WOW! It's been 18 days since I posted. As usual, things are happening very fast here in DC and it's hard to keep up and to not get lost in the shuffle.
Health care is the hot topic right now and I've been following the developments closely and attending hearings on the Hill. Frankly, I'm not liking much of what I'm hearing. Universal health care is a good idea in principle, but it is very tricky to work out in real life without someone getting the short end of the stick.
Before we go any further, let me say this: Yes, I have read the WHOLE bill. THE WHOLE THING! ALL 100+ pages of it!
My eyes are tired and I need new glasses, but I did it. It made for some really "interesting" reading. I felt almost as if I were reading an early 20th century writing from someone in Germany about eugenics. Rather than focusing on healthy life styles and treatability of various conditions and diseases, it's all about cutting costs. It's all about illegal aliens getting free health care at tax payer's expense. It's all about the government telling doctors how to practice medicine. They will be forced to do procedures that are against their consciences and, I might add, against the meaning of The Hippocratic Oath to which every physician ascribes. It's about end of life issues that should be left up to God, like when a person is going to die. It's alarming stuff.
The President stood up in front of an open meeting with the AARP and stated that much of what has people, especially senior citizens and people with disabilities, alarmed has been lost in translation. What does this mean? Does this mean that the legislation was written in some sort of code that only the people that wrote it understand? Does this mean that those same people think that Americans are so trusting that they will swallow anything the government throws at them? What does it mean?!
To me, when something is lost in translation, it means that it was spoken in one language and when rewritten or spoken in another language some of the meaning is lost. It does not mean that the words suddenly take on different meanings in the same language depending on the audience.
All sorts of things get lost in translation. My husband and I loose stuff in translation with each other all the time. I speak Female and he speaks Caveman. We have our share of misunderstandings but are able to work through them with God's help and a choice to not let it fester when there's a splinter in the skin of US.
There is a provision in this bill that would create a regulation within socialized medicine, including what is already Medicare/Medicaid, that a person who is chronically ill, disabled, or elderly will be interviewed every 5 years to determine if they need to commit suicide. It says "counseling sessions" will take place. In plain English, it means that if you are too expensive to maintain, you will be helped to end your life whether you want to or not.
Getting back to the President's little conference. After being asked point blank what that section meant, he hemmed and hawed and admitted that he'd not read the legislation. This from a man who promised to post all pending legislation on the internet so everyone could read it, understand it and advise their Congressmen how they wanted them to vote.
After hemming and hawing some more, he said something along the lines of this: I really think this has been misunderstood. End of life issues are directives such as a living will, power of attorney, and the like.
Excuse me?
It says in plain English (they didn't even try to dress it up with political speak) that the counseling sessions will happen and what will be discussed. It doesn't use the word euthanasia, but it does discuss assisted suicide. It also discusses rationing health care and people besides you and your doctor making decisions about your health care and, ultimately, your life.
I am very proud of the Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats who have stood firm and not allowed the bill out of committee to the House floor for a vote. Hopefully, this will be the case until the gavel is down for the August recess. If the Congress votes the way that Mrs. Pelosi and Mr. Obama want them to, there will be a revolt in the ranks and the midterm elections of 2010 will be UGLY. People, once they truly understand what is in this legislation are going to be furious and vote to replace those who voted for it with better representation.
The bigger thing lost in translation here is the value of every life that comes into being. Everyone has something to contribute and something to teach. The elderly are to be honored and listened to. They are to be cared for, not discarded as useless millstones. Those with chronic illness should not be put to death because they are sick. Find a cure...or a way to treat the illness so they can get on with their lives. People who are disabled may communicate differently, they may move differently or they may not see things visually as others do. Still, they have something to offer. The focus of our health care system should be on promoting health lifestyles and treating diseases as they come up. A child shouldn't be euthanized because of being born with a disability. The parent shouldn't be sterilized because they fathered or gave birth to a child with a disability.
The Founding Fathers of this country understood that life was precious in all its forms. The founding documents of this country include statements like, "the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." They believed in a culture of life, not expedience or survival of the fittest. To this day, those concepts that are available to be read in black and white, braille, or on line are still clearly understood. The meanings of their words and the values they espouse have not been lost in translation or changed over time.
So, then, how is it that a piece of legislation can be misunderstood when the words are in plain English? Could it be that the meaning hasn't been lost in translation and this change that the majority voted to adopt in November of 2008 is not what it was thought to be? Was something that was misunderstood in the first place? Or are blind eyes being turned to the reality of what that change means? Are we choosing to loose the translation?
All I know is this. Every single person ever created has some sort of value. The question asked should be "what does this life have to offer, no matter how large or small?" The question should NOT be "how much is it going to cost to sustain this life?" The government's job is to protect its citizens, not kill them when they get too expensive.
It is a matter of perspective, not a translation problem.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Simply Wonderful
It's just after 2:30 on Sunday AM as I write this. I'm all wound up but need to go to bed. The weenie dog is here beside me sleeping peacefully and Tony is in the shower.
I took stock of my life today. God has been good to me. I have a wonderful apartment in a great city...the neighborhood could be a little safer, but I know that God is protecting me at all times...and I know how not to be take stupid chances or put myself in danger. We have a great church that we love and where we are loved and shepherded. Tony is doing well in seminary and has been able to work many extra hours this summer at his job that is part time during the school year. I am slowly making a new circle of friends but still missing my two best friends: one in NYC and one from childhood (Kindergarten, believe it or not) who now lives in Montgomery, Alabama. The visits are few and far between.
I do still need a job. I've got a great lead and am in process, so I won't talk about it too much here. Let's just say that it is tailor made for me.
We are living on a shoe string, but our bills are paid. We are eating...mostly hamburger instead of fillet mignon, but it is nutritious.
We have had many cheap, if not free, dates this Summer because there is always something to do or see here in DC.
We have a life without drama. No family drama, no work drama, no school drama. It's wonderful.
