Saturday, February 26, 2011

My Thesis is a Matzoh

I'm heading 'round the final curve, now, and into the homestretch of my thesis.


Some days I feel like the driver, encouraging my writing forward with a light touch, other days I'm holding on for dear life with the sulky careening from side to side, and less often I feel like the horse being driven forward by the limits of time, understanding, knowledge, skill.

In the next few hours I'll send out the already-written chapters to my committee. I think I have about 40 pages so far. Maybe that many more left to write. I was visiting yesterday with Chad - he's on my committee, the head of our department, a professor, but mostly I think of him as a friend. I told him that I hoped the committee would be the yeast in my thesis - helping me to increase the size in a nourishing way. He laughed and asked if I was offering an unleavened thesis. Yes! My thesis is a matzoh - it might be a little slim right now -flat, as Chad suggested. It might crumble and break easily - but if that was good enough for the ancient tribes of Israel to sustain them as they left Egypt for the desert, it will have to be good enough for me, right now, in this first draft.


I've had to come to terms and accept ... this will not be the best thesis I can write. It will, however, be the best thesis I can write under the circumstances; within the limits of time, skill, and understanding. Each semester, I've added a little bit here, a little bit there. Each conversation has aided me in integrating information and turning it into my personal treasure house of knowledge. Each class I teach has opened the door to increased proficiency in how I think, how I write, and what I know. For all of this, I'm grateful.

Do I feel pressured? Of course, this is comparable to giving birth. I'm not the first person to point out the similarity of the two labors. I feel excited and proud - as when I first learned to tie my shoes - look! I can do this! I feel sorrow - the success of my thesis also marks the final moments of my time in Butte. I've accomplished much, I've grown into my self in ways I had never anticipated, but I've also failed in the endeavor that was most dear to my heart.



Joy. Sorrow. Celebration. Loss. Each experience a tile in the mosaic of the flowering of Life. My life, your life, our lives.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Medical Performance

Today I was treated to an excellent performance art piece at my healthcare provider's office. Some of you may know my distaste for people who live their lives as performers ... but this is a different story.

I'll start, though, with a note of gratitude and appreciation. For the most part, the individuals--the actual people who I interact with--they are doing their best in a situation where they are overwhelmed with too many patients, too much paperwork, too many potentials for lawsuits. I believe the people are good-hearted people who got into the healthcare field because they care. Or, they did when they began and it was worn away by the daily trafficking with and through the system.

Today was the end of a long week of out-of-control blood glucose levels--after almost a year of stability. Readings ranged from a low of 107 to a high of over 350 (the normal range is 90-120 ... my normal is 110 - 160). The jumps and drops throughout the day made pretty graphs, but were alarming in their intensity. The physical symptoms are frightening: compromised eyesight, lightheadedness, and heart palpitations.

I called the doctor's office and explained the symptoms and the numbers. "Oh dear, says the receptionist, that doesn't sound good - the first appointment we have is the end of March". The doctor: away until Monday. The nurse: may or may not be around this week. My options: wait til someone gets back to me. I called the next day: sorry, no one is available to talk with you. You'll have to wait til the doctor gets back next week.

This morning I explained, with some little anger, that I would be coming to the office today at 2pm and would wait until someone would see me. "Our doctors are too busy, I was told, we might find a nurse who can see you". Health. Care. Not very caring.

I got to the office at 2pm and was told that the diabetes counselor was available today and would be able to see me. "Just have a seat and the nurse will see you soon". Over an hour later, I was called in to be chastised by Nurse #1. She looked at me sadly and explained that there was really no point in my showing up today--the doctor was the only one who could help me. I explained my symptoms, my concerns, and the fact that I was told the diabetes counselor would see me. "Oh no! the nurse explained, that counselor had other duties today and couldn't possibly..."

The nurse left and came back accompanied by another nurse. Instead of good cop/bad cop - I got sweet nurse and stern nurse. They twittered at me without really listening at all. They explained away all my symptoms: not that serious, nothing to worry about, there won't be long term damage, this really isn't a problem.

My experience was entirely dismissed. My fears were glossed over. I was praised, the way one might praise a dog doing a clever trick, for bringing in a record of my blood sugars over the past week. But ... I was also told to stop the testing. "Pick three time during the day that you will test .. and then only test at those times ... now promise that you'll do that" I was told by stern nurse. When I asked about testing when I felt highs or lows, she shook her head and said: no.

I think that the best part of the performance today was when I offered the record of my blood readings. They leafed through the medical files with helpless looks on their faces and refused to take it. There was no 'official' place to put information from the patient. None. The patient, essentially, does not exist. Only the approved tests and results that describe the patient exist. The patient doesn't really exist without the presence of the doctor or the 'official' nurse. I was a ghost in their machine... and I was speaking and acting out of turn ... as if my experience was meaningful. To the performers in this system, it was not meaningful at all.

They didn't have the authority to make an appointment with the doctor. Only the 'official' nurse was allowed to do that. So, I departed with an appointment to see the mysterious diabetes counselor next week. On Tuesday. Because that's what the system allows. And I was trying to jam the system in order to find answers to what has gone wrong and how to correct it.

Meanwhile, I am blessed with the kindness of my friends who call to check on me, who offer rides if necessary, who keep track of my health records on line ... just in case an emergency does arise.