand experience showing him that the mind is capable of things way beyond what we currently understand. How, I keep asking, could he be so completely closed to trying to understand that power in the mind and the body?

What a sad thing. Because he is a powerful man. He sits on the admissions committee of a major medical school. He controls a very large research department at a big university. If he wanted to, he could do amazing stuff. He could advocate, among his colleagues, for a double-blind research study on hypnosis.

He could also try something else. Why not try hypnotizing his wife? Her condition is very serious. He could try planting a subconscious message in her mind, one that suggested to her body that it find a way of fighting off this newest round of ovarian cancer. It might not cure her, but considering the severity of her illness, it would be worth a go, no?

There are more and more doctors all the time who express their willingness to embrace alternative remedies. But we’ve still got such a long way to go. After an encounter like this one, I wonder if conventional practitioners and the medical research establishment will ever seriously embrace the many fascinating alternatives that give so many people so much health.

Friday, August 08, 2008

Meditate in the classroom?


Can you imagine a college classroom where the teacher incorporates regular meditation, yoga or so-called mindfulness training into the instruction?

That’s not just an academic question.

This past week, a group of more than three dozen university professors -- hailing from California to Connecticut, and from schools in foreign countries including Canada, Thailand and Brazil -- gathered at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, to develop just such curricula for their schools. Dozens of the nation's universities already have mounted such classes, in a variety of disciplines ranging from econcomics to English, religious studies to information sciences, art and architecture, and yes, even business!

As students of the IPOD age increasingly arrive at college wired up for multi-tasking, the effort to go "mindful" seems like an anachronism. Why would students want to "unplug" from computers, cell phones, ipods, televisions and video games to sit and contemplate in silence?

Educators say that mindfulness -- think of it as the opposite of mindlessness -- is exactly what students need in this increasingly hectic and stressful modern information age. By embracing some form of secular, contemplative practice, students are in fact learning how to slow down, how to focus, how to look inward to become more self-reflective about what they read and discuss in the classroom. By enhancing their self-reflection, and their ability to be coherent about their thoughts, even if uncertain, the students are, in effect, developing exactly the kind of critical thinking skills that colleges and universities, big and small, value so highly.

So maybe that's why so many university educators are getting on board with this idea. There are literally dozens of colleges offering classes, including some of the nation's most elite institutions: Brown, Princeton, Amherst, Vassar, Syracuse, Georgetown and the University of Virginia among them.

This week's conference at Smith, the fourth of its kind, is sponsored by a not-for-profit called The Center for Contemplative Mind in Society, based in Amherst. The group’s mission is to foster so-called contemplative practices in many walks of life, including the world of business and law, as well as the world of higher education.

You can check out the Center's web site, at http://www.acmhe.org/about.html

The Center’s objective:

to use these remarkable practices to transform the world. “We believe that by developing the contemplative mind as well as the rational mind - that is, developing one's ability to simply "be," with awareness, openness and clarity - one may become more centered, peaceful, and confident. The personal transformations that often occur with regular contemplative practice, such as increased patience, compassion, and concentration, can play a part in the positive transformation of organizations, businesses, and other institutions. We are dedicated to the idea that contemplative awareness, when incorporated into contemporary life, can help produce a more just, compassionate, and reflective society.”

And now, get a load of some of the titles of classes already being offered:

“Contemplation and Devotion: Art and Space,” offered by an art history professor at Holy Cross college;

"Contemplative Practices and Literary Creation," by a religious studies prof at Brown;

"Seminar in Spirituality and Business Leadership,” by a professor of organizational analysis and management at Santa Clara in California;

“Contemplative Urban School Counseling,” offered by an education professor at CUNY in Brooklyn,

and one of my very favorites,

“Happiness and Economics,” by a professor at the University of Southern Maine.

The academic program director for the Center is Arthur Zajonc, who is the Andrew W. Mellon Professor of Physics at Amherst College. Dr. Zajonc, who has been at Amherst for the past 30 years, has a mighty impressive CV. And he is, meanwhile, devoted heart and soul to advancing meditation and mindfulness in the world of higher education.

As a teacher of English and writing at the University at Albany, SUNY, I have from time to time used meditation, or what I call “breathing exercises,” in the classroom. (I think the word meditation can put students off.)