We're both reasonably healthy. Enough said.
We're in love with each other after 7 years of marriage and still LIKE each other, too.
Mostly, though, we serve a great big God who has redeemed us through His Son, Jesus and has filled us with the Holy Spirit.
Yep, life is simply wonderful.
I took stock of my life today. God has been good to me. I have a wonderful apartment in a great city...the neighborhood could be a little safer, but I know that God is protecting me at all times...and I know how not to be take stupid chances or put myself in danger. We have a great church that we love and where we are loved and shepherded. Tony is doing well in seminary and has been able to work many extra hours this summer at his job that is part time during the school year. I am slowly making a new circle of friends but still missing my two best friends: one in NYC and one from childhood (Kindergarten, believe it or not) who now lives in Montgomery, Alabama. The visits are few and far between.
I do still need a job. I've got a great lead and am in process, so I won't talk about it too much here. Let's just say that it is tailor made for me.
We are living on a shoe string, but our bills are paid. We are eating...mostly hamburger instead of fillet mignon, but it is nutritious.
We have had many cheap, if not free, dates this Summer because there is always something to do or see here in DC.
We have a life without drama. No family drama, no work drama, no school drama. It's wonderful.
We're both reasonably healthy. Enough said.
We're in love with each other after 7 years of marriage and still LIKE each other, too.
Mostly, though, we serve a great big God who has redeemed us through His Son, Jesus and has filled us with the Holy Spirit.
Yep, life is simply wonderful.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
8, er, 10 days a week!
Last time I wrote, I'd just found out about the suicide of a friend's daughter and attended the visitation. It was a painful afternoon. Blogging about it helped, but I have to admit that I was still hurting for my friend and her family. Also, I was quite concerned about the funeral. Would the pastors who were officiating be honest, or would they sweep the ugly truth under the rug in favor of platitudes?
An aside here: it was not a funeral, but a memorial service. There is a distinct difference; the terms are NOT interchangeable. At a funeral, the body is present in a casket. A funeral is followed by a burial, which may or may not be open to nonfamily members. A memorial service is held without the presence of a body in a casket. The burial has either already taken place before the service or the body has been cremated.
Christy's memorial service was such a blessing to be a part of. Two of the pastors from our church officiated, and they were clear about the fact that Christy committed suicide and the events that led up to it. They were clear about the fact that suicide is not the unpardonable sin, nor is it a worse sin than any other sin. The Gospel was presented in such a way as to be easily understood. I was proud of Christy's Mom and sister for their insistence that the truth be not hidden. I was even prouder of my pastors for the sensitive, compassionate and truthful way they addressed those present. It was truly a holy moment.
Perhaps the most moving part of the service, at least for me, were the eulogies give by Christy's Mom and her twin sister. Becky shared in a way that only a sister can and gave us much insight into the person that was her lifelong best friend. Claudia shared other stories that gave us insight into the pain that a parent experiences when they know their child is walking the path that Christy walked. There was much laughter among the many tears shed.
Christy herself shared at her own funeral via letters and journals that she left behind. What a poignant inside into this precious young woman's tortured but beautiful mind. I wish I'd truly known her.
After the service, the family received visitors in the lovely fellowship hall at the church. The food was provided by the church and the ladies of the church hostessed all of the guests. It was a blessing to see the church supporting the family in this way.
Claudia continued to be true to herself and allow the tears to come when they wished rather than stifling herself. Becky was the same. I was proud of them both. I was even prouder of how much those around them reached out in comfort.
At the reception, I began to understand how healing happens. It sneaks in quietly in little moments. I began to see some purpose in this tragic circumstance. I had the honor of sitting around with Christy's friends and assure them that yes, the pastor was telling the truth...suicide is no worse than any other sin. It is covered by the shed blood of Jesus like any other. They were eligible to be covered by that blood if they would embrace the gift of Christ's salvation. It was amazing news to several of them.
The memory of the day that stands out the most for me, though, was my time with Becky, Christy's twin sister. She'd obviously been wrung out emotionally and I went into protective "big sister" mode. I stayed close while her husband greeted people and helped her Mom.
At first, I was in my wheelchair and Becky, who is tall, was crouched down beside me talking. Then, she sat down on the floor. She looked so comfortable that I decided to join her on the floor. Lucy took advantage and hopped into my chair. Tony came in from changing his clothes for work to find the dog in the wheelchair and two sniffling women on the floor, sitting Indian style. The conversation, the setting, the tears, the normalcy of girl talk while sitting casually...they all led to a beginning of healing. That is how God works...in little moments, not just in big grand happenings.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of meetings with the tax attorney (yep, we're being audited, but almost have it resolved), grocery shopping and celebrations of July 4th. I tried to take it all in, but found myself again focusing on the little moments that made up the larger chunk of time.
It's late and I'm tired, but I want to close with one final thought: Don't miss the small moments. It's when God's still small Voice often speaks the most clearly.
Rolling Along....
An aside here: it was not a funeral, but a memorial service. There is a distinct difference; the terms are NOT interchangeable. At a funeral, the body is present in a casket. A funeral is followed by a burial, which may or may not be open to nonfamily members. A memorial service is held without the presence of a body in a casket. The burial has either already taken place before the service or the body has been cremated.
Christy's memorial service was such a blessing to be a part of. Two of the pastors from our church officiated, and they were clear about the fact that Christy committed suicide and the events that led up to it. They were clear about the fact that suicide is not the unpardonable sin, nor is it a worse sin than any other sin. The Gospel was presented in such a way as to be easily understood. I was proud of Christy's Mom and sister for their insistence that the truth be not hidden. I was even prouder of my pastors for the sensitive, compassionate and truthful way they addressed those present. It was truly a holy moment.
