I've heard people say, "Freedom isn't free," in reference to the idea that we must make sacrifices in order to maintain our freedom. It's true. Freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. In order to be free, we must be responsible. We must be willing to make sacrifices to meet our responsibilities in order to maintain our freedom. We cannot have freedom without responsibility.
The nurse who will be working with us from the Hemophilia Treatment Center came over the other night and brought a social worker with her. The purpose of the visit was for the social worker to discuss with us the various possibilities for financial assistance in paying for Nathaniel's treatment.
Nathaniel has severe type hemophilia, which means he will be receiving the blood clotting factor infusions 3 times weekly starting at about 9 months of age and lasting the rest of his life. As a baby and through early childhood, the factor infusions will cost about $600 per week. Lesley's insurance will cover the majority of that cost. At this time, and the numbers may be revised in the future, Lesley's insurance will cover nearly all but the copays. I believe at this time, our out of pocket expenses for Nathaniel's infusions will be a little over $100 per week, once he starts receiving the infusions. This cost includes the amount of copays for the prescription and office visits. As he grows into adolescence and adulthood, his treatment costs will increase, because he will need more of the blood clotting factor per infusion (prescription cost goes up). As he reaches adulthood, the cost of his infusions could reach $6,000.00 per week. Again, insurance will cover the majority of that cost, leaving us with copays, which will increase due to the increased prescription cost.
We thought the social worker was going to come with grant or scholarship information.
Nope. Not so much.
He explained to us that Nathaniel's level of severity of hemophilia could qualify him for Social Security Disability, which in turn would qualify him for Medicaid/Medicare. Then he encouraged us to quit our jobs. Well, not really. Not both of us. He told us that if one of us quit work, our income would drop below the limits for social security. We could draw Social Security Income (SSI) on Nathaniel, around $500.00 monthly. Due to our low income level, Jacob and Caitlin would qualify for Medicaid, as well. We would also qualify for EBT card (colloquially known as "food stamps") and also qualify for other government assistance programs.
So basically, his solution to the financial responsibility that Nathaniel's hemophilia imposes on us is to become dependent on the government for income, health insurance, and food.
Lesley and I discussed this...briefly...very briefly.
Allow me to repeat: We can't have freedom without responsibility. They are two sides of the same coin. When we lose one, we necessarily give up the other.
Lesley and I didn't see the option this social worker presented to us as a means of managing the financial responsibility Nathaniel's treatment imposes. We saw his solution as an abdication of that responsibility. If one of us were to quit work so as to qualify for social security income, Medicaid, and EBT, we would lose the freedom of making decisions about Nathaniel's health care (and in turn Jacob's and Caitlin's). We would also lose the freedom to choose the type of housing in which we live, as we would no longer be able to afford our home. We would also lose the freedom of choosing what types of food we would like to eat. EBT only covers certain types of foods, and with reduced income we would not be able to afford our choices. By giving over responsibility to the government, we lose freedom.
I want to be understood here. In no way is this a criticism of those who truly need government assistance. I've worked in the social services field for several years now, and have helped people obtain Social Security Income (SSI), Social Security Disability Income (SSDI), housing assistance, food stamps, and Medicaid/Medicare. I did it willingly and diligently. After my brother's motorcycle accident, I knew he would not be able to work for an extended period of time, and I helped him get SSDI. I was glad when it was awarded, because I knew he truly needed it.
One thing needs to be understood about these programs, though. Those who utilize these government assistance programs lose a certain level of their freedom. For example, I've seen Medicaid turn down my clients for Hepatitis C treatments because they were over a certain age. By relying on government to pay for their healthcare, they lost the freedom to choose which treatments they received. With housing assistance, I worked with a gentleman who was not able to move into a fairly nice house simply because the house had 3 bedrooms rather than 2. The gentleman moved into a 2 bedroom apartment for the same cost as the 3 bedroom house, and housing authority ended up paying the same amount. The man lost his freedom to choose where he wanted to live because he needed the government to help him with the responsibility of paying for his rent. I worked with people who were put on restrictive diets by their doctors for chronic health conditions like diabetes and high blood pressure. They could not, however, afford the food the diets dictated, because they relied on EBT cards and food pantries for their groceries. The costs of the healthy foods the diets dictated far outstretched the meager amount they were awarded on their EBT card, and the food pantries, which do wonderful service, give out mostly processed foods high in sugar, salt, and other preservatives. They lost the freedom to obtain the types of food that would be good for them because they needed assistance with the responsibility of paying for their groceries.
These clients that I worked with legitimately needed help with meeting their needs for healthcare, shelter and food. The government took the responsibility of helping to provide for these needs, but also took from them the freedom to make choices concerning their healthcare, shelter and food.
Freedom and responsibility: if we give up one, we necessarily give up the other.
What the social worker who visited us proposed was not to help us obtain assistance that we needed. What he proposed was that we put ourselves deliberately into a situation where we need assistance. Then we were to hand the responsibility of meeting our needs over to the government. Lesley and I are not willing to sacrifice that freedom, even if it means taking on more responsibility.
The fact is, Lesley and I are blessed. I have no qualms about admitting that we have done well financially with our work. We are by no stretch of the imagination rich. But we're comfortable. We will need to make some lifestyle changes due to the cost of Nathaniel's treatment. I won't be buying that Harley Davidson by the time I turn 40. I will stop going out to lunch as often as I've been in the habit of doing. Lesley just might need to start buying a few more generic items at the grocery store. With her insurance (which is very good), with our incomes, and with a few minor lifestyle changes, the cost of Nathaniel's treatment will be manageable. We have the FREEDOM TO CHOOSE what sacrifices to make to meet our responsibilities. We won't have a third party (like the government) making the choices for us. We will not need to lose the freedoms we have because we aren't able to afford the responsibility.
Should our situation change in the future, we may need government assistance. Right now, we don't. To put ourselves deliberately into a situation where we would need government assistance would be a violation of my conscience, an abdication of freedom, and immoral.
We are going to apply for disability for Nathaniel, but not because we have to. We are going to apply, knowing that we will not qualify for disability income for him. But that's ok. We don't need it. We will apply in the hopes that he will be granted Medicaid, but, again, not because we need it. Medicaid, in this circumstance, will act as a secondary insurance to our primary insurance policy. It will also give us peace of mind. If anything happens to one of us, and we need Medicaid to become his primary insurance, he will already have been approved. There will not be a lapse in his ongoing treatment.
Lesley and I enjoy the freedoms we have. We know they come with a responsibility, but "Freedom isn't free."
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
NBFFNB
The first Motorcycle Clubs were founded in the late 1940’s by veterans returning from World War II. They were men who had been in combat. They had seen things and done things and experienced things that only other veterans understood. Those listening in from the outside could hear the stories, picture the images, and maybe catch some vague glimpse of emotion from these men. Those listening from the outside, however, could not in the fullest sense share the experience these men had. Only other veterans could do that.