The results have been rather remarkable. The writing that has poured forth from students who take time out just to breathe, and just to be with their thoughts, has been some of the most astonishing, and refreshing, work I’ve ever seen from students. And the exercises have surprised the students, who discover a rather remarkably simple way to relax.

OK, so I dropped in at the conference this week. And now I've got a working title for a new class I want to teach. I'm calling it: "Breathing Life into Literature." I'm not exactly sure what I’m going to do in this new class. But I am meditating on it, and if you’re curious, I’ll be happy to let you know what happens.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

To You I Give My Poem


By Camincha

Brown sweet face
silken dark eyes
turned vacant pools.
With time
disappointments
left their marks.
To you I give my poem.

Who, what, could
have erased
the darkness
in your eyes?
To you I give my poem.

How I wish you could
have known love, happiness.
I hope you do now.
To you I give my poem.

Camincha is a pen name for a San Francisco-based writer.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Let's Hear It for Health Care, NOW!!!!

caitlin-jackson-insurance-story.jpg

Here's a heartbreaking health care story for you, and one more good reason why Americans need a solid, affordable national health care plan.

The story comes out of Bartow, Florida, near Tampa. It was reported by Tampa Bay's Channel 10 (TV) news.

A young woman named Caitlin Jackson, age 19, was recently diagnosed with a rare brain disorder called Chiari Malformation. The condition gives Caitlin horrible headaches and unpredicatable (and dangerous) fainting spells. Down the line, the disease could destroy her motor skills and her memory and maybe even end her life prematurely.

"I constantly have to have somebody around me. I can't even stay at home for five minutes," Caitlin told TampaBay 10 News' Melanie Brooks.

Caitlin's condition required immediate brain surgery, and she was scheduled for it.

In fact, she was just a few hours away from getting it. Then what happened is what so often happens in the world of modern American Health Un-Insurance. The insurer --Aetna-- began its "Do Not Want to Cover anything that costs money" dance. At first, Aetna dragged its feet approving the operation. When the OK finally came, it was 15 minutes too late. Caitlin had lost the operating room to another patient and had to be rescheduled.

Worse things were in store, however. Aetna changed its mind! The company informed the Jackson family that they would not cover her brain surgery at all, that somehow her benefits -- along with her luck-- had run out.

So what was the family to do? They faced a stunning $113,000 hospital bill if they were going to pay on their own. Get this: the hospital, Tampa Bay General, wanted a whopping $55,000 down, and the rest after the operation. Yeah, sure folks, let me get my checkbook.

Finally, after Tampa Bay’s 10 News brought the issue to the fore, Aetna reversed itself once again and Caitlin had the surgery she needed. Apparently, it was a successful operation.

Unfortunately, the media isn’t always around to embarrass health insurers into doing what they should be doing.

That’s why a revamping of the nation’s health insurance system is so urgent. Earlier this month, a new campaign supported by a number of progressive and labor organizations got underway to press for a national health care plan.

hcan-logo-short1.JPG

The group, Health Care for America Now, was launched on July 8th, with activists in more than 50 sites around the U.S. joining leaders in Washington, D.C. In the spirit of full disclosure, I will say that one of those leaders in D.C. is Richard Kirsch, my husband, and the National Campaign Manager for the progressive coalition.

Health Care for America Now is made up of more than 100 organizations and received its initial funding from 13 groups that are part of its steering committee as well as an impressive $10 million grant from The Atlantic Philanthropies. Members of the steering committee include MoveOn.org, the American Federation of State Community and Municipal Employees, the National Education Association and the Planned Parenthood Federation of America, among others. (A full list can be found on the group’s website, http://www.HealthCareForAmericaNow.org.)

HCAN is not taking a specific stand — not yet anyway — on the health care proposals offered by presidential nominees McCain and Obama, but it is pretty obvious that the impetus to guarantee affordable health coverage for all Americans lies far heavier in the Democratic fold. Elizabeth Edwards, wife of former presidential candidate John Edwards, is perhaps the most visible supporter of the new organization.

Elizabeth Edwards is a strong health care reform advocate. The fact is there are millions of health insurance horror stories out there. And they aren't going away.

So let's all say a prayer today for those people like Caitlin Jackson who are fighting with insurers to get the treatment they so desperately need. And let's say a second prayer, or better yet, let's start writing letters and lifting our collective voices, so that all Americans get the health care they so rightly deserve!