Perhaps the most moving part of the service, at least for me, were the eulogies give by Christy's Mom and her twin sister. Becky shared in a way that only a sister can and gave us much insight into the person that was her lifelong best friend. Claudia shared other stories that gave us insight into the pain that a parent experiences when they know their child is walking the path that Christy walked. There was much laughter among the many tears shed.
Christy herself shared at her own funeral via letters and journals that she left behind. What a poignant inside into this precious young woman's tortured but beautiful mind. I wish I'd truly known her.
After the service, the family received visitors in the lovely fellowship hall at the church. The food was provided by the church and the ladies of the church hostessed all of the guests. It was a blessing to see the church supporting the family in this way.
Claudia continued to be true to herself and allow the tears to come when they wished rather than stifling herself. Becky was the same. I was proud of them both. I was even prouder of how much those around them reached out in comfort.
At the reception, I began to understand how healing happens. It sneaks in quietly in little moments. I began to see some purpose in this tragic circumstance. I had the honor of sitting around with Christy's friends and assure them that yes, the pastor was telling the truth...suicide is no worse than any other sin. It is covered by the shed blood of Jesus like any other. They were eligible to be covered by that blood if they would embrace the gift of Christ's salvation. It was amazing news to several of them.
The memory of the day that stands out the most for me, though, was my time with Becky, Christy's twin sister. She'd obviously been wrung out emotionally and I went into protective "big sister" mode. I stayed close while her husband greeted people and helped her Mom.
At first, I was in my wheelchair and Becky, who is tall, was crouched down beside me talking. Then, she sat down on the floor. She looked so comfortable that I decided to join her on the floor. Lucy took advantage and hopped into my chair. Tony came in from changing his clothes for work to find the dog in the wheelchair and two sniffling women on the floor, sitting Indian style. The conversation, the setting, the tears, the normalcy of girl talk while sitting casually...they all led to a beginning of healing. That is how God works...in little moments, not just in big grand happenings.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of meetings with the tax attorney (yep, we're being audited, but almost have it resolved), grocery shopping and celebrations of July 4th. I tried to take it all in, but found myself again focusing on the little moments that made up the larger chunk of time.
It's late and I'm tired, but I want to close with one final thought: Don't miss the small moments. It's when God's still small Voice often speaks the most clearly.
Rolling Along....
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Another Day of Rest?
Tony and I are big believers in low key Sundays. We go to church in the morning and then spend the rest of the day just hanging out...usually alone...but sometimes with friends. We either come home and relax before fixing and eating a nice dinner together or we picnic at any one of our favorite spots in DC and then read until it is too dark to see anymore. It's one of my favorite parts our life together.
Today's events have been anything but low key and I wanted to share them and my thoughts about them with you.
Upon arrival at church this morning, I did my usual thing of reading through the bulletin as soon as I sat down while the prelude was being played. I was shocked to find that a friend's daughter had died unexpectedly on Friday. Knowing some of the details of this young woman's life, I was saddened but not surprised to find out after discreet questioning that she had indeed committed suicide.
There are no real answers in this scenario, only broken hearts with many questions.
After church, Tony and I went to the funeral home for the visitation (what people in other parts of the country call the wake. Southerners call it the visitation). In sitting through the afternoon with my friend, I did something unusual. I watched people to see how they were reacting. Usually I'm too busy in that sort of situation making sure everyone has what they need. Playing organizer or hostess seems to be my self assigned role most of the time.
Anyway, I sat back this time and watched. I was interested in the responses. Most people seemed to think they needed to have some sort of special thing to say, ranging from a shared memory or a super spiritual platitude. If they had nothing to share, they seemed to be somewhat afraid to just hug my friend and her surviving daughter (the twin sister of the one who died) or to show their own emotions.
Don't get me wrong. There were many hugs being exchanged. I just saw a reserve in the body language of many people that you don't see if the death has come after a long illness or as the result of an accident of some sort. I wanted to shake a few people and tell them that it was ok to show their own emotions and to sit with my friend in her pain.
The young woman who died was a Christian. She was, in her healthier days, a strong witness for Christ in her workplace. There is no doubt in my mind that she is worshiping at the Throne of God at this very moment. The young woman who died was also mentally ill and on a downward spiral for many months. She had a biological chemical imbalance that led her down this path as a result of voices in her head she could not silence. We could debate the source of the voices all day long, but that's not where I'm going with this, either.
The fact that she was both a Christian and mentally ill creates confusion for a great many people, thus the uncertainty about how to respond. We tend to want things to be neat and tidy and easily addressable. Suicide and mental illness are anything but neat, tidy and easily addressable...especially within the Church.
Many people believe that suicide is the unpardonable sin even though there is no Scriptural basis for such a view. Still others believe that mental illness can be cured simply by being spiritual enough or by doing all the right things that "good Christians" are supposed to do. That's not Scriptural, either. These views result in faulty responses that often add to the pain of the situation rather than help it. People also sometimes seem to be uncomfortable with the emotional pain of another person and therefore shy away rather than coming alongside the hurting soul to walk the valley with them.
I saw the whispered conversations today behind hands. I can imagine what they were about...anything from the flowers to the lovely antique organ on the wall to gossiping about why this young woman had not gotten the help she needed.
I saw the tears in eyes of people as they mirrored the pain in the eyes of my friend. I was proud of my friend for not hiding her own tears...for her honest response to this horrible circumstance.
I heard the prayers for my friend and her surviving daughter and know that God heard them, too. In spite of the broken hearts there was a peace that passes understanding present in that funeral parlor today. It was a thing of beauty in a place of ugliness that is death. Christ walks our dark valleys with us whether we realize it or not.
Even though she left a letter, all of our questions will not be answered this side of Heaven. There will always be "what if" and "if only" and "WHY?" though they will grow less pressing over time. A mother will have to learn not to blame herself or to assign blame to the father and brother that deserted her and her two daughters. A twin sister will have to learn to live without part of herself. If they have any heart at all, the bureaucrats who denied her treatment will have to face their own questions as well.
