Betwixt and Between

 I have been meditating on liminality a lot lately.  

Liminal, from the Latin word Limin, threshold, as an adjective means 1 relating to a transitional or initial stage. 2 at a boundary or threshold (Compact Oxford English Dictionary). In Anthropology, liminality  refers to "the transitional period or phase of a rite of passage, during which the participant lacks social status or rank, remains anonymous, shows obedience and humility..."(Fact Monster).  

 I remember this vaguely from my Religious Studies major. In Primitive Cultures, the boy is taken from his mother's house, and marched into the bush, where he undergoes arduous, humiliating, and painful ritual, to emerge, reborn. He then returns to his village to take his place as an adult in the community.

 In more modern terms:  

Liminality: is the state of being neither- this-nor-that, betwixt and between, neither me nor not me, like the mythic Cynocephalus (dog-headed human).             

                                                                      -Victor Turner  

This is how I feel, neither me nor not me. It is as if I have stepped out of one life, a normal working woman's life(well, as normal as possible, considering I ran HIV positive women's support groups at a high level security women's prison)and into...what? A year of terrible pain and physical therapy, and now -terminal liminality?  

 I  don't plan to be terminally liminal, of course. I will work my way  into some other life, slowly, of course. My pain is not as terrible, just chronic, but this being neither-this-nor-that IS as bizarre as the mythic Cynocephalus(what ever that is). Still, I supposed it is not surprising that someone who has a working diagnosis of Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place, would be living in a state of Betwixt and Between.  

Blessings, Margo      

Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I saw my Primary Care Physician this week-the one who I like. He is blunt, has occasionally minimized my complaints, worked hard to save my life when I was hospitalized after the fall, and has stabilized me on a multitude of meds over the last 10 years. We have discussed everything from the weather to his views on adequately medicating the terminally ill. I have put more trust in him than any other doctor, and have rarely been let down.

I described my current situation, ending with, "I just seem to need a diagnosis!"  He laughed ruefully, then said, "You want another one? Don't you have enough? Heart disease, diabetes, neuropathy, etc, etc, etc.All this seems more than enough for me." Then he looked down at my thick file and sighed.

"I hate to say this, but you are between a rock and a hard place." He want on say that he believed that a lot of the pain is diabetic neuropathy, perhaps exacerbated by the fall, and the medication- which I truly need, and he does not want to take me off - is causing the exhaustion and brain fog. We talked about it a long time, but by then I was on auto pilot, unable, and unwilling to take in any more.

He ended by saying, tentatively (I think for fear I'd  be offended or fall apart) that he wanted to say, without being patronizing, that he did not think he could handle my illness as well as I am.

Two days later, I let myself feel the pain, and the irony of the whole situation. For the moment, I have a working diagnosis: Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place.  Trust me to end up with a Rolling Stones song as a diagnosis.

Nothing has changed. I am no worse or better than last week, it is just suddenly so painful to recognize that this is as good as it gets, and I really have to move on in some direction or another, dealing with what I have now. I have known this for a while now, but refused to look at it.

Funny how the mind works-I can see why the Goddess Hecate has moved into my life when I ended up with Judi's beautiful torch. She is the Goddess of the Crossroads (and a lot more) who, carrying a torch to light the way, guides women when they come to a changing point in their lives. That would be me.

I wish I could be funny or clever or even sarcastic about where I am in my life, but I'm not there yet. I am standing in the middle of a crossroad, crying a lot, waiting fora wise woman with a torch to come along and point the way. I know she lives inside me, and will appear, but right now I'm still humming the Rolling Stones.

Blessings, Margo

Calling Change into My Life

I I have been suffering from a bout of writer's block, because I have been struggling a lot lately, with depression and anxiety and feeling stuck. I know I am not stuck. The river is flowing no matter what I do, and I am part of that river as surely as I breathe air. I just have hit another rocky run.

Nothing has changed. The pain, which has become a background to all I do, waxes and wanes according some arcane pattern or rhythm to which I have no access. Oh, I know weather affects me, and how active I am, and how depressed I feel, but there is something deeper that I cannot put my finger on. Yet.

I was overwhelmed with the number of people who responded to my 2nd 7.5 minutes of fame, with comments and e-mails and IM's, many of them with promises of prayers and suggestions I will discuss with my doctor. I was also overwhelmed at the number of people struggling with chronic illnesses, and the amount of pain, physical and emotional, they suffer.

I am a lucky one. My pain is fairly well medicated, and I am capable of going back to doctors over and over again, until I get a diagnosis and what ever treatment is available. I have done this before. At the moment, I have enough money to live on, and health insurance. I have a partner who loves me, a house I love, and a daughter who is funny and quirky and self-supporting. I know how blessed I am, and I am grateful to the Goddess in her many forms for all this. Truly. So why am I crying all the time?

One comment (and only one) accused me, among other things, of hating my body and having a pity party. I John Scalzi'ed it, (that is, erased it and blocked her) and told myself she had no power in my life, but it still rankled. I hate that one comment can make me feel guilty, go through a cycle of self-doubt. I am over it now, but it took a while, and I am more aware of the perils of public journaling.

But the crying is not self pity. For me crying is a good thing. It took me years in therapy to get beyond cramming all emotions down, deep inside, never to be looked at or acknowledged. It is a childhood survival mechanism that is no longer needed in my life. I now need to be able to cry the emotional pain out. And so I do, in safe places-like my car, my recliner, my bedroom, and at my computer.

And believe me, I am crying at the drop of a hat. Beautiful song? I cry. Weather changing? I cry. Loving journal entry or comment? I cry. Rene snaps at me? I cry. Therapy session? I sob. Leaves falling? I cry. Need to buy sweatshirts for winter? I cry. See a pattern here? I don't, not quite. Roxy loves it, though; she has taken on the job of washing my face of tears and (less endearingly) snot. She makes me laugh, and then I cry some more.

I can see that it has to do with lost hope. This time last year I was in terrible, terrible pain, my right hand lifeless, my right shoulder immobile, living 24/7 in my recliner, needing help to take a shower, but I expected to rehab and go back to work. That kept me going to physical therapy 3 times a week for 9 months. It kept me going to a personal trainer, on a diet, going to literally dozens of doctor's appointments, all with a smile plastered firmly on my face, and the cheery response of "I've been much worse in the past!" on my lips whenever I was asked how I was doing. Ugh. I HAVE been much worse. I AM much better, just not well enough to claim my old life, and not far enough along to see my new one.

I know that losing hope for one kind of life does not mean I am giving up. I am mourning, and will continue to mourn, even while new hope begins to grow inside me. I will have a new life. It is clear that change does not come easily to me, and that it frightens me, too. But I see a little more clearly now that when I started this journal, I was calling change into my life. What was I thinking? Truth is, I wasn't thinking. On some unconscious level I was setting up a framework in a community called J-Land to facilitate change, however slow and painful. This is not the only community in which I work on change, but I am so grateful to be here, and feel the support many of you offer.

I have put a picture of Roxy and me up, so that you will all know that I DO smile now and then!  :)

Blessings, Margo

Roxy

If all has gone well, you see a picture of the new love of my life, Roxy. This is the first of my own pictures I’ve posted! Roxy is 3 pounds of pure love and wiggle, and her goddess is… me! It is a rather humbling experience, actually, even when she is barking at the wind in the middle of the night, waking me out of much needed sleep . Like many Chihuahuas, she sleeps under the covers, curled tightly against me, readily moving whenever I roll over. I don’t stay on my side long-the pain wakes me up-and when I roll back onto my back, she moves agilely and patiently back to her previous spot. She has no complaints.

When Rene told me we were about to acquire our first Chihuahua, Miya, I said, “Oh, no.  Two very large lesbians cannot own such a silly dog!”  Within two days, that dratted dog had wormed her way into our hearts and lives as if she was born to be there. Maybe she was. Miya is now 15, and I cannot imagine ever again living without a Chi! I think this is every Chi owners experience, while all our friends scratch their heads and wonder why we love a barky, possessive, addle brained rat-dog, whose temperament ranges from hyper to more hyper to complete stop.

 

They just don’t see the Chi in the same light as an owner. Our Chi’s bark a lot because they are vicious watchdogs who make strong men step back from the door. They make terrible guard dogs, however; they ignore any visitor’s entry if we are not home. Friends see a hyper dog that runs around while they are here. We see them sleep the rest of the day. Friends worry they are cold because they shiver all the time. We know they shiver when they are cold, hot, excited, interested, surprised, or just engaged in life. Friends laugh at their antics. We roar.

 

Not everyone who owns a Chihuahua owns up to owning one! We had an attorney friend once who said no self respecting gay man would own Chihuahua. He told people his long haired Chi was really a very rare Hawaiian terrier called a “Ch-Hua-Hua.” When people asked how they could get one, he told them you had to know a secret breeder in Hawaii. Some even asked if he had a phone number for one!

 

I think Chihuahuas were put on earth to make us smile. Tia, our elderly, handicapped, rescued Chihuahua oversaw the first half of my recovery. When I was pretty much confined to my recliner for several months, she wanted nothing more than to lie in my lap all day long, followed by lying there all night as well. At times, in the middle of a long night, she was a true lifesaver, just happy to be there in my lap, no matter what I was feeling. Putting her down was a terrible decision to have had to make, though the right one, and I still cry when I think about her.

 

Roxy, although very different, has come to take her place. She is so tiny she makes seven pound Miya look big. She has the energy of a gazelle. She is a great licker of fingers and faces, and she actually fetches stuffed animals twice her size, but only when she has a mind to. As I write in my Journal, or read others, she crawls under my shirt and curls up for a nap. She is there now, wishing I would not move my hands so much.

 

Yesterday, I took her out side and across the street to an empty lot where she can run free. And run she did, like the wild thing she is, back and forth, across and around, up and down almost lost in the taller grass, dashing after a late butterfly, exalting in the glory of an autumn day. As I sat and watched her, I realized that, while I am no longer able to run, I too can exalt in the same glory of the day, and eventually the two of us made our way home, tired but happy.

 

She is my Blessing, Margo

Let This Be My Prayer

 Mad Agnes

 

Let This Be My Prayer

                                By A. Jones

 

Let this be my prayer today

May I be easy in my heart

Let me see a clearer way

If I can heal then let me start

 

If I should love let love return

to this dark and silent space

where I have learned to count these hours

between the done and rising days

 

    Let this be my prayer today

    World of sorrow, wash away

    Let this be my prayer

    Let this be my prayer

 

Help me hold my loves ones close

And when their time comes, let them go

Knowing they’re not lost or gone

But, like me, just moving on

 

Let time and weather not lay waste

the beauty of this changing face

Give me wisdom as I see

the things that never more will be

 

    Chorus

 

When I am locked and cannot speak

Let that silence set me free

If once I give this heart to break

Let the one I love love me

 

Rooms of splendor in my house

Though I stand sad and lost without

There is untold joy within

Open, gates, and let me in

Open, gates, and let me in.

 

                      - Mad Agnes, from the Magic Hour

 

This song has been making me cry, in agood way, on and off all week. You can find Mad Agnes at thier site MadAgnes.com, and learn how beautiful their harmonies actually are.

Blessings, Margo

Featued Again, For Chrinic Pain!

I figured I had had my 15 minutes of AOL fame when I was featured on keyword Gay and Lesbian, but apparently it was only seven and a half minutes, because I seem to have been given another few minutes of fame at AOL keyword Health Community. There I am holding Roxy! I seem to have become momentary queen of chronic pain, and I am getting comments, e-mails and IMs from any number of people. I am both touched and overwhelmed.

 

Many people want to talk about their frustration with the medical system, in general, and methods of pain relief in particular. I have googled around in a very cursory manner on chronic pain, and have discovered we who live in pain in J-Land are not alone-70 million people face chronic pain daily. Most of us are under medicated, not over medicated, by doctors who are not up on today’s standards in pain care. And lots of doctors really don’t care. They are quick to blame psychological problems. I want to shout back. Yeah, who wouldn’t be depressed if they live in pain?!? It’s the PAIN that’s the primary problem-have YOU ever lived with chronic pain!?! I have begun asking my doctors this question, so far, none of them have.

 

I feel blessed because I like my primary care physician, who keeps referring me out to specialists in an attempt to figure out what’s wrong. And I have a pain clinic. I may not like that doctor as much, and they are really overworked (because there are so few pain clinics in the area), but I have never felt belittled or judged as faking it there, and they give me medication that helps. I am glad I demanded a referral from my orthopedist, who, unable to see my whole medical picture, kept prescribing meds bad for my kidneys, one right after another.

 

I have learned that this is a long and arduous journey, and those of us who start out as sissies had better toughen up, fast, and become demanding bitches if we really need help. It is shameful that this is so. I have learned that chronic pain separates you from your previous world in a way that is incomprehensible to those who don't have it, and because it often doesn't "show" people get tired of your limitations. I get tired of them, too. Many of us feel suicidal at some point or another, and somedays getting out of bed is simply impossible. Hopelessness lives just on the other side of the bedroom door, and sometimeds it is better to stay put, with the covers over our heads.

 

I have also learned how helpful most people who live in pain are. I appreciate the outpouring of suggestions, the promise of prayers and support and even the pleas for help I have been receiving. The light of hope flickers through each message. I wish I could offer more than sincere thanks for the concern and care out there. It makes me feel supported on this unasked for journey I am trying to embrace. Thank you all.

 

Blessings, Margo

 

picture "Chronic Pain" from:  www.eccoblue.org/ abstract.htm

The river flows

This is a very odd time in my life. One day I’m down and out, the next I am crawling back, and the day after I feel okay, only to fall back into the pits again. This is not meant as a complaint, either, just an observation. I well remember this time last year when I was still sleeping in my recliner, dealing with sharp, serious, relentless pain, getting up only to use the bathroom and do physical therapy, needing to ask for ice water and help putting my legs up.

 

Back then, I expected to fully recover and go back to prison. Now I am working on living day by day, accepting the ups and downs, looking around for what life will bring me next. Life seems in no great hurry, however. I am reminded of the phrase I took on at another bad patch in my life:

 

Don’t push the river; it’s already flowing by itself.

 

I picture myself standing thigh high in the Tobyhanna River (my favorite river, in the Poconos), happily being pulled downstream by the rushing current, content to let Her take me where She will. This takes place in mid summer, of course, and I am warm and sure footed! That’s the good thing about memories. I will take what the Goddess offers.

 

Saturday was the Fourth Annual Neighborhood Olympics. Now, the members of the US Olympic team have nothing to worry about, but we do it up proudly, complete with the younger athletes (all available neighborhood kids) marching down the street, carrying the flag, into Jaime’s yard, followed by the National Anthem and  the dedication of the games to all those serving in Iraq, especially the cops and firemen. Then, with all due ceremony, we light the torch (a tiki torch from someone’s backyard), and the Games begin.

 

Since remnants of Ivan had blown through earlier in the day, we had a somewhat shortened version this year. Usually we start at 1pm with a pie eating contest-one for kids, one for adults, then have lots of kids games, with prizes like candy and small toys, and versions of the same games for adults, minus the prizes. Some games are mixed, adults and kids, and then we move on to other yards for bocce, croquet, and end with an hysterical game of volleyball, one street against the other. All this is followed by a cook out and community meal. Those of us who are not athletic watch and cheer.

 

This year, under a windy sky, in Jamie’s cold, after-the-rain-soggy yard, we persevered, 41 of us, kids and adults, with kids’ games, volleyball. a bit of bocce, followed by the meal-as always lots and lots of good food. We ended with fireworks, set off by Rene, Joey and Joe. They were wonderful! Our next big neighborhood get together will be our After-Christmas-Is-Over Progressive Dinner.

 

Have I said that I live in the best neighborhood in the world?  We know each others kids' names, and everybody’s dogs, and it is okay for the younger ones to leave their bikes by the side of the road.(The Younger kids, not dogs!) We are all so nosey about each others goings on that a stranger doesn’t have a chance down here. All this, and old houses, and a view of a river. I am blessed by where I live, and truly appreciate it.

 

Autumn helps. Today is the Equinox, and though we have tipped over towards darkness as the days get shorter, I got a spurt of energy and called the local women’s center. I’m to try babysitting there one evening a week, while one of the groups meet. I also stopped over to see how Glenn, my personal trainer, is coming along with his new studio. The equipment is due to arrive momentarily, so soon I’ll go back to working out- something I actually hate, but have sort of missed this last month. Funny how that is. I guess I really miss Glenn who, after almost a year of my working out, has become a member of my extended family.

 

Perhaps the river is flowing a little more smoothly, at least for a day or two. On the good days I can feel my feelings flowing like Tobyhanna, sometimes smooth and quiet, sometimes blocked by debris, sometimes pouring joyfully around rocks and over stone, looking for expression and freedom. And I am grateful.

 

Blessings, Margo

 

picture of the Tobyhanna River from https:/.../Tobyhanna_eq/ tobyhanna_final.html