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Change is always possible


By Cynthia Ringer

Change is always possible.
She says that to her husband one night
at dinner.
He looks up from a puddle of
thick yellow polenta on his plate.
He blinks.
Sure it is, he mumbles.

She brings her goblet of wine
to her lips
in her two hands.
Steadying her eyes on his,
She sips.
The air around them turns warmer.
Almost like the table is burning.
Almost like the sun has gotten closer.
Or more focused.

I mean it this time.
She nods a little as if to make her words
Stand out. Sharp. Like the sauce that covers the polenta.
A red splash. Spicy.
The sauce he doesn’t eat
because it gives him such heartburn.
He scoops the corn mush up onto his spoon,
And for a while he busies himself
bringing the spoon back and forth to his mouth.

I wonder sometimes, he says,
mashing the polenta over his tongue,
enjoying the warm comfort of it.
When we stopped being nice to each other.
He swallows. And why. Sometimes I just wanna know.
Why?

She shrugs. Her lids slither slightly lower.
I might wonder that too, she says in a hush.
But then I just know.
We just stopped. A long time ago.
And so what?

She hasn’t touched her plate
the polenta he fixed
the polenta she hates
just sits there now
as round as yellow
as that noon day sun
on that day
in August so long ago
when she stood
beside the laundry basket
gazing at the diapers
and the socks and sheets and
the T shirts with the mud spots
still in them.
She washed
that laundry
she hung it out to dry.
Just like every other morning.
But then, that day, she stood
watching
it flapping in the back yard
in a steady hot breeze.

She knew
that day
a hard fact:
life isn’t easy.
It’s a study in unhappiness
where change is always possible
but as unlikely as it is
necessary.

She inhales now. She gets up and
crosses the room
her bare feet slapping the wood floor.
She searches a kitchen drawer for her cigarettes.
She comes back to the table.
Bends one knee. And sits on her foot.

She lights one of the cigarettes
She had promised she wasn’t
going to smoke anymore.
On her plate
on the polenta
she hates.
Is that splash of sauce
he ladled out of a jar,
he thought she might enjoy.

The sight of it now
makes her shudder.
It brings to mind
Plain and simply,
blood. An animal, no, a man,
lying on the side of the road,
a carcass struck by a careless car
roaring by.
She sees him now, sees the pain
Twist in his face. Sees his eyes.

The cigarette dangling
from her lip,
she stands,
hurries her plate
to the sink where she forks
the mess on the plate right into the sink.
She runs the cold water. A fleck of bright ash
Falls into the water, goes out.

I’ll do those up, he calls out to her.
No matter, she says.
I have time. She reaches for the apron.
And ties it behind her waist.
And sets the cigarette in the charred shell
she uses as an ashtray.
She sets her hands to the sink.
And he carries his plate to her.
And he burps.
And she thinks,
Change is always possible.
I think.

Cynthia Ringer is a pseudonym for a writer living in upstate New York.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Monday, July 14, 2008

Oakland in My Memories


By Camincha

This is the way things happen when you are nineteen, with all your tomorrows ahead of you and all you have to do is just be. This is the way Oakland happened to Mirna. She was on her way to college –– her father’s wish. She left Peru for the US in the Yaravi, a ship with great passenger accommodations and a cargo of precious minerals to be delivered to the Northern neighbor.

Mirna’s travel companions included Rudy, who was returning to Oakland, California where he had lived the last five years. There were also Billy and Willy, who, like Mirna, were going to the US for the first time. Mirna’s destination in Oakland was the home of her father’s old friends, the Leiva's. They had kindly offered to put her up.

Mirna, Rudy, Billy and Willy arrived in the US at Portland aboard the Yaravi. And there they all boarded a Greyhound bus. They sat in the back seat to better view the unfolding scenery of green mountains, tree groves, luscious valleys, meadows, rivers, small towns. Symmetric, charming, romantic. Ahead, the ribbon of asphalt unfolded taking them from Oregon to California.

When they got to Oakland, it was June. It was warm and sunny all the time, a welcome surprise after cold and grey Portland. Across the bay, San Francisco was not only cold and grey but foggy.

After Mirna got situated at the Leiva's homeand, her former shipmate, Rudy, came to pick her up and show her around Oakland. Sunny Oakland was sprawled out and casual. Very few men wore suits. Women wore short sleeves or sleeveless dresses and sandals.