All of this is messy and untidy and not easily addressed. Here are some hints, though, on how to deal with situations like mine when you don't know what to say or do.
1. Put aside your fear and reach out.
2. Reaching out can be as simple as a quick pat on the shoulder or a card in the mail or an email. Depending on how well you know the person, offer to take them to get professional help if needed and then do not abandon them during their healing process.
3. When you have a friend dealing with depression who is also a Christian, offer to pray with and for them. Don't worry about saying the "right" or "wrong" thing. God will guide your mouth if you ask.
4. Assume nothing. If you haven't been there, you don't know what they are going through.
5. Treat them like you'd treat anyone else who was sick or who had a broken limb. Look them in the eye when you speak and LISTEN when they speak.
6. Include them in activities. Invite them and give them the opportunity to say no. Sure, a person who is depressed can be hard to be around, but it is so important to them to know that someone cares.
7. Remember that it is not about you, but about them.
If you are struggling yourself with thoughts of suicide or other signs of depression or mental illness, please get help. Email me directly at mkortiz317@gmail.com or contact your local house of worship and ask to speak to a pastor or pastoral counselor. If you are in immediate need, go to the nearest ER and tell them you are afraid you will harm yourself if you don't get some help. Ask to speak to a chaplain.
There is no shame in mental illness. It is no different than physical illness. If your leg was broken, you'd seek treatment, right? A broken spirit, soul or heart is no different...it's just not as visible.
My heart aches for my friend as she is walking this valley but I know she is not walking it alone. The same Jesus who walked His own valley and triumphed also walked with me through my valley into triumph. He will walk with her, too.
Today's events have been anything but low key and I wanted to share them and my thoughts about them with you.
Upon arrival at church this morning, I did my usual thing of reading through the bulletin as soon as I sat down while the prelude was being played. I was shocked to find that a friend's daughter had died unexpectedly on Friday. Knowing some of the details of this young woman's life, I was saddened but not surprised to find out after discreet questioning that she had indeed committed suicide.
There are no real answers in this scenario, only broken hearts with many questions.
After church, Tony and I went to the funeral home for the visitation (what people in other parts of the country call the wake. Southerners call it the visitation). In sitting through the afternoon with my friend, I did something unusual. I watched people to see how they were reacting. Usually I'm too busy in that sort of situation making sure everyone has what they need. Playing organizer or hostess seems to be my self assigned role most of the time.
Anyway, I sat back this time and watched. I was interested in the responses. Most people seemed to think they needed to have some sort of special thing to say, ranging from a shared memory or a super spiritual platitude. If they had nothing to share, they seemed to be somewhat afraid to just hug my friend and her surviving daughter (the twin sister of the one who died) or to show their own emotions.
Don't get me wrong. There were many hugs being exchanged. I just saw a reserve in the body language of many people that you don't see if the death has come after a long illness or as the result of an accident of some sort. I wanted to shake a few people and tell them that it was ok to show their own emotions and to sit with my friend in her pain.
The young woman who died was a Christian. She was, in her healthier days, a strong witness for Christ in her workplace. There is no doubt in my mind that she is worshiping at the Throne of God at this very moment. The young woman who died was also mentally ill and on a downward spiral for many months. She had a biological chemical imbalance that led her down this path as a result of voices in her head she could not silence. We could debate the source of the voices all day long, but that's not where I'm going with this, either.
The fact that she was both a Christian and mentally ill creates confusion for a great many people, thus the uncertainty about how to respond. We tend to want things to be neat and tidy and easily addressable. Suicide and mental illness are anything but neat, tidy and easily addressable...especially within the Church.
Many people believe that suicide is the unpardonable sin even though there is no Scriptural basis for such a view. Still others believe that mental illness can be cured simply by being spiritual enough or by doing all the right things that "good Christians" are supposed to do. That's not Scriptural, either. These views result in faulty responses that often add to the pain of the situation rather than help it. People also sometimes seem to be uncomfortable with the emotional pain of another person and therefore shy away rather than coming alongside the hurting soul to walk the valley with them.
I saw the whispered conversations today behind hands. I can imagine what they were about...anything from the flowers to the lovely antique organ on the wall to gossiping about why this young woman had not gotten the help she needed.
I saw the tears in eyes of people as they mirrored the pain in the eyes of my friend. I was proud of my friend for not hiding her own tears...for her honest response to this horrible circumstance.
I heard the prayers for my friend and her surviving daughter and know that God heard them, too. In spite of the broken hearts there was a peace that passes understanding present in that funeral parlor today. It was a thing of beauty in a place of ugliness that is death. Christ walks our dark valleys with us whether we realize it or not.
Even though she left a letter, all of our questions will not be answered this side of Heaven. There will always be "what if" and "if only" and "WHY?" though they will grow less pressing over time. A mother will have to learn not to blame herself or to assign blame to the father and brother that deserted her and her two daughters. A twin sister will have to learn to live without part of herself. If they have any heart at all, the bureaucrats who denied her treatment will have to face their own questions as well.
All of this is messy and untidy and not easily addressed. Here are some hints, though, on how to deal with situations like mine when you don't know what to say or do.
1. Put aside your fear and reach out.
2. Reaching out can be as simple as a quick pat on the shoulder or a card in the mail or an email. Depending on how well you know the person, offer to take them to get professional help if needed and then do not abandon them during their healing process.
3. When you have a friend dealing with depression who is also a Christian, offer to pray with and for them. Don't worry about saying the "right" or "wrong" thing. God will guide your mouth if you ask.
4. Assume nothing. If you haven't been there, you don't know what they are going through.
5. Treat them like you'd treat anyone else who was sick or who had a broken limb. Look them in the eye when you speak and LISTEN when they speak.
6. Include them in activities. Invite them and give them the opportunity to say no. Sure, a person who is depressed can be hard to be around, but it is so important to them to know that someone cares.