These Motorcycle Clubs were founded by veterans who had tasted the thrill and horror of combat. They had something of a wild side, which was bred into them through their military training and experiences in war. It was hard for them to return to the mundane after what they had gone through. They needed something to fill that void of adrenaline rush that they had tasted in combat. So they rode motorcycles, raced them, got together for parties and weekend runs. They just wanted to be with other men who had shared this common experience of war and wanted to have some fun.
The idea of the “outlaw” motorcycle club was not a tag that was put on these groups by the police. It was put on them by the American Motorcycle Association (AMA). These veteran bikers would participate in and hold races that were not sanctioned by the AMA. Admittedly, they tended to be a little more rowdy in their activities than the AMA preferred, but, hey, they had just fought in war and seen their friends die to preserve our freedom. Who could blame them for wanting to blow off some steam? Their parties consisted of riding motorcycles, racing motorcycles, and alcohol consumption. It was bound to get a little rowdy.
The AMA, who didn’t like the fact that these clubs would organize races outside of their “authority,” quipped that most motorcyclists were good, honest, law-abiding citizens, but it was the one percent of motorcyclists who weren’t that gave the rest a bad name. Thus the “1%ers” were born. The “Outlaws.” Hollywood, beginning with Marlon Brando and “The Wild One,” ran with it. The image of the American Biker as an outlaw, someone outside of main stream, run of the mill, white-picket-fence-and-car-in-the-garage-America was born. And these veteran bikers loved it.
Society saw a ragtag band of bearded, unbathed, and uncouth men with bad manners and worse behavior. For the bikers, "the outlaw" meant freedom, the very thing they had fought and their brothers had died for. They became Robin Hood's fighting the oppressor; the Pirates sailing beyond the horizons; the Crusaders who would fight for freedom and wouldn't be bound by society's narrow limits and laws.
The original clubs were for men who had common experience surviving the horrors of war and earning the freedom just to have a good time. They got together with each other in that bond of brotherhood and had some fun. Nothing more.
That’s what New Breed Motorcycle Club means to me. I’m a prospect with New Breed Motorcycle Club, and I’m proud to be one. These men have invited me to get to know me, and let me get to know them, with the possibility that I can join them wearing the full patch someday. New Breed Motorcycle Club is a Clean and Sober Club, meaning that the members are in recovery from alcohol and drug addiction. That’s why they came together in the first place. Recovery first.
One can understand recovery by thinking of it as a program of self-improvement, but don’t let that analogy diminish what recovery means. For those in recovery, self-improvement is not a hobby, or a book written in pop-psychology that people read, get a couple of good ideas on how to reorganize their cabinets since the last book they read, and then put on a shelf. For those in recovery from addiction, this self-improvement means life or death. If they stop their program of recovery, they will eventually die. In addiction, there is no sitting still and being satisfied. There is only the daily work of moving forward and getting better…or relapse to death. These men are together because they need each other to save each other’s lives. They support one another’s recovery.
This common experience of having survived the loss of nearly everything (including their lives) (and sometimes multiple times), has drawn them together into a brotherhood. Their recovery means putting each other first. The reason they are club is because it gives them some ability to guard who comes into their brotherhood. They will only allow in and tolerate those who will participate in their recovery with them.
The men of New Breed MC have survived their addictions, bonded together to make sure they are all working their recoveries, and they want to have fun. They want to ride motorcycles, go to rallies, participate in activities, and do it clean and sober. They help each other do that. They help each other have clean and sober fun.
And I’m honored that they’ve invited me to be a part of it.
We are the “New Breed” of bikers, but really, our story isn’t that different than the story of those who have gone before us.
NBFFNB
These Motorcycle Clubs were founded by veterans who had tasted the thrill and horror of combat. They had something of a wild side, which was bred into them through their military training and experiences in war. It was hard for them to return to the mundane after what they had gone through. They needed something to fill that void of adrenaline rush that they had tasted in combat. So they rode motorcycles, raced them, got together for parties and weekend runs. They just wanted to be with other men who had shared this common experience of war and wanted to have some fun.
The idea of the “outlaw” motorcycle club was not a tag that was put on these groups by the police. It was put on them by the American Motorcycle Association (AMA). These veteran bikers would participate in and hold races that were not sanctioned by the AMA. Admittedly, they tended to be a little more rowdy in their activities than the AMA preferred, but, hey, they had just fought in war and seen their friends die to preserve our freedom. Who could blame them for wanting to blow off some steam? Their parties consisted of riding motorcycles, racing motorcycles, and alcohol consumption. It was bound to get a little rowdy.
The AMA, who didn’t like the fact that these clubs would organize races outside of their “authority,” quipped that most motorcyclists were good, honest, law-abiding citizens, but it was the one percent of motorcyclists who weren’t that gave the rest a bad name. Thus the “1%ers” were born. The “Outlaws.” Hollywood, beginning with Marlon Brando and “The Wild One,” ran with it. The image of the American Biker as an outlaw, someone outside of main stream, run of the mill, white-picket-fence-and-car-in-the-garage-America was born. And these veteran bikers loved it.
Society saw a ragtag band of bearded, unbathed, and uncouth men with bad manners and worse behavior. For the bikers, "the outlaw" meant freedom, the very thing they had fought and their brothers had died for. They became Robin Hood's fighting the oppressor; the Pirates sailing beyond the horizons; the Crusaders who would fight for freedom and wouldn't be bound by society's narrow limits and laws.
The original clubs were for men who had common experience surviving the horrors of war and earning the freedom just to have a good time. They got together with each other in that bond of brotherhood and had some fun. Nothing more.
That’s what New Breed Motorcycle Club means to me. I’m a prospect with New Breed Motorcycle Club, and I’m proud to be one. These men have invited me to get to know me, and let me get to know them, with the possibility that I can join them wearing the full patch someday. New Breed Motorcycle Club is a Clean and Sober Club, meaning that the members are in recovery from alcohol and drug addiction. That’s why they came together in the first place. Recovery first.
One can understand recovery by thinking of it as a program of self-improvement, but don’t let that analogy diminish what recovery means. For those in recovery, self-improvement is not a hobby, or a book written in pop-psychology that people read, get a couple of good ideas on how to reorganize their cabinets since the last book they read, and then put on a shelf. For those in recovery from addiction, this self-improvement means life or death. If they stop their program of recovery, they will eventually die. In addiction, there is no sitting still and being satisfied. There is only the daily work of moving forward and getting better…or relapse to death. These men are together because they need each other to save each other’s lives. They support one another’s recovery.
This common experience of having survived the loss of nearly everything (including their lives) (and sometimes multiple times), has drawn them together into a brotherhood. Their recovery means putting each other first. The reason they are club is because it gives them some ability to guard who comes into their brotherhood. They will only allow in and tolerate those who will participate in their recovery with them.
The men of New Breed MC have survived their addictions, bonded together to make sure they are all working their recoveries, and they want to have fun. They want to ride motorcycles, go to rallies, participate in activities, and do it clean and sober. They help each other do that. They help each other have clean and sober fun.
And I’m honored that they’ve invited me to be a part of it.
We are the “New Breed” of bikers, but really, our story isn’t that different than the story of those who have gone before us.
NBFFNB
Monday, August 22, 2011
I Forgot How Fun It Can Be
Parenting, that is.
Everyone who keeps up on facebook and the blog here knows the ongoing saga with trying to get sensor probes for the pulsox monitor that both fit Nathaniel and stay put once we get them on. I keep telling the company that it's the sensor probes, not the monitor, that is the problem. They keep telling us that they can bring us a new monitor.
Well, this weekend, on Saturday, we finally ran out of sensor probes. We turned his oxygen level to 1 notch higher than the bare minimum we had been keeping it. We turned the monitor completely off. That was Saturday afternoon. When Sunday morning finally came, we woke up to find an alert, smiling, goofy little boy waving his arms and "ah-goo"ing. He was so happy. I'm not a medical person, but I believe the 10 hours of having the oxygen set and maintained at a steady level without concern of desaturation of blood oxygen content and being messed with and stressed out by having uncomfortable sensor probes sticking to him made a WORLD of difference.
And not just for him.
We all had a really good time with him on Sunday. We had some balloons from a welcome home present that Lesley's cousin gave us. We put the strings in his hands and he bounced those balloons around and laughed. We tried putting a balloon in each hand. Not good. A little over stimulation. But the look of absolute terror on his face when both of those balloons were bouncing overhead was HILARIOUS. We picked him up without worrying about knocking probes loose. He and I danced to the Hemophilia Rock song we made up for him. (We don't have it written down yet, so don't ask for the words or music.)
Jacob and Caitlin weren't getting shooshed away everytime they wanted to stroke his head and give him a hug. At one point, Nathaniel was laying on the couch, and Jacob had climbed up the back of the couch and was precariously perched back there. I told Jacob to be careful not to fall on Nathaniel. "Because he's so sick, Daddy?" Jacob asked.
"No," I replied, "because he's a baby." It was nice telling Jacob that his little brother was a baby, and not a sick baby. Made me feel kind of normal, you know?
Over the last 7 weeks, I've been so worried about Nathaniel, first whether or not he was going to live to see the next day, about whether we were just prolonging his inevitable death, about whether he is ever going to get off this oxygen, about whether the pulsox readings are right or not, that I forgot what I love most about being a dad.
It's just fun.
I went to Mass yesterday morning, and I cried in Church. I was at my wit's end with the whole thing. I prayed from that deep place, you know, "Deep is calling on deep in the roar of waters." (Psalm 42:8) I prayed for Nathaniel's healing. That prayer was answered. He still has hemophilia. He's still on oxygen. The healing I got was what existed between me and Nathaniel.
Yesterday I was able to stop looking at him as this sick little baby, and I looked at him as my son. I had fun with him. We laughed together. We danced together. We played with his balloons together. We teased mommy together. We even ate an ice cream cone together (well, I did most of the eating, ok, all of the eating, but he was there with me).
It was fun being his daddy yesterday. I had forgotten just how fun it can be.
Being a parent is "wonderful," "beautiful," "miraculous," and all of those other fluffy adjectives. It's also just fun.
I remember that now, and I suspect THAT healing is what will help Nathaniel more than anything else.
Everyone who keeps up on facebook and the blog here knows the ongoing saga with trying to get sensor probes for the pulsox monitor that both fit Nathaniel and stay put once we get them on. I keep telling the company that it's the sensor probes, not the monitor, that is the problem. They keep telling us that they can bring us a new monitor.
Well, this weekend, on Saturday, we finally ran out of sensor probes. We turned his oxygen level to 1 notch higher than the bare minimum we had been keeping it. We turned the monitor completely off. That was Saturday afternoon. When Sunday morning finally came, we woke up to find an alert, smiling, goofy little boy waving his arms and "ah-goo"ing. He was so happy. I'm not a medical person, but I believe the 10 hours of having the oxygen set and maintained at a steady level without concern of desaturation of blood oxygen content and being messed with and stressed out by having uncomfortable sensor probes sticking to him made a WORLD of difference.
And not just for him.
We all had a really good time with him on Sunday. We had some balloons from a welcome home present that Lesley's cousin gave us. We put the strings in his hands and he bounced those balloons around and laughed. We tried putting a balloon in each hand. Not good. A little over stimulation. But the look of absolute terror on his face when both of those balloons were bouncing overhead was HILARIOUS. We picked him up without worrying about knocking probes loose. He and I danced to the Hemophilia Rock song we made up for him. (We don't have it written down yet, so don't ask for the words or music.)
Jacob and Caitlin weren't getting shooshed away everytime they wanted to stroke his head and give him a hug. At one point, Nathaniel was laying on the couch, and Jacob had climbed up the back of the couch and was precariously perched back there. I told Jacob to be careful not to fall on Nathaniel. "Because he's so sick, Daddy?" Jacob asked.
"No," I replied, "because he's a baby." It was nice telling Jacob that his little brother was a baby, and not a sick baby. Made me feel kind of normal, you know?
Over the last 7 weeks, I've been so worried about Nathaniel, first whether or not he was going to live to see the next day, about whether we were just prolonging his inevitable death, about whether he is ever going to get off this oxygen, about whether the pulsox readings are right or not, that I forgot what I love most about being a dad.
It's just fun.
I went to Mass yesterday morning, and I cried in Church. I was at my wit's end with the whole thing. I prayed from that deep place, you know, "Deep is calling on deep in the roar of waters." (Psalm 42:8) I prayed for Nathaniel's healing. That prayer was answered. He still has hemophilia. He's still on oxygen. The healing I got was what existed between me and Nathaniel.
Yesterday I was able to stop looking at him as this sick little baby, and I looked at him as my son. I had fun with him. We laughed together. We danced together. We played with his balloons together. We teased mommy together. We even ate an ice cream cone together (well, I did most of the eating, ok, all of the eating, but he was there with me).
It was fun being his daddy yesterday. I had forgotten just how fun it can be.
Being a parent is "wonderful," "beautiful," "miraculous," and all of those other fluffy adjectives. It's also just fun.
I remember that now, and I suspect THAT healing is what will help Nathaniel more than anything else.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Missing the Trees for the Forest
We've all heard that old saying, "He missed the forest for the trees." It's supposed to challenge us to keep big picture in mind, rather than getting so focused on the little things that we miss the grand scheme.
It's become painfully clear to me that if I am a "grand scheme person" in my spiritual life, I am spiritually blind. I can't see the trees for the forest. More importantly, if I'm busy looking at the forest, I can't see the path through the trees.
The wisdom literature in the scriptures present different concepts of wisdom. One of those scriptural concepts of wisdom that I have found meaningful and practical in my day-to-day life is that the wise person knows what is the right thing to do and the right time to do it. "For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. He has made everything beautiful in its time; also he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." (Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 11)
It's always foolish to do the wrong thing. It is possible, also, to do the right thing at the wrong time. This is equally foolish. The wise person is able to understand that there is:
"a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace." (Ecclesiastes 3:2-8)
The wise person is able to find the right thing to do at the right time.
This frees me in a way that I have never experienced freedom. I don't have to worry about the big picture. My vision needs to be on the here and now. After all, that's all God sees.
God is the eternal now. Let that sink in for a moment. God has no future and no past. "He is who is." That's why God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The difference between God's vision and mine is that for God every moment in history is happening right now. For me, only this moment is happening right now, but that's ok, because all I need to be concerned about is right now.
This may seem sheets to the wind, and a poor plan for future security, but there are certain things that I would like us to consider, like the lilies of the field.
"Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O men of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, `What shall we eat?' or `What shall we drink?' or `What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day." (Matthew 6:25-34)
This sets me free, because I know that all I need to do is what is right for today. I need to seek the kingdom now. By laying the brick in my hand, I make way for the next one to be laid. If all my attention is focused on the next one, however, I'll screw up the one I'm working on now.
I don't have to worry about what is the right thing to do tomorrow. I don't have to worry about what is the right thing to do next year. I don't have to worry about who's going to get elected in 2012. I don't have to worry about if the stock market crashes, and what will happen to my retirement account.
If I am in touch with the Holy Spirit who guides me in my moment to moment decisions, then in 10 years, I will find that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing, with exactly what I need to do it. God, who sees 10 years from now as now, is preparing now for what I cannot see. "...he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." (Ecclesiastes 3: 11b)
Here's a great mistake I made in my life. When I was discerning whether or not to become a priest, I had a still, small voice inside of me telling me that I should not get ordained. I spent so much time thinking about the future, and what ministry would be like, and where I would be 10 years, 20 years, 30 years from where I was, that I didn't listen to what that still, small voice was saying to me AT THAT MOMENT. If I had known then what I know now, I would not have asked for ordination. It was not God's will for me. I got so blinded by the forest, that I missed the details of the trees, which have a beauty all their own.
Right now, I am not called to see the forest. That's a vision that I will have someday in heaven. Right now, I'm called to keep my vision squarely on the path that I am walking today.
Practically, this is how it works. What do I do with my money today? I pray about it. That's always first. I ask God what is his will for me to do with my money today. God will guide me to divide it up between tithing, bills, insurance payments, retirement accounts, fun money. He will guide me into the amount given to each. Strangely enough, when I instituted this practice into my financial management, I've always had enough for everything.
I have a dear friend who takes issue with the list of priorities, "God first, something second, something else third." You can fill in the blanks. His issue is, "Why should I go beyond saying, 'God first'?" If God is first, and I am seeking what is his will for me now, God will tell me WHAT should be second and WHEN "fill in the blank" should be second. Because sometimes, "fill in the blank" will be third. "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well." (Matthew 6: 33)
I have to monitor myself constantly, because I want to know what the future will be for me and for my children. That's not mine to know. When I'm suffering, I want to know what great purpose this suffering may serve. That's not mine to know either. What is mine is to seek God's will for me now, and to believe "He has made everything beautiful in it's time."
I know that if I'm doing God's will now, He will make it all beautiful IN ITS TIME.
It's become painfully clear to me that if I am a "grand scheme person" in my spiritual life, I am spiritually blind. I can't see the trees for the forest. More importantly, if I'm busy looking at the forest, I can't see the path through the trees.
The wisdom literature in the scriptures present different concepts of wisdom. One of those scriptural concepts of wisdom that I have found meaningful and practical in my day-to-day life is that the wise person knows what is the right thing to do and the right time to do it. "For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. He has made everything beautiful in its time; also he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." (Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 11)
It's always foolish to do the wrong thing. It is possible, also, to do the right thing at the wrong time. This is equally foolish. The wise person is able to understand that there is:
"a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace." (Ecclesiastes 3:2-8)
The wise person is able to find the right thing to do at the right time.
This frees me in a way that I have never experienced freedom. I don't have to worry about the big picture. My vision needs to be on the here and now. After all, that's all God sees.
God is the eternal now. Let that sink in for a moment. God has no future and no past. "He is who is." That's why God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The difference between God's vision and mine is that for God every moment in history is happening right now. For me, only this moment is happening right now, but that's ok, because all I need to be concerned about is right now.
This may seem sheets to the wind, and a poor plan for future security, but there are certain things that I would like us to consider, like the lilies of the field.
"Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O men of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, `What shall we eat?' or `What shall we drink?' or `What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day." (Matthew 6:25-34)
This sets me free, because I know that all I need to do is what is right for today. I need to seek the kingdom now. By laying the brick in my hand, I make way for the next one to be laid. If all my attention is focused on the next one, however, I'll screw up the one I'm working on now.
I don't have to worry about what is the right thing to do tomorrow. I don't have to worry about what is the right thing to do next year. I don't have to worry about who's going to get elected in 2012. I don't have to worry about if the stock market crashes, and what will happen to my retirement account.
If I am in touch with the Holy Spirit who guides me in my moment to moment decisions, then in 10 years, I will find that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing, with exactly what I need to do it. God, who sees 10 years from now as now, is preparing now for what I cannot see. "...he has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." (Ecclesiastes 3: 11b)
Here's a great mistake I made in my life. When I was discerning whether or not to become a priest, I had a still, small voice inside of me telling me that I should not get ordained. I spent so much time thinking about the future, and what ministry would be like, and where I would be 10 years, 20 years, 30 years from where I was, that I didn't listen to what that still, small voice was saying to me AT THAT MOMENT. If I had known then what I know now, I would not have asked for ordination. It was not God's will for me. I got so blinded by the forest, that I missed the details of the trees, which have a beauty all their own.
Right now, I am not called to see the forest. That's a vision that I will have someday in heaven. Right now, I'm called to keep my vision squarely on the path that I am walking today.
Practically, this is how it works. What do I do with my money today? I pray about it. That's always first. I ask God what is his will for me to do with my money today. God will guide me to divide it up between tithing, bills, insurance payments, retirement accounts, fun money. He will guide me into the amount given to each. Strangely enough, when I instituted this practice into my financial management, I've always had enough for everything.
I have a dear friend who takes issue with the list of priorities, "God first, something second, something else third." You can fill in the blanks. His issue is, "Why should I go beyond saying, 'God first'?" If God is first, and I am seeking what is his will for me now, God will tell me WHAT should be second and WHEN "fill in the blank" should be second. Because sometimes, "fill in the blank" will be third. "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well." (Matthew 6: 33)
I have to monitor myself constantly, because I want to know what the future will be for me and for my children. That's not mine to know. When I'm suffering, I want to know what great purpose this suffering may serve. That's not mine to know either. What is mine is to seek God's will for me now, and to believe "He has made everything beautiful in it's time."
I know that if I'm doing God's will now, He will make it all beautiful IN ITS TIME.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Rolling the Dice with My Son's Life
Those of you who have been following on facebook know that Nathaniel was discharged from the hospital last Friday, August 5. When he was discharged, he was on 50 milliliters (ml) of oxygen support, and doing very well on it. The oxygen support runs in 25 ml increments, so ideally, we should have been able to wean him down to 25 ml, and then remove the oxygen support in a short amount of time, a few days to a week.
We left the hospital around 3:45 pm on Friday, with a portable oxygen tank and a pulsox machine (which is used for reading his blood saturation level known as the "sat" and his pulse rate). Around 6:30 the big oxygen tank delivery dude shows up with the oxygen concentrator for use at home. We hook up the oxygen concentrator, get everything going, and finally connect the sensors to the pulsox to get a read on how his sats are. For Nathaniel, sat numbers above 90 are considered normal. We couldn't get him to sat over 85. We messed with it for about 45 minutes to an hour, and decided to call the on-call numbers.
First we were given the Friday evening on-call run around. If you've ever tried to reach somebody who's supposed to be on-call on a Friday evening, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Finally, we got a hold of the doctor Dr. Sarah Smitherman (whom we have come to love) who was the chief resident on the pediatric floor at the Women's and Children's Hospital in Columbia that night. She told us that she suspected the problem was with the pulsox machine, and not with Nathaniel, so to come up to the hospital and bring the pulsox with us. We called Lesley's mom and dad to come watch Jacob and Caitlin and headed up to the hospital.
Dr. Smitherman hooked up the hospital pulsox to one foot, and our pulsox to his other foot. There was a 10 point difference in their readings. The hospital pulsox was reading around 94-96. Ours was not reading over 85. Dr. Smitherman got in touch with the home health company who gave us the pulsox. The guy from the home health service showed up and examined the machine. I expressed to him at that time that I honestly didn't believe it was the monitor, but rather the sensors that weren't reading him properly. He said he understood what I was saying, but that he didn't have the expertise to make that distinction. He gave us a new monitor, and several of the same sensors that we had to begin with, and sent us home.
All weekend, we watched Nathaniel's numbers bounce around. He would be 92, 94, then drop to 73, then climb back up to 89, then drop to 84, then climb back up to 92, then drop to...you get the picture. The whole time, all of the indicators that would signal that the machine was getting a bad read were pretty quiet. I kept thinking, "How could his readings be so inconsistent but the machine be picking him up properly?"
On Monday about noon, one of the respiratory therapists (RT) who works for the home health group came out to the house. They tried several different placements of the sensors on Nathaniel, but none of them were giving a consistent reading. The RT tried placing the sensor on herself and on Lesley. Inconsistent readings. She said, "Well, we could try ordering another machine, a completely different type, and see if that helps." Lesley told the RT that she would discuss it with me, and we would get back to her.
On Monday afternoon, we went to our family pediatrician, Dr. Weiss, for a scheduled hospital discharge follow up for Nathaniel. We explained to him that we couldn't get a good consistent reading from the pulsox. He believed us; that's why we love him. He offered to call the home health group himself, but we didn't have the number on us. We told him we would call as soon as we got home.
We left Dr. Weiss's office, picked up Jacob and Caitlin, went home, and Lesley called the home health group again. She expressed to them on the phone that we believed that the sensors were the problem. The guy came out, super nice, very kind, obviously concerned for us and our situation. He brought another of the same kind of monitors. I told him the same thing that Lesley and I had been saying for the past 4 days, "I don't think it's the monitor. The sensors are not picking him up." The guy, very nice, said, "I hear what you're saying, but I don't know how to get better sensors than the ones that came with the machine. I'm kind of just the delivery guy." He offered to leave us with a new monitor.
AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!
He left.
At this point, it was Monday evening, and Nathaniel was starting to look pretty tuckered out. He didn't want to eat. He was pretty lethargic. I tickled him in the ribs, shook him (gently to wake him) and tried getting him roused. He just did not want to wake up. The whole time, his pulsox sat was bouncing between 92 and 81. Remember, below 90 is bad. Lesley called again the on-call number. We spoke to a pulmonologist. The doctor asked lots of questions, and asked us to pinch his fingernail. If you pinch your fingernail, it will turn palish gray, and then turn pink again fairly quickly. If it does not, there's a problem. Nathaniel's didn't seem to turn pink again. She asked if his fingers and toes were cold. Yep. She told us that the lethargy, the fact he wasn't eating his normal amount, the "fingernail" test, and the coldness in his fingers and toes made her think there was a "blood profusion" problem. She asked what his pulsox number was. I responded, "Which one, the one now, or the one 5 seconds ago." I tried to explain to her that the pulsox was giving us inconsistent readings, and we honestly have never had a good sense of what his sat was since we brought him home.
The doctor at this point responded to me, "Well, we may be blaming the machine when actually he is getting sicker." I wanted to reach through the phone and smack her. She hadn't been living with the uncertainty about how our son was responding to his oxygen for 4 days. And she has the nerve to say that to me.
To me, her response bespeaks an incredible level of arrogance. There are some, not all, but some doctors who rely so heavily on their equipment, that they stop trusting the parents and caregivers to know their children.
She advised us to go to the hospital because she believed he was anemic. We packed up Jacob and Caitlin and took them to Mima and Papa's. We made the trip up to Columbia. When we arrived at the hospital, we were ushered to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, where they hooked him up to a pulsox monitor. His oxygen supply level was set at 125 ml.
It immediately read 96. We watched it for about 15 minutes. It never went below 92. They turned it down to 100. It dropped for a second to 91, and then started reading consistently 94-95. We dropped him to 75. The pulsox number dropped to 89 for a second, and then went back up and stayed consistently at 92-93. We dropped the oxygen to 50 ml. The pulsox dropped to 88, and then went to 92. We dropped the oxygen to 25 ml, and Nathaniel dropped to 88-89, and kind of camped there. So now we know. 50 ml of oxygen is the real amount that he needs in order to keep his sat level above 90. That means for the past 4 days, we have been giving him more than twice the amount of oxygen that he needs. For the past 4 days, we have been terrified to drop his level of oxygen support because the machine was not reading him correctly. For the past 4 days, we've been telling people that what we are doing right now is not working, not that Nathaniel is getting worse, but that we are afraid to do what we were told to do because we can't tell if he's getting worse.
I want to go back to that on-call doctor that we spoke to last night and rub her freakin' face in it. "Can we blame the machine now?" and probably throw in an expletive or two. Doctors who dismiss their patients experiences because they are trusting a machine get zero respect from me.
One of Lesley's relatives, I think it was her grandmother, was born very premature way back in the early 1900's, before incubators, breathing tubes, pulsox monitors. Her parents kept her alive by putting her in a shoe box on the door of the wood stove. Her parents knew instinctively what to do for that child.
I'd like to think Lesley and I know what to do for ours, but I have to admit I've bought into this self-doubt that the machines will tell us something that we don't know. I know these machines' value. The doctors, using these very same machines, saved my son's life. But I also know when the machine is not giving me information that is consistent with what I see in my son. At what point do I stop trusting the machine and just go with my gut as a parent? Man, that's a gamble. Do I really want to roll the dice when my son's life could be at stake? Do I want to take the gamble in trusting a doctor who puts her faith in a machine that I know isn't working?
Anyway, Dr. Gruner, our hematologist who will be helping us manage Nathaniel's hemophilia, is going to go to bat for us. She told us we will be leaving the hospital today, but not until we get a machine that is giving us accurate information. This is twice that we've had to rush to the hospital, not because Nathaniel's health was in danger, but because the machines that we have been told to rely on as a guide for his improvement aren't working.
The most important thing in the end is that Nathaniel is fine. Blood counts came back normal. No anemia. Chest xrays came back clear. No fluid build up on the lungs. Oxygen level was moved up to 75 ml when he got mad when he pooped, which is ok. It'll get turned back down to 50 ml in a little while when he calms down. Sat levels are staying in 91-95 range. That's his normal for now.
And above all, when I look at him, I can tell he's feeling frisky. I know in my gut that he's ok. That's where I'll place my bets for now.
We left the hospital around 3:45 pm on Friday, with a portable oxygen tank and a pulsox machine (which is used for reading his blood saturation level known as the "sat" and his pulse rate). Around 6:30 the big oxygen tank delivery dude shows up with the oxygen concentrator for use at home. We hook up the oxygen concentrator, get everything going, and finally connect the sensors to the pulsox to get a read on how his sats are. For Nathaniel, sat numbers above 90 are considered normal. We couldn't get him to sat over 85. We messed with it for about 45 minutes to an hour, and decided to call the on-call numbers.
First we were given the Friday evening on-call run around. If you've ever tried to reach somebody who's supposed to be on-call on a Friday evening, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Finally, we got a hold of the doctor Dr. Sarah Smitherman (whom we have come to love) who was the chief resident on the pediatric floor at the Women's and Children's Hospital in Columbia that night. She told us that she suspected the problem was with the pulsox machine, and not with Nathaniel, so to come up to the hospital and bring the pulsox with us. We called Lesley's mom and dad to come watch Jacob and Caitlin and headed up to the hospital.
Dr. Smitherman hooked up the hospital pulsox to one foot, and our pulsox to his other foot. There was a 10 point difference in their readings. The hospital pulsox was reading around 94-96. Ours was not reading over 85. Dr. Smitherman got in touch with the home health company who gave us the pulsox. The guy from the home health service showed up and examined the machine. I expressed to him at that time that I honestly didn't believe it was the monitor, but rather the sensors that weren't reading him properly. He said he understood what I was saying, but that he didn't have the expertise to make that distinction. He gave us a new monitor, and several of the same sensors that we had to begin with, and sent us home.
All weekend, we watched Nathaniel's numbers bounce around. He would be 92, 94, then drop to 73, then climb back up to 89, then drop to 84, then climb back up to 92, then drop to...you get the picture. The whole time, all of the indicators that would signal that the machine was getting a bad read were pretty quiet. I kept thinking, "How could his readings be so inconsistent but the machine be picking him up properly?"
On Monday about noon, one of the respiratory therapists (RT) who works for the home health group came out to the house. They tried several different placements of the sensors on Nathaniel, but none of them were giving a consistent reading. The RT tried placing the sensor on herself and on Lesley. Inconsistent readings. She said, "Well, we could try ordering another machine, a completely different type, and see if that helps." Lesley told the RT that she would discuss it with me, and we would get back to her.
On Monday afternoon, we went to our family pediatrician, Dr. Weiss, for a scheduled hospital discharge follow up for Nathaniel. We explained to him that we couldn't get a good consistent reading from the pulsox. He believed us; that's why we love him. He offered to call the home health group himself, but we didn't have the number on us. We told him we would call as soon as we got home.
We left Dr. Weiss's office, picked up Jacob and Caitlin, went home, and Lesley called the home health group again. She expressed to them on the phone that we believed that the sensors were the problem. The guy came out, super nice, very kind, obviously concerned for us and our situation. He brought another of the same kind of monitors. I told him the same thing that Lesley and I had been saying for the past 4 days, "I don't think it's the monitor. The sensors are not picking him up." The guy, very nice, said, "I hear what you're saying, but I don't know how to get better sensors than the ones that came with the machine. I'm kind of just the delivery guy." He offered to leave us with a new monitor.
AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!
He left.
At this point, it was Monday evening, and Nathaniel was starting to look pretty tuckered out. He didn't want to eat. He was pretty lethargic. I tickled him in the ribs, shook him (gently to wake him) and tried getting him roused. He just did not want to wake up. The whole time, his pulsox sat was bouncing between 92 and 81. Remember, below 90 is bad. Lesley called again the on-call number. We spoke to a pulmonologist. The doctor asked lots of questions, and asked us to pinch his fingernail. If you pinch your fingernail, it will turn palish gray, and then turn pink again fairly quickly. If it does not, there's a problem. Nathaniel's didn't seem to turn pink again. She asked if his fingers and toes were cold. Yep. She told us that the lethargy, the fact he wasn't eating his normal amount, the "fingernail" test, and the coldness in his fingers and toes made her think there was a "blood profusion" problem. She asked what his pulsox number was. I responded, "Which one, the one now, or the one 5 seconds ago." I tried to explain to her that the pulsox was giving us inconsistent readings, and we honestly have never had a good sense of what his sat was since we brought him home.
The doctor at this point responded to me, "Well, we may be blaming the machine when actually he is getting sicker." I wanted to reach through the phone and smack her. She hadn't been living with the uncertainty about how our son was responding to his oxygen for 4 days. And she has the nerve to say that to me.
To me, her response bespeaks an incredible level of arrogance. There are some, not all, but some doctors who rely so heavily on their equipment, that they stop trusting the parents and caregivers to know their children.
She advised us to go to the hospital because she believed he was anemic. We packed up Jacob and Caitlin and took them to Mima and Papa's. We made the trip up to Columbia. When we arrived at the hospital, we were ushered to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, where they hooked him up to a pulsox monitor. His oxygen supply level was set at 125 ml.
It immediately read 96. We watched it for about 15 minutes. It never went below 92. They turned it down to 100. It dropped for a second to 91, and then started reading consistently 94-95. We dropped him to 75. The pulsox number dropped to 89 for a second, and then went back up and stayed consistently at 92-93. We dropped the oxygen to 50 ml. The pulsox dropped to 88, and then went to 92. We dropped the oxygen to 25 ml, and Nathaniel dropped to 88-89, and kind of camped there. So now we know. 50 ml of oxygen is the real amount that he needs in order to keep his sat level above 90. That means for the past 4 days, we have been giving him more than twice the amount of oxygen that he needs. For the past 4 days, we have been terrified to drop his level of oxygen support because the machine was not reading him correctly. For the past 4 days, we've been telling people that what we are doing right now is not working, not that Nathaniel is getting worse, but that we are afraid to do what we were told to do because we can't tell if he's getting worse.
I want to go back to that on-call doctor that we spoke to last night and rub her freakin' face in it. "Can we blame the machine now?" and probably throw in an expletive or two. Doctors who dismiss their patients experiences because they are trusting a machine get zero respect from me.
One of Lesley's relatives, I think it was her grandmother, was born very premature way back in the early 1900's, before incubators, breathing tubes, pulsox monitors. Her parents kept her alive by putting her in a shoe box on the door of the wood stove. Her parents knew instinctively what to do for that child.
I'd like to think Lesley and I know what to do for ours, but I have to admit I've bought into this self-doubt that the machines will tell us something that we don't know. I know these machines' value. The doctors, using these very same machines, saved my son's life. But I also know when the machine is not giving me information that is consistent with what I see in my son. At what point do I stop trusting the machine and just go with my gut as a parent? Man, that's a gamble. Do I really want to roll the dice when my son's life could be at stake? Do I want to take the gamble in trusting a doctor who puts her faith in a machine that I know isn't working?
Anyway, Dr. Gruner, our hematologist who will be helping us manage Nathaniel's hemophilia, is going to go to bat for us. She told us we will be leaving the hospital today, but not until we get a machine that is giving us accurate information. This is twice that we've had to rush to the hospital, not because Nathaniel's health was in danger, but because the machines that we have been told to rely on as a guide for his improvement aren't working.
The most important thing in the end is that Nathaniel is fine. Blood counts came back normal. No anemia. Chest xrays came back clear. No fluid build up on the lungs. Oxygen level was moved up to 75 ml when he got mad when he pooped, which is ok. It'll get turned back down to 50 ml in a little while when he calms down. Sat levels are staying in 91-95 range. That's his normal for now.
And above all, when I look at him, I can tell he's feeling frisky. I know in my gut that he's ok. That's where I'll place my bets for now.
Saturday, August 06, 2011
I Am In Recovery
My brother has been CLEAN AND SOBER for over 3 years. I thank God for that. We've grown to a place in our relationship where I don't feel like I have to protect myself from him, emotionally, physically, financially, you name it. I truly thank God that I have my brother back.
He was at the house yesterday and was talking with me and Lesley. I can't remember the question Lesley asked, but my brother's response struck me: "No, I was an addict a long time before I started using drugs."
I've been thinking about that a lot since he said that.
I realized that I was, too, despite the fact that I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol.
God diddles in our lives. No doubt about that. He puts people and events in our lives that protect us, inspire us, move us, affirm us, and strengthen us along the way. I believe this: God knew that if I had started down the road of drugs and alcohol, there probably would not have been "recovery" for me. I've always been a "balls to the wall or nothing at all" kind of guy. If God had not intervened and protected me, I would not be alive today. I know I'm not strong enough to go through what I see recoverying alcoholics and addicts go through to stay alive.
Addiction is a terminal illness. If left untreated, it will kill the addict. That's the bottom line. A lot of addicts don't get serious about their recovery until they've come to that painful awareness. They have a terminal illness. They will die from it. But treatment leads to recovery, and recovery leads to life.
I believe that God knows my weakness. I believe that he put people, places and events in my life to keep me from going down that road. There were plenty of times when I had opportunity to use, but something interfered.
An example: I spent the entire spring semester of my junior year in college seminary drunk. That was the semester my great-grandfather died, and I felt incredibly betrayed by God. That was the semester where I really confronted my fears that if God existed at all, I thought he was an abusive, manipulative, asshole who enjoyed setting me up for failure to get his kicks. (I have of course come to understand Him very differently since then, but there's no doubt my image of God the Father was formed by my step-father.)
One morning towards the end of that semester, I was nursing a hang over and a cup of coffee, thinking about when I was going to go into town to buy another bottle of cheap scotch for that night. A guy who I knew was connected with AA came over to me.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asked.
I grunted.
"You know how to turn a cucumber into a pickle?" He persisted.
"No, I don't know how to turn a cucumber into a pickle." I was trying to let him know I also didn't really care at the moment.
"You soak it in vinegar," he said. "There's a long time where you can pull that cucumber out of that vinegar, and it will still be a cucumber. But once it turns into a pickle, it'll never be a cucumber again. And you don't know when that moment will be."
"Very enlightening," I said.
"You know how to make a guy an alcoholic?" He asked. I didn't really like where this was going. "You soak him in alcohol," he continued. "There's a long time where if a guy stops drinking, he won't be an alcoholic. But at the moment he flips that switch and becomes an alcoholic, there will never be a time for the rest of his life where he will not be an alcoholic again, and you don't know when that moment will be either." I didn't say anything to this. "I hope you think about that," he said as he got up from the table.
I didn't go buy that scotch that night. I didn't drink any alcohol again for probably 2 years. I can say that I've only actually been drunk 2 times since that conversation in 1995.
God put that guy in my life at that time to keep me from going down that road. I praise God that he also put the grace in me to listen to him. God also put dozens, maybe hundreds of people in my life that I may never even know about, who stepped in at various moments to keep me from going down a path from which I would never have RECOVERED.
What makes an alcoholic an alcoholic? It's not just soaking him in alcohol. There's a whole lot of other things that go into the thinking, attitudes and behaviors that alcoholics and addicts have. It's in their core, in their hearts and personalities. I believe I have those wounds, tendencies, weaknesses, "defects of character" in me. I believe God has protected me from drugs and alcohol, although my defects have come out in other ways in my life. I begin to recognize those defects of character more and more as I maneuver my meandering way through life.
So I believe (I hope that those who are in recovery from drugs and alcohol don't get offended by this) that while I have never been addicted to drugs or alcohol, I am in recovery. I am trying to work on those defects of character that have wounded so many people in my past, more people than I can possibly count, honestly. I know that I have left behind me a wake of wounded people. I am in recovery. Even the Alcoholics Anonymous big book (and my brother could tell you the page number) says that most people are sick, and only some express that sickness through addiction to alcohol and/or drugs.
I claim that recovery.
There's a myth out there that a lot of addicts join in as a way to keep them from having to work with "straight" counselors. The myth is that "If my counselor has not been an addict, he/she can't really understand what I'm going through, so there's nothing he/she can teach me." Unfortunately, that's a myth that many counselors have bought into, too.
With this myth in mind, many of my clients ask me if I'm in recovery. I've always wanted to say yes, but wasn't quite able to give that answer without feeling disingenuous. I claim my own recovery, now. Yes, I'm in recovery. Was I addicted to drugs and alcohol? No. Do I have defects of character that make me vulnerable to addiction and lead me to hurt people in my life? Absolutely, I do. And that's why I'm in recovery.
He was at the house yesterday and was talking with me and Lesley. I can't remember the question Lesley asked, but my brother's response struck me: "No, I was an addict a long time before I started using drugs."
I've been thinking about that a lot since he said that.
I realized that I was, too, despite the fact that I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol.
God diddles in our lives. No doubt about that. He puts people and events in our lives that protect us, inspire us, move us, affirm us, and strengthen us along the way. I believe this: God knew that if I had started down the road of drugs and alcohol, there probably would not have been "recovery" for me. I've always been a "balls to the wall or nothing at all" kind of guy. If God had not intervened and protected me, I would not be alive today. I know I'm not strong enough to go through what I see recoverying alcoholics and addicts go through to stay alive.
Addiction is a terminal illness. If left untreated, it will kill the addict. That's the bottom line. A lot of addicts don't get serious about their recovery until they've come to that painful awareness. They have a terminal illness. They will die from it. But treatment leads to recovery, and recovery leads to life.
I believe that God knows my weakness. I believe that he put people, places and events in my life to keep me from going down that road. There were plenty of times when I had opportunity to use, but something interfered.
An example: I spent the entire spring semester of my junior year in college seminary drunk. That was the semester my great-grandfather died, and I felt incredibly betrayed by God. That was the semester where I really confronted my fears that if God existed at all, I thought he was an abusive, manipulative, asshole who enjoyed setting me up for failure to get his kicks. (I have of course come to understand Him very differently since then, but there's no doubt my image of God the Father was formed by my step-father.)
One morning towards the end of that semester, I was nursing a hang over and a cup of coffee, thinking about when I was going to go into town to buy another bottle of cheap scotch for that night. A guy who I knew was connected with AA came over to me.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asked.
I grunted.
"You know how to turn a cucumber into a pickle?" He persisted.
"No, I don't know how to turn a cucumber into a pickle." I was trying to let him know I also didn't really care at the moment.
"You soak it in vinegar," he said. "There's a long time where you can pull that cucumber out of that vinegar, and it will still be a cucumber. But once it turns into a pickle, it'll never be a cucumber again. And you don't know when that moment will be."
"Very enlightening," I said.
"You know how to make a guy an alcoholic?" He asked. I didn't really like where this was going. "You soak him in alcohol," he continued. "There's a long time where if a guy stops drinking, he won't be an alcoholic. But at the moment he flips that switch and becomes an alcoholic, there will never be a time for the rest of his life where he will not be an alcoholic again, and you don't know when that moment will be either." I didn't say anything to this. "I hope you think about that," he said as he got up from the table.
I didn't go buy that scotch that night. I didn't drink any alcohol again for probably 2 years. I can say that I've only actually been drunk 2 times since that conversation in 1995.
God put that guy in my life at that time to keep me from going down that road. I praise God that he also put the grace in me to listen to him. God also put dozens, maybe hundreds of people in my life that I may never even know about, who stepped in at various moments to keep me from going down a path from which I would never have RECOVERED.
What makes an alcoholic an alcoholic? It's not just soaking him in alcohol. There's a whole lot of other things that go into the thinking, attitudes and behaviors that alcoholics and addicts have. It's in their core, in their hearts and personalities. I believe I have those wounds, tendencies, weaknesses, "defects of character" in me. I believe God has protected me from drugs and alcohol, although my defects have come out in other ways in my life. I begin to recognize those defects of character more and more as I maneuver my meandering way through life.
So I believe (I hope that those who are in recovery from drugs and alcohol don't get offended by this) that while I have never been addicted to drugs or alcohol, I am in recovery. I am trying to work on those defects of character that have wounded so many people in my past, more people than I can possibly count, honestly. I know that I have left behind me a wake of wounded people. I am in recovery. Even the Alcoholics Anonymous big book (and my brother could tell you the page number) says that most people are sick, and only some express that sickness through addiction to alcohol and/or drugs.
I claim that recovery.
There's a myth out there that a lot of addicts join in as a way to keep them from having to work with "straight" counselors. The myth is that "If my counselor has not been an addict, he/she can't really understand what I'm going through, so there's nothing he/she can teach me." Unfortunately, that's a myth that many counselors have bought into, too.
With this myth in mind, many of my clients ask me if I'm in recovery. I've always wanted to say yes, but wasn't quite able to give that answer without feeling disingenuous. I claim my own recovery, now. Yes, I'm in recovery. Was I addicted to drugs and alcohol? No. Do I have defects of character that make me vulnerable to addiction and lead me to hurt people in my life? Absolutely, I do. And that's why I'm in recovery.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Observations on Infancy
I am amazed that life exists.
I mean, seriously, it's a wonder we survive past infancy.
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's bone marrow, because he is a baby, isn't quite fully functional, so he's not making enough of his own blood at this time anyway, and then with the extreme blood loss he suffered..."
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's lungs are immature because he is a baby, and then to have an injury to them like he sustained, ..."
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's an infant, so the soft tissue around his heart and lungs isn't quite firmed up yet, so we think that..."
Throughout this whole ordeal with Nathaniel, I've lost count of how many times I've heard, "Well, first of all he's a baby so his (fill in the blank) is not fully developed/functional/firm/..."
It's no wonder the infant mortality rate up until recent history was so high. If so many of our bodily functions are not completely up to par when we're born, it's a wonder more babies aren't lost each year. And by "bodily functions," I'm talking about things that are kind of important, like, oh, breathing, heart beating, and, I don't know, making blood.
The ancient Romans would not name their children when they were born. The first born would be called "Number 1," the second born, "Number 2," and so on. They didn't expect their children to live past being toddlers, so they didn't bother naming them until they were pretty sure the child was going to live into adolescence. True story.
So, this past month (Nathaniel is now over 1 month old), I've been reflecting on how fragile human life is from the very beginning. As far as we can tell, his hemophilia was caused by a random gene mutation on the X chromosome. Weird. Something so little can cause such a response in the human body.
Life is fragile. This wonderful, amazing, undeserved gift hangs by a thread. I am filled with wonder and awe that it can even exist at all. Pretty amazing.
I mean, seriously, it's a wonder we survive past infancy.
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's bone marrow, because he is a baby, isn't quite fully functional, so he's not making enough of his own blood at this time anyway, and then with the extreme blood loss he suffered..."
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's lungs are immature because he is a baby, and then to have an injury to them like he sustained, ..."
We've heard, "Well, Nathaniel's an infant, so the soft tissue around his heart and lungs isn't quite firmed up yet, so we think that..."
Throughout this whole ordeal with Nathaniel, I've lost count of how many times I've heard, "Well, first of all he's a baby so his (fill in the blank) is not fully developed/functional/firm/..."
It's no wonder the infant mortality rate up until recent history was so high. If so many of our bodily functions are not completely up to par when we're born, it's a wonder more babies aren't lost each year. And by "bodily functions," I'm talking about things that are kind of important, like, oh, breathing, heart beating, and, I don't know, making blood.
The ancient Romans would not name their children when they were born. The first born would be called "Number 1," the second born, "Number 2," and so on. They didn't expect their children to live past being toddlers, so they didn't bother naming them until they were pretty sure the child was going to live into adolescence. True story.
So, this past month (Nathaniel is now over 1 month old), I've been reflecting on how fragile human life is from the very beginning. As far as we can tell, his hemophilia was caused by a random gene mutation on the X chromosome. Weird. Something so little can cause such a response in the human body.
Life is fragile. This wonderful, amazing, undeserved gift hangs by a thread. I am filled with wonder and awe that it can even exist at all. Pretty amazing.
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