Mirna babysat for the Leiva's occasionally; they also invited her to waitress at their Mexican restaurant, EI Sombrero. "With your nice smile," Juanita Leiva said, "you'll earn good tips. It'll help you save for college in September." Mirna began waitressing. She had never had Mexican food.

Oakland will always be tied up with every tortilla, enchilada, and Dos Equis she served or ate in that restaurant.

Oakland will also always be tied up with the painting of a wide-brimmed, straw sombrero that a man brought to the restaurant to sell one afternoon.
Manny Leiva looked it over with his half-business, half-fun smile. Mirna
praised the painting, "A sombrero." SOMBRERO! The name of the restaurant! So Manny bought it and hung it high on the back wall. That sombrero was
the first thing you saw as you entered the place. It greeted everyone
who entered.

Oakland has always been the many small stores, restaurants bus lines crisscrossing the city along 14th St.

Oakland has always been evenings of balmy weather that welcomed her on weekends when she got back from San Francisco.

Oakland has always been an enormous drugstore with a tempting perfume counter at the comer of a city block.

Oakland has always been sunshine, some days so hot that Mirna and the little girls she knew, Rose, Ophelia and Gladys, would take their brown bag lunches to Fairy Land, the Marina, or the air conditioned, magical Møntgømery Wards.

Oakland has always been Lake Temescal:



its lovely rose garden, willows, water lilies, swimming, sunbathing, picnicking, fishing, hiking and a plaque posted at the main entrance that says:

"Prior to 1868, Lake Temescal was but a creek. Along its
shores lived the Costanoan Indians, who bathed and swam in the cool water.
Franciscan missionaries named the creek 'Temescal,' a name derived
from two Aztec words: Tema (to bathe) and cali (a house). In 1868
hydraulic engineer Anthony Chabot constructed a dam to create a reservoir for
the then tiny Town of Oakland. It first opened as a recreational area
in 1936."

Oakland, in short, will always be, for Mirna, a time and space of mind, a very special place of being, nineteen, and full of all possibitiy.

Camincha is a pen name for a California-based writer.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

One tiny step...

img_0585.jpgIt's a very little thing, I will admit. But I did it. I faced the fear. And I will take space here to cheer for myself. And to publicly thank my amazing doctor.

OK, so a couple of weeks ago, I had my first blood test in three years.

What's the big deal, you ask? The big deal is that I have been, until now, absolutely terrified to have anyone come near me with a needle. Two rounds of chemotherapy, six and five summers ago, did a number on my veins, i.e., it is real tricky to get blood out of me. But the chemo did a worse number on my brain. I came out of treatment, thankful to be alive, but traumatized to the core: terrified of doctors and medicine and bloodwork and IVs and CT scans and MRI's and Pet scans.

In 2005, I said goodbye to my oncologist. Every time I would go in for a follow-up visit, I would tell him that I was doing daily yoga and meditation. I would tell him that I was eating meticulously (all kinds of organics, tons of greens, etc.) and that I was relying on herbals (including green barley powder) to boost my immune system. Most of all, I would say that I was focusing on keeping an optimistic point of view.

He would kind of chuckle, as if all this alternative, mind-body stuff didn't mean much.

Then he would examine my lymph nodes (I had been treated for lymphoma). He would touch my neck, looking for lumps. He would feel under my armpits. He would check my abdomen. And then he would put his stethoscope to my lungs. Finally, he would step away and look at me and say (these are his exact words), "You are disgustingly healthy."

Oh, and then he'd send me on my way to get the dreaded blood test.

I was traumatized by having cancer, but honestly, I was even more traumatized by most of the doctors who treated me. I could tell you horror story after horror story. I could tell you about the cocky doctor at Sloan Kettering who, as I was about to start chemo in July of 2002, prescribed Bactrim, an antibiotic, to prevent infection.

"But I'm allergic to Bactrim," I told him. "I throw up when I take it."

"Prove it," he said. And yes, THOSE were his exact words.

Instead of challenging him, as I should have, I took the Bactrim. And the chemo.

A day later, after throwing up non-stop for hours and hours and hours, I landed in the emergency room, sick as a dog.

The cocky doctor called the next day to say he was sorry he hadn't listened to me.