7. Remember that it is not about you, but about them.
If you are struggling yourself with thoughts of suicide or other signs of depression or mental illness, please get help. Email me directly at mkortiz317@gmail.com or contact your local house of worship and ask to speak to a pastor or pastoral counselor. If you are in immediate need, go to the nearest ER and tell them you are afraid you will harm yourself if you don't get some help. Ask to speak to a chaplain.
There is no shame in mental illness. It is no different than physical illness. If your leg was broken, you'd seek treatment, right? A broken spirit, soul or heart is no different...it's just not as visible.
My heart aches for my friend as she is walking this valley but I know she is not walking it alone. The same Jesus who walked His own valley and triumphed also walked with me through my valley into triumph. He will walk with her, too.
Friday, June 26, 2009
While I Was Sleeping
I've been home sick with a bladder infection since Wednesday. It's one of the realities of life with catheters. I've slept all day. When I'm sick, I sleep hard, oblivious to the things unfolding around me.
Take yesterday for instance. We'd gotten up early to run to the drugstore. I slept in the car while Tony drove and ran in to pick up the scripts. We came back and I laid back down on the bed (freshly made by the sweet husband person) and slept some more. He didn't even complain that I wrinkled the bed spread. He's a good egg.
Tony says he woke me up before he left for work, but I don't remember it. My first awareness of a world outside of dreamland was a sharp Doxie bark in my ear. She's wonderful for cuddly sleeping when I'm sick or while reading a book. She's the best until she's tired of being on the big bed or of sitting still. Then, the barking starts. She climbed up on my shoulder put her little snout right in my ear and barked. Apparently she was hungry, thirsty AND needed to go out.
This sleeping hard thing is a recurring theme of my life. We have family pictures of me asleep after holiday meals in the most awkward of situations and positions. When I was in college, a group of my friends waited for me to fall asleep on a couch and then carried the couch all around the campus quad until they found the perfect spot for it and left me there until I woke up the next morning. My husband has learned not to count on me for navigational help since I'm always asleep before we ever leave the District.
The sleep is refreshing and comforting, but I miss things as a result. I've apparently missed out on heated family discussions, loud Scrabble games, entire sporting events, movies, sermons (yes, I admit it...I've slept in church!), and all sorts of beautiful scenery along the side of the road.
Yesterday while I was sleeping all sorts of things happened. Legislation was debated less than a mile from here. People's futures were decided based on votes on said legislation. Dogs were walked. Babies were born. Tears were shed. Laughter was heard. Games were played.
Yesterday while I was sleeping, America...and the world...lost two pop icons. This morning, it was announced that Farrah Fawcett lost her lengthy battle with cancer. This afternoon, right around rush hour here on the East Coast, Michael Jackson died of an apparent heart attack.
I was in middle school when the Farrah look became popular. I, like every other middle school girl, begged for the LOOK that would define hair styles for a generation or more. My hair was duly cut by my best friend's Mom and I learned to fix it in the "winged" style.
I wonder if the hair spray industry sponsored Farrah's career? They certainly profited from it. My love affair with hair spray came to a screeching halt not long after college graduation. My hair was big enough on its own, thank you, without the added laquer to make it JUMBO. It took me a little longer to get over my perm fixation, but I digress....
The first time I remember being aware of Michael Jackson was in the 8th grade when I heard him being discussed in very hushed yet awed tones during lunch at the private Christian school I attended. We'd all signed contracts that we'd not listen to "that" type of music so I was floored by the audacity of the girls around me to even mention anything that wasn't on the approved list. I, after all, was a champ at sticking to the approved list. I sat there with my Farrah hair and wondered who this marvel of falsetto and fabulous dance moves might be all the while wearing a scowl of disapproval.
By the time I reached high school & then college, I'd outgrown my self righteousness to a point of being able to enjoy the Jackson 5 and Michael himself. While I didn't own a red leather jacket with mesh trim, I had a ton of friends who did. We all wore a glove on one hand (I wore one on both hands, but they were at least different colors so I sort of fit in) and my nephew was a champ at the moon walk.
Farrah Fawcett encouraged me with her bravery in the face of that horrible thing called cancer as well as her willingness to face it honestly and transparently. She inspired me with her beauty and willingness to chase her dreams. She was willing to allow herself to be seen as a real person with real suffering...to be a living Velveteen Rabbit.
Michael Jackson sang songs that I associate with many of my most treasured memories. I vividly remember my friends recreating the moves from Thriller at a dance after a basketball game during my senior year in HS. I remember the searing indignation I felt after being "dissed" by a boy upon whom I had a major crush that was underscored by the lyrics of Say, Say, Say. I remember swaying to We Are the World with my fellow summer missionaries at our commissioning ceremony at Georgetown College. I remember knowing with certainty after hearing Man in the Mirror for the first time that I'd always think of it as a secular hymn about generosity and caring about those around you...about living out the Gospel. I remember dancing with one of the best boyfriends ever to I'll Be There (Mariah Carey's recording of Michael's song) and thinking that no one had ever been more in love. He's married to someone else now, which I'm sure makes my husband, the real love of my life, very happy.
Michael Jackson, while a musical genius, is also one of the most tragic figures of pop culture. I truly believe that his odd life style hallmarked by the surroundings at Neverland Ranch were the cries of a broken hearted little boy who was exploited by his father and never knew what it was to be loved simply for himself. Hopefully the parents of today's child actors and singers will figure out that their egos are less important than the happiness, success and normal development of their children. I have to wonder what his father must be thinking now. I can bet he isn't wishing he'd cut a better deal on the recording contracts.
Farrah Fawcett, while beautiful and inspiring, also struggled with being loved for herself. It took her being on her deathbed for the man she loved to propose to her. I can't imagine how that must have felt. The message: don't wait until the last minute to commit, to express your love, to live a life with the person who holds your heart. You never know when the last minute will be irrevocably gone.
Life in the fish bowl of celebrity is hard.
Life lived with a great talent is exhausting.
Life without God is a constant search for meaning.
While I was sleeping, life was happening.
Take yesterday for instance. We'd gotten up early to run to the drugstore. I slept in the car while Tony drove and ran in to pick up the scripts. We came back and I laid back down on the bed (freshly made by the sweet husband person) and slept some more. He didn't even complain that I wrinkled the bed spread. He's a good egg.
Tony says he woke me up before he left for work, but I don't remember it. My first awareness of a world outside of dreamland was a sharp Doxie bark in my ear. She's wonderful for cuddly sleeping when I'm sick or while reading a book. She's the best until she's tired of being on the big bed or of sitting still. Then, the barking starts. She climbed up on my shoulder put her little snout right in my ear and barked. Apparently she was hungry, thirsty AND needed to go out.
This sleeping hard thing is a recurring theme of my life. We have family pictures of me asleep after holiday meals in the most awkward of situations and positions. When I was in college, a group of my friends waited for me to fall asleep on a couch and then carried the couch all around the campus quad until they found the perfect spot for it and left me there until I woke up the next morning. My husband has learned not to count on me for navigational help since I'm always asleep before we ever leave the District.
The sleep is refreshing and comforting, but I miss things as a result. I've apparently missed out on heated family discussions, loud Scrabble games, entire sporting events, movies, sermons (yes, I admit it...I've slept in church!), and all sorts of beautiful scenery along the side of the road.
Yesterday while I was sleeping all sorts of things happened. Legislation was debated less than a mile from here. People's futures were decided based on votes on said legislation. Dogs were walked. Babies were born. Tears were shed. Laughter was heard. Games were played.
Yesterday while I was sleeping, America...and the world...lost two pop icons. This morning, it was announced that Farrah Fawcett lost her lengthy battle with cancer. This afternoon, right around rush hour here on the East Coast, Michael Jackson died of an apparent heart attack.
I was in middle school when the Farrah look became popular. I, like every other middle school girl, begged for the LOOK that would define hair styles for a generation or more. My hair was duly cut by my best friend's Mom and I learned to fix it in the "winged" style.
I wonder if the hair spray industry sponsored Farrah's career? They certainly profited from it. My love affair with hair spray came to a screeching halt not long after college graduation. My hair was big enough on its own, thank you, without the added laquer to make it JUMBO. It took me a little longer to get over my perm fixation, but I digress....
The first time I remember being aware of Michael Jackson was in the 8th grade when I heard him being discussed in very hushed yet awed tones during lunch at the private Christian school I attended. We'd all signed contracts that we'd not listen to "that" type of music so I was floored by the audacity of the girls around me to even mention anything that wasn't on the approved list. I, after all, was a champ at sticking to the approved list. I sat there with my Farrah hair and wondered who this marvel of falsetto and fabulous dance moves might be all the while wearing a scowl of disapproval.
By the time I reached high school & then college, I'd outgrown my self righteousness to a point of being able to enjoy the Jackson 5 and Michael himself. While I didn't own a red leather jacket with mesh trim, I had a ton of friends who did. We all wore a glove on one hand (I wore one on both hands, but they were at least different colors so I sort of fit in) and my nephew was a champ at the moon walk.
Farrah Fawcett encouraged me with her bravery in the face of that horrible thing called cancer as well as her willingness to face it honestly and transparently. She inspired me with her beauty and willingness to chase her dreams. She was willing to allow herself to be seen as a real person with real suffering...to be a living Velveteen Rabbit.
Michael Jackson sang songs that I associate with many of my most treasured memories. I vividly remember my friends recreating the moves from Thriller at a dance after a basketball game during my senior year in HS. I remember the searing indignation I felt after being "dissed" by a boy upon whom I had a major crush that was underscored by the lyrics of Say, Say, Say. I remember swaying to We Are the World with my fellow summer missionaries at our commissioning ceremony at Georgetown College. I remember knowing with certainty after hearing Man in the Mirror for the first time that I'd always think of it as a secular hymn about generosity and caring about those around you...about living out the Gospel. I remember dancing with one of the best boyfriends ever to I'll Be There (Mariah Carey's recording of Michael's song) and thinking that no one had ever been more in love. He's married to someone else now, which I'm sure makes my husband, the real love of my life, very happy.
Michael Jackson, while a musical genius, is also one of the most tragic figures of pop culture. I truly believe that his odd life style hallmarked by the surroundings at Neverland Ranch were the cries of a broken hearted little boy who was exploited by his father and never knew what it was to be loved simply for himself. Hopefully the parents of today's child actors and singers will figure out that their egos are less important than the happiness, success and normal development of their children. I have to wonder what his father must be thinking now. I can bet he isn't wishing he'd cut a better deal on the recording contracts.
Farrah Fawcett, while beautiful and inspiring, also struggled with being loved for herself. It took her being on her deathbed for the man she loved to propose to her. I can't imagine how that must have felt. The message: don't wait until the last minute to commit, to express your love, to live a life with the person who holds your heart. You never know when the last minute will be irrevocably gone.
Life in the fish bowl of celebrity is hard.
Life lived with a great talent is exhausting.
Life without God is a constant search for meaning.
While I was sleeping, life was happening.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
What if?
The whole city of DC seems to be engaged in the health care debate. You hear about universal health insurance, cost effectiveness, need based treatment, private pay, single pay... AD NAUSEUM! I am already weary of it and we're only at the beginning. If I as a private citizen and health care consumer am already weary of it, what must those on the front lines of the battle be thinking and feeling.
With all this talk of universal coverage and need based treatment and such, something really important is being overlooked: the basic customer service aspect of the health care industry. As a person with chronic health problems, I consider myself a pretty good judge of good customer service in a medical setting. It begins with your first phone call to the provider's office, not with the time you spend with the doctor.
Until the first of May, Tony & I were covered under COBRA. We were paying $1000 a month. Yes, that is one thousand dollars for very excellent coverage for two adults, one reasonably healthy (Tony) and the other an insurance company's nightmare (me). The most important coverage we had was our prescription drug coverage. I did find replacement coverage, but it is a huge hassle to switch everyone's information - have to call the pharmacy, the different doctors' offices and so on. My GP's office did not receive my information for reasons we will get to later. Suffice to say that since Friday of last week, I have been trying to get my four regular scripts established with the new insurance and making sure that Walgreen's had all the information they needed as well.
It is now Wednesday. As of 3pm today things were still not resolved and I had run out of my emergency supply. So, I called my doctor's office for the FIFTH time this week (not to mention the 3 times on Friday). No one seemed to be answering the phone or returning calls left in the voice mail or anything helpful like that. I had reached the end of my patience with everyone involved. So, I decided that I should try to call one more time before just showing up on their doorstep to wait until the situation was resolved.
I didn't feel well and was really cranky by the time I managed to FINALLY get someone on the phone at the GP's office. It went something like this:
Ring riiinnnngggg ringgggggggg (as the phone rang for six consecutive times, I managed to compose myself and decided to be perfectly pleasant towards whomever happened to answer the phone) RIIINNNNGGGGGGGG!!
Finally, a human voice on the other end.
Recptionist: "Hello, Dr. ---'s Office."
Me: "Hello, this is Melissa and I've been trying to reach someone there about the change in my insurance and getting all of my scripts properly transferred."
R: "AND? We're busy here. Send us a fax."
Me: "Ma'am, I did send you a fax. I faxed you, the insurance company faxed you and the pharmacy faxed you. I also left several messages and those calls were not returned, either."
R: "Oh, well...maybe our fax machine is broken. Let me check....yeah, it's broken and has been for about a week."
(picture the color in my cheeks beginning to rise and my voice becoming tight while still being polite)
Me: "I have also left several messages in the voice mail and no one has called me back."
R: "Returning calls is not my responsibility."
Me: Anyway, I am out of meds that I need on a daily basis and the insurance company isn't going to cover them until they receive signed paperwork from your office."
R: "AND?! Well, the answer is simple. Go to the pharmacy and pay for them out of pocket. This is so not my problem."
When I proceded to explain to her that I couldn't afford them out of pocket, she hung up on me. I called back and spoke to a supervisor. I was in tears by this point.
Finally, after threatening to call the doctor at home (I knew how to find him through another doctor friend), the proper paperwork was magically faxed, signed and then refaxed to all the appropriate places.
It wasn't the lack of efficiency of the office. It wasn't the broken fax machine. It wasn't the frustration of the pharmacist who was trying her best to be helpful.
The thing about the situation that nearly broke my spirit was the lack of compassion and the plain old bad customer service. All I wanted was someone to listen to me...to care about my problem... to do their job and fix the problem. Was that too much to ask?
To me, the biggest problem in health care today isn't the lack of coverage or availability of care but a lack of empathy and compassion. Doctors can do great things because of their great skills. But, if their staff is rude or unempathetic it ruins the whole experience. How would the woman who was so hateful to me on the phone feel if the roles had been reversed?
The next time you are in a position to serve someone, ask yourself how you would want to be treated if the roles were reversed. Ask yourself how you'd want someone you love to be treated. The answer probably won't surprise you, but the results of implementing the answer just might.
With all this talk of universal coverage and need based treatment and such, something really important is being overlooked: the basic customer service aspect of the health care industry. As a person with chronic health problems, I consider myself a pretty good judge of good customer service in a medical setting. It begins with your first phone call to the provider's office, not with the time you spend with the doctor.
Until the first of May, Tony & I were covered under COBRA. We were paying $1000 a month. Yes, that is one thousand dollars for very excellent coverage for two adults, one reasonably healthy (Tony) and the other an insurance company's nightmare (me). The most important coverage we had was our prescription drug coverage. I did find replacement coverage, but it is a huge hassle to switch everyone's information - have to call the pharmacy, the different doctors' offices and so on. My GP's office did not receive my information for reasons we will get to later. Suffice to say that since Friday of last week, I have been trying to get my four regular scripts established with the new insurance and making sure that Walgreen's had all the information they needed as well.
It is now Wednesday. As of 3pm today things were still not resolved and I had run out of my emergency supply. So, I called my doctor's office for the FIFTH time this week (not to mention the 3 times on Friday). No one seemed to be answering the phone or returning calls left in the voice mail or anything helpful like that. I had reached the end of my patience with everyone involved. So, I decided that I should try to call one more time before just showing up on their doorstep to wait until the situation was resolved.
I didn't feel well and was really cranky by the time I managed to FINALLY get someone on the phone at the GP's office. It went something like this:
Ring riiinnnngggg ringgggggggg (as the phone rang for six consecutive times, I managed to compose myself and decided to be perfectly pleasant towards whomever happened to answer the phone) RIIINNNNGGGGGGGG!!
Finally, a human voice on the other end.
Recptionist: "Hello, Dr. ---'s Office."
Me: "Hello, this is Melissa and I've been trying to reach someone there about the change in my insurance and getting all of my scripts properly transferred."
R: "AND? We're busy here. Send us a fax."
Me: "Ma'am, I did send you a fax. I faxed you, the insurance company faxed you and the pharmacy faxed you. I also left several messages and those calls were not returned, either."
R: "Oh, well...maybe our fax machine is broken. Let me check....yeah, it's broken and has been for about a week."
(picture the color in my cheeks beginning to rise and my voice becoming tight while still being polite)
Me: "I have also left several messages in the voice mail and no one has called me back."
R: "Returning calls is not my responsibility."
Me: Anyway, I am out of meds that I need on a daily basis and the insurance company isn't going to cover them until they receive signed paperwork from your office."
R: "AND?! Well, the answer is simple. Go to the pharmacy and pay for them out of pocket. This is so not my problem."
When I proceded to explain to her that I couldn't afford them out of pocket, she hung up on me. I called back and spoke to a supervisor. I was in tears by this point.
Finally, after threatening to call the doctor at home (I knew how to find him through another doctor friend), the proper paperwork was magically faxed, signed and then refaxed to all the appropriate places.
It wasn't the lack of efficiency of the office. It wasn't the broken fax machine. It wasn't the frustration of the pharmacist who was trying her best to be helpful.
The thing about the situation that nearly broke my spirit was the lack of compassion and the plain old bad customer service. All I wanted was someone to listen to me...to care about my problem... to do their job and fix the problem. Was that too much to ask?
To me, the biggest problem in health care today isn't the lack of coverage or availability of care but a lack of empathy and compassion. Doctors can do great things because of their great skills. But, if their staff is rude or unempathetic it ruins the whole experience. How would the woman who was so hateful to me on the phone feel if the roles had been reversed?
The next time you are in a position to serve someone, ask yourself how you would want to be treated if the roles were reversed. Ask yourself how you'd want someone you love to be treated. The answer probably won't surprise you, but the results of implementing the answer just might.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
My friend Zach
In 1989, I got to meet an up and comer in East TN politics at the national YR convention in Nashville, TN. The first thing that struck me about this person was his huge personality complete with the gift of gab. Turns out that he was in real estate development, so the personality came in handy. Smile. After a few minutes of conversation, it became obvious to me that I was meeting an emerging leader of my generation. I decided to look over his shoulder for the rest of the convention and see if my initial impression was correct - that he walked his talk and knew what leadership really was all about.
He knew then and he knows now that leadership isn't about making bold statements and big promises. It's about having compassion and common sense and doing the RIGHT THING no matter what the situation is and who is or is not watching. It's about being true to yourself and the convictions you hold even when they aren't politically expedient or correct. If you are an elected official, it's about "dancing with the one who brung you", or the people of the district you have been elected to represent. Leadership is about considering everyone you lead equally, even if you don't have anything in common with their life situation and experience.
This person is a leader. He is a leader in his home and loves his wife completely and sacrificially. He is not only a father to his children but a Daddy. He is a leader in his church and an example of what a godly man is all about. He is a leader in his community and has been available day or night to people who are struggling with the same things he himself has battled.
A leader treats people with respect. Early on in our friendship, I had the opportunity to see how he interacted with people and I found out that he treated every single person he met with the same respect no matter who they were, what they looked like, or what they could offer him.
A leader always has a posse, commonly known as the inner circle of advisers. This guy has a great posse, some of whom have been a part of his life since childhood. I've met several of the people in that posse and they are all men of integrity just like him. They tell him when he's wrong and they cheer him on in all of his endeavors and stick around no matter what. Everyone should hang out with this group at least once so you can understand what real friendship is. Seeing their bond influenced me in many of my friendships because I learned to ask the right questions: would this friend be there through thick and thin? And: would this person always tell me the truth and be there to help straighten me out when I made a mistake?
Leaders must have followers. Since 1994, the people in his home district in TN have chosen him as their Congressman. Like me, they recognized a leader when they saw one and made sure that he got elected and continues to be reelected. I recently met up with him in his office in DC and found out that even though he's a respected Congressman, he still has time for old friends and he still is that same talkative person of integrity that I met 20 years ago. He is still the kind of person that you know you can trust. He is still the kind of leader that we need today.
While he had done an amazing job as a Congressman, he has made the choice this year to go home to Tennessee and seek the office of Governor. His is the kind of leadership that Tennessee needs right now in order to ride out these tough times and fulfill its potential.
In case you'd not guessed it by now, I'm talking about my friend, Zach Wamp, future Governor of the Great State of Tennessee.
He knew then and he knows now that leadership isn't about making bold statements and big promises. It's about having compassion and common sense and doing the RIGHT THING no matter what the situation is and who is or is not watching. It's about being true to yourself and the convictions you hold even when they aren't politically expedient or correct. If you are an elected official, it's about "dancing with the one who brung you", or the people of the district you have been elected to represent. Leadership is about considering everyone you lead equally, even if you don't have anything in common with their life situation and experience.
This person is a leader. He is a leader in his home and loves his wife completely and sacrificially. He is not only a father to his children but a Daddy. He is a leader in his church and an example of what a godly man is all about. He is a leader in his community and has been available day or night to people who are struggling with the same things he himself has battled.
A leader treats people with respect. Early on in our friendship, I had the opportunity to see how he interacted with people and I found out that he treated every single person he met with the same respect no matter who they were, what they looked like, or what they could offer him.
A leader always has a posse, commonly known as the inner circle of advisers. This guy has a great posse, some of whom have been a part of his life since childhood. I've met several of the people in that posse and they are all men of integrity just like him. They tell him when he's wrong and they cheer him on in all of his endeavors and stick around no matter what. Everyone should hang out with this group at least once so you can understand what real friendship is. Seeing their bond influenced me in many of my friendships because I learned to ask the right questions: would this friend be there through thick and thin? And: would this person always tell me the truth and be there to help straighten me out when I made a mistake?
Leaders must have followers. Since 1994, the people in his home district in TN have chosen him as their Congressman. Like me, they recognized a leader when they saw one and made sure that he got elected and continues to be reelected. I recently met up with him in his office in DC and found out that even though he's a respected Congressman, he still has time for old friends and he still is that same talkative person of integrity that I met 20 years ago. He is still the kind of person that you know you can trust. He is still the kind of leader that we need today.
While he had done an amazing job as a Congressman, he has made the choice this year to go home to Tennessee and seek the office of Governor. His is the kind of leadership that Tennessee needs right now in order to ride out these tough times and fulfill its potential.
In case you'd not guessed it by now, I'm talking about my friend, Zach Wamp, future Governor of the Great State of Tennessee.
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