Well, so, that was just the beginning. In a previous post, I wrote about this same doctor INSISTING that I needed a stem cell transplant in 2003. Fortunately, by that time, I had learned something. I had learned to listen to my body. AND to my intuition. I resisted the stem cell, and insisted on a second opinion (he said there was no need for one, since he was the "national expert" on my disease.) Finally, I sought the opinion of another, older (kinder) and more experienced doctor at Dana Farber who also happened to be a specialist in my disease.

This second doctor agreed with me, that I did NOT need the stem cell. This same kind-hearted man also clued me in as to why the doctor at Sloan was so keen on doing a stem cell transplant on me: it was, in part, because I would have fit in so very nicely with a research project he had going at Sloan, one that looked at how stem cell transplants "helped" patients who had "failed" treatments for lymphoma.

The doctor at Dana Farber told me (his words) this: "you know, Claudia, when you are a hammer, you look at the rest of world as if it is filled with nails. I'm afraid the doctor at Sloan is a hammer. And you were his nail."

Nice, huh?

Well, so, you can see maybe why I got so skittish about doctors.

But in 2005, I found a new doctor, one I trust completely. He is smart, skilled, caring, sensitive and insightful. The kind of practitioner everyone should have.

Ron Stram, originally trained to practise emergency room medicine, decided a few years back that many of the people who landed in the ER wouldn't be there if they'd had better preventative medicine. He also started to take a good hard look at so-called "alternative" therapies. That led him to do a residency in integrative medicine at the University of Arizona, under the direction of Dr. Andrew Weill.


When he finished, he set up the Center for Integrative Health and Healing, in Delmar, New York.

The first time I visited Ron, three years ago this month, I spent most of my time in his office crying. I explained all the horror that had been inflicted on me by the doctor at Sloan, and by another oncologist locally.

Ron, accompanied by the naturopathic physician in the office, sat there. He nodded, and he listened, and he listened, and he listened some more. He examined me, very calmly, and he told me that I appeared to be very healthy. He asked me how he could help me to move forward, to heal. He asked how he could support my efforts to stay healthy. He put absolutely no pressure on me. At the time, I was about to leave for a long trip. I was headed to Spain, to Andalucia, to explore a region that is close to my heart (and my love for flamenco guitar!) I told him I wanted to go on that trip, and I did not want to think about cancer, or blood tests, or treatments. I wanted to spend time with my family, and enjoy life to the fullest. I told him I would come back and see him again, and when I did, we would talk about a plan for "treatment."

Well, so, I did go back to see Ron, several times, but every time the subject of blood tests came up, I froze. I just couldn't face it. I just couldn't handle the idea of anything the least bit invasive or scary.

Ron gave me space. He let me take the lead. He told me he was there for me in any way I needed him to be. He told me to trust what I was doing to stay healthy (he also made many suggestions too.)

I should say that in the last four years, I have had maybe one or two colds. Period. I've been totally energetic, and healthy.

About a month ago, I woke up one morning and thought to myself, you really ought to get your cholesterol level checked. And your thyroid levels, too. And so, without much fanfare, I made an appointment at a hospital lab. I fasted, and early the next morning, I went to the lab and had the blood test. It took two technicians to get my blood. And I had a bit of panic waiting for the results.

But it all worked out fine.

Yesterday, I made an appointment to see Ron. To begin to talk about what else I might do or need to ensure I stay healthy.

To Ronald Stram, I say, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for standing by me. Thank you for being such an extraordinarily caring and talented practitioner. Thank you for starting the Center for Integrative Health and Healing. Thank you for giving me the space I needed. And for encouraging me to trust myself in the journey to stay healthy. You are one very special doctor. And I am one very, very lucky patient.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Where There is Prayer...

There is great power in prayer.

And as photographer Gregory Shafiro's exhibit, "The Power of Prayer," demonstrates, there is great power in images of people praying, and in the ancient places where people pray.

Shafiro, who traveled to Israel to shoot the exhibit, writes, "Jerusalem, the city of peace, stands as a spiritual lighthouse to the entire world. Despite a history of turmoil, one can still see the city's light continue to shine through its architecture and residents."

Visit Shafiro's website, and a gallery of stunning photos taken in Israel!






http://www.GregoryShafiro.com

Friday, July 04, 2008

Where the Hell is Matt?


And how did he come up with such a brilliant idea for a video? You will enjoy this more than you know. Be sure to watch it in "high quality" so you can see the faces of everyone

around

the

world.

peace!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY