WTF!

Before I moved to the Upper Peninsula 10 years ago, I was working in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and the Medical Intensive Care Unit at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. The MICU in particular tended to have a patient population of very ill patients in a slow downward spiral.

I remember one woman in particular. She had had a minor surgical procedure on her hand at an outlying suburban hospital. Unfortunately her orthopedic surgeon failed to perform the proper level of medical screening before proceeding. As a result she suffered a severe myocardial infarct ("heart attack") in her recovery that eventually led to her transfer to our ICU where eventually we removed her life support and she died at age 58 after having "trigger finger release" surgery.

Gradually each of her body systems began to shut down and I watched as her husband and 21 year old son struggled with what was occurring before them. I was unusual amongst ICU nurses in that I didn't mind caring for the patients who were slated for removal of all life support. I wasn't afraid of the emotional issues in helping the patients' families understand what was occurring and then supporting them as they came to the decision to withdraw life support.

I bring this up today because I am feeling a bit like those patient families as I try to follow what is occurring with the economy. You see, family's would often ask the doctors: "How's she doing?" This was a big picture question - is she going to pull through, will she come back home to us, is she dying? The doctors, particularly intensivists, are often uncomfortable with acknowledging the high probability of death many of these patients are facing. The doctors would then answer in little question answers. "Well, yesterday he was on 95% FiO2 on the ventilator and today we were able to bring that down to 90% FiO2 - so he's doing better." What they fail to tell the family is that prolonged time on a ventilator at FiO2 levels above 50% cause barotrauma to the lungs resulting in the need to remain ventilated for weeks if not months before weaning off (if ever). They will focus on a slight improvement in a creatinen level and tell the family that she's improving - but don't explain that the renal failure (kidneys) continues at an alarming rate.

I listen to all the pundits and economists and politicians discuss the economy and I am completely confused. Is this a recession that will be gone by the year's end? Is the patient doing better? Is this a calamity approaching if not surpassing the Depression of the 1930's? The roller coaster ride of good news, bad news, ambiguous news and what these "tea leaves" reveal is leaving me bewildered.

I want to know how the patient is doing and I can't even find out if he's in the ICU facing death or on a regular unit with a serious infection. This leaves me completely uncertain on how to react. I know of a few individuals who have lost their jobs, but overall this doesn't feel real to me. In fact, the opposite is happening, it's starting to feel like just another reality tv show - where the facts are juiced up to create drama from one week to the next. That is not to say that I am feeling that the recession isn't real - the folks on The Biggest Loser are clearly obese and getting thinner as the season progresses, but the drama is often manufactured and carefully edited to meet the needs of the viewing public.

Perhaps I have too many false images of what economic meltdown will look like - too many snapshots from flipping through Life magazine compilations, too many viewings of Frank Capra movies and such from Hollywood. Maybe the depth of this is a creeping slow cancerous kind of thing - everything continues to appear healthy on the surface for many months. Healthy cells will slowly continue to wither and die and cancer cells will get million -dollar -plus bonuses. In the end, that's how Capitalism works. Will we ever learn?

Waving The Bloody Shirt

Professor Russ Burgos (a MAJOR high school crush of mine) teaches at UCLA and has posted on his blog Splunge! a piece on "Globalization: Language, Identity & Politics." In this brief essay he discusses the concept used as a title for this post - Waving The Bloody Shirt - and it makes for some very interesting reading. I have posted some questions to him on this concept, however, and my mind continues to mull this whole thing over.

I believe Russ is making the point in particular about how governments use this to define and steer national myths in order to further a specific political agenda, but I am thinking about the many ways that this tool is used by one group or individual to essentially manipulate a larger group. I say "manipulate" meaning to mold and shape, a more judgment neutral definition, not the word as it is often used indicating a selfish or negative action.

For example, after reading his article I questioned him on the relationship between BSW ("bloody shirt waving") and propaganda. For it seems to me that BSW is always propaganda, but propaganda is not always BSW. Once again, I use the term propaganda here in a more judgment neutral manner. As such, I brought up the film Milk. Here we have a well done fictionalized biopic of an important figure to the GLBT community who was assassinated as his star was rising. The murderer got off with a light sentence due to the infamous Twinkie defense.

I readily admit to being strongly influenced by Marxist literary theory and do not believe that art can exist outside of the politics of the society in which it was created and so in it's own way this film is a form of propaganda for the GLBT cause. As Harvey Milk was martyred for the cause of equality, I also believe this film is a form of BSW. Russ doesn't agree and I am looking forward to more comments on his blog so I have a better handle on this term and how he is using it. That disagreement over Milk, however, is not my point.

Culturally how have we "Waved The Bloody Shirt?" How, for example, have the images of the twin towers and their dead been used? I think about the recently murdered British soldiers and constable in Northern Ireland. It appears that BSW may be occurring there, but certainly not in the way the assassins intended. The surprising unity from both sides standing against a return to the BSW of the past and against the murders, uniting in support of peace. Imagine -- martyrs to peace in Northern Ireland.

Finally, what about the image I put at the top of this post? In what ways have we "Waived This Bloody Shirt?" Clearly much of the antisemitism of the past 2000 years relied heavily on BSW. When the victims of political violence are identified first and foremost by their creed does this become BSW? For example, when we read reports of the treatment of a group of Christians in any of the world's hot spots where religion is playing a role in the conflict. What if their creed is the main reason for their victimization?

It seems to me that somewhere in all this is how we get lost in eye-for-an-eye thinking over turn-the-other-cheek thinking and that is to lose sight (no pun intended) of a key tenet of our Christian faith. It is to reject or turn away from Christ's teaching and revert to an Old Testament angry God kind of thinking. Yet, BSW is a natural behavior to resort to as humans who are grieving. Perhaps this is Russ's point, it is when governments, political or theological, resort to BSW that we need to become wary.

Watching The Birds...

I'm basically a neurotic - at least that's what the psychiatrist writes as my diagnosis on my six month check ups. As such, this whole blog thing often pushes the buttons a bit - I worry and obsess (only a little) that I am a tree falling in the middle of the woods. Do I make a sound? Thank heavens for the blog counter...the numbers creep up day by day so I know folks are out there checking in. Then, of course, as a neurotic I flip into the mode of worrying about what I am saying and if I am saying it often enough. The true drama of a neurotic is that you never let yourself "win." Enough of that...

It's Sunday morning. I'm sipping coffee. The dogs are doing their usual in-and-out-and-in routine. It's 30+ degrees and sunny. The snow is melting - though only the patch over the septic tank is revealing greenery; and, ah yes, the birds... I have continued my aspiration to be like St. Francis by being an avid bird feeder and watcher. Lately my flock - can a flock be multi-species? - consists of hairy and downy woodpeckers, goldfinches, chickadees, and nuthatches. I'd guess there's a half dozen mixed gender of each of the woodpeckers, nigh on a dozen goldfinches, and about 4 each of the chickadees and nuthatches that regularly hang out at my feeders.

What with the dogs coming and going the outer door on the screened in porch gets left ajar and an occasional bird gets trapped inside, panicked, unable to find his/her way back out. I've posted somewhere on the joy I experience when I can safely rescue them - usually by slowly corralling them back to the open door, but, on occasion, by gently capturing them in my hands and carrying them to the doorway. Once in my hands they stop struggling and then I am carrying this little bundle of feathery fluff that seems to weigh nothing at all. For a brief moment then I control their destiny. If I were wicked or vengeful I could easily snuff out their existence, but I am a believer in love of all beings (well, I struggle with mosquitoes and squirrels).

I wonder if this is how God feels with us. I'm not usually one to anthropomorphise God, but the idea of our destinies lying in God's hands has been a frequently occurring topic on the minds of some these days. My friend Leon, for example, reports telling someone that "Jesus won't pay my mortgage when it comes due."

As the trapped birds flutter frantically around the porch, they flee from the safety of my hands. Not until they feel the warmth of my grasp do they settle down to await their salvation. As the bird-feeder I am responsible for keeping the feeders filled, shagging the squirrels away as often as I can, and doing my best to save the birds when they've caught themselves up in the porch. I love them and care for them in a limited albeit important fashion.

Perhaps my caring for the birds IS God at work--not simply LIKE God at work. If so, then whenever we take on the role of "bird-feeder" for the many frightened and lost souls we encounter in our lives it is God at work through us. Peace, my brothers and sisters.

My Own Transfiguration? (small t)

Well, I decided to attend mass this weekend at St. Louis the King Church. I wasn't sure what to expect. I hadn't truly worshipped in a Roman Catholic church in years - I don't count the funeral mass I attended last year. I went to that fully on guard - shields up as it were.

As I headed towards the church last night (it was a 4:30 PM service on Saturday) I actually felt a bit excited. This was in direct contrast to how I felt going to the Lutheran Church a few weeks back.

I entered the church, apparently a new edition to the older buildings, built in 2000. It was a beautiful modern space. It is octagonal with a corresponding octagonal table for the Eucharist. It was very much in the round seating. Lots of beautiful wood, but light and airy. It seemed wonderfully suited for a church in the Upper Peninsula. There was, of course, the crucifix - something I don't care for - and this particular crucifix was a bit odd. Given the space or angle of the ceiling, the cross portion seemed of a normal proportion, but Christ? The honest feeling I had was of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World - you know they're very close to the boats and so look like little people. Christ on the cross looked like a little person. It was a strange effect.

I think I believe in "signs." I read them as clues in the moment that my life is in harmony. I don't always aggressively look for them, but I notice them when they happen. For example, I remember at a key moment with my house purchase three and a half years ago, I was pulling out of the driveway, turned on the radio, and the very next song was Pet Shop Boys "What Have I Done To Deserve This?" There little quirks that most would call "coincidence." Whatever they are I choose to consider them signs that I'm ok and on track. Perhaps my English major brain is constantly sifting through the vast stimuli of life and identifying the ironic juxtaposition of bits - I prefer to think it a bit mystical.

So I sat down in the church to quietly wait for the service to begin and a woman I knew from both the hospital and from coordinating private duty services for her mother walks in with her sister. They normally attend St. Michael's in town but came out because the priest is a friend of theirs. Then the man who sits down in front of me is another acquaintance from the hospital and the brother of a good friend. Yes, the familiar faces congregated around me without recognizing me at first. I felt welcomed.

For the first time in years I was open to just worship and pray. Imagine my surprise when I saw the Deacon bustling around getting the sanctuary prepared, the altar boys lighting the candles. Then throughout the service the Deacon performed the same functions that I have performed at St. Paul's. Here I thought we were being so cutting edge at St. Paul's. I thought, "Well, he won't get to read the gospel, they'll leave that to the priest." Nope. In the end it was all wonderfully similar and comforting. At communion, in well choreographed fashion I might add, 8 lay people came up to distribute the wine and the bread.

I was so moved by taking communion for the first time in months as I knelt to pray afterwords my eyes welled up with tears. That's a moment I won't forget. It caught me completely off guard.

The gospel reading was the transfiguration and seemed so on target for my first visit to this wonderful space. This was the Saturday afternoon service and there were more people in attendance than the one and only Sunday service at St. Paul's. Sadly there appeared to be a very similar ration of older folk to younger folk.

I am not aware that there were some important differences. The deacon was a man, the priest was a man, the acolytes were altar boys. There was the kneeling, the genuflecting, for example. All in all though I was more taken by the similarity, the familiarity to what I had been doing in the Episcopal church up until this past year when our liturgy took a decided turn away from the traditional.

You've heard the adage about a frog in a pot, haven't you? They say that if you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, he will jump out (or try to), but if you put a frog into a pot of tepid water and light a flame beneath, the frog will never attempt to leave the pot and will slowly boil to death as the temperature climbs. I was becoming the frog in the tepid water at St. Paul's and Kevin Thew Forrester was slowly cranking up the heat. Now with the benefit of time and space to clear my head, I look back at some of the liturgy he has written in place of the language of the Book of Common Prayer and I can see how foreign it is to the tradition I love. That is not to say that his language is not poetic or beautiful, but it is clearly something of his own interpretation that he is pushing onto the congregation.

I welcome this change. I plan on attending mid week Eucharist at an Episcopal church in the next town over. I am an Anglo-Catholic. Maria, you were spot on in ensuring that I got my behind into a service to worship. Thank you, my cyber friend and fellow secular monastic.

Peace to you all.

What I've Decided To Give Up For Lent

I've decided to give up the Episcopal Church for Lent. My Anglican friends are now feeling a bit shocked perhaps, and I will do my best to try and make them understand. You may have been following the latest rift in the body politic of the Episcopal Church - namely the selection of Kevin Thew Forrester as bishop-elect of the Diocese of Northern Michigan. I have already commented on this below. More information has come to light regarding the weak and flawed process that lead to this selection. I have tried on other blogs to raise some of my concerns only to be swept aside by the sanctimonious fighting between the conservatives and liberals both. I have reached the point at which I quote Shakespeare and Romeo and Juliet, "A pox on both your houses!"

When my mother was in school earning her PsyD degree, she took a class that dealt with racial issues and counseling. The instructor of this course once said something to the effect of choosing to deal with a red neck bigot over a liberal who can't see his/her own racism because at least you knew where you stood with the bigot. I share this as a way to explain my further decision to begin attending Mass at the local Roman Catholic church. Mind you, I'm not suggesting that the Roman Catholic church is openly racist and the Episcopal Church covertly racist. However, if we use the anecdote as a metaphor for what I'm dealing with politically with religion these days, I would rather deal with the Roman Catholic church where they make no bones about their sense of power and control. Where their ugly official stance on some issues is right there in the open.

As for the "liberal that can't see the racism" -- I am very tired of trying to work under a supposed Mutual Ministry model - where we celebrate the Ministry of the Baptized - and yet have seminary trained individuals who covertly impose their power and control, influencing liturgical decisions and secretly scheming to manipulate the diocesan agenda--this while the whole time celebrating how wonderful we are with our Mutual Ministry model.

For now, I'll take the in your face difficulties of the Roman Catholic establishment over the mendacity of the local Episcopalian leaders. However, to my horrified friends who cannot understand how a gay man in his right mind could do this, I would add that the Episcopal Church is not universally welcoming of LGBT folk; I was raised and confirmed in the Roman Catholic church; and, finally, I see myself as an Anglo-Catholic and will remain so wherever I choose to go to experience prayer, liturgy, and community.

Late Winter Sunday Afternoon

This is a Hopper painting from the 1920's. I believe it's called "Automat." It reflects my mood today. The only thing separating me from the blackness is a cup of coffee. (Cue the dramatic music) I was most definitely fighting the demons this morning until I self-medicated with some caffeine. There's no denying it though. A moderate amount of caffeine keeps me on an even keel. Of course, too much triggers a bit of mania - I don't just mean that I'm wired. I start to make grandiose plans, I'm motivated to do all kinds of organizing. However, without it the mood swings decidely to the darkness. I've often wondered if it's possible to be a "little" bi-polar.

So what is this? I know I hit my "I'm done" moment with this winter when the temperature dropped to zero after the blizzard on Thursday. I almost made it to March which isn't a bad stretch. I'm usually the first to start wishing for the season to change - usually late July - and the last to start wishing for Spring. Is it my sky-rocketing propane bill? The water pump that won't shut off (big spike in my January electric). I know a large chunk of it is my decision to leave the Episcopal church and not yet knowing which way to go - ELCA or Roman Catholic. I also am trying to eat better as a Lenten practice. I hope to use the 40 day "Fast" as a way to lay the foundation for improved eating before I get so big I have to special order my clothes.

Yet I have the pleasure of dog sitting for my neighbors' Airedale, Chance, this week. Always back to the dogs, I know. They keep me alive and well. Also, I continue to have to rescue the birds that accidentally end up trapped in the porch. With the dogs coming and going all the time, they fly in through the open door, that's where the winter location of the feeders is. It's a very special feeling to have a small bird gently grasped in your hands for a brief moment before you release him/her back to freedom.

So today I thought I'd sit down and write - not try to be profound - not worry about whether or not people are reading this stuff. Basically follow my own advise. My Pop has been driving school bus for the past few years and shared some feelings about his experiences with me on the phone this morning. I told him he should start blogging as a way of dealing with his feelings. That got me pondering on the reasons why I blog and has lead to this ramble.

Why do we blog? I know I get a charge from watching my visit meter climb. I know I want people to think I'm smart, deep, wise, etc. etc. I know I want to be heard. Al Pacino has a monologue in Frankie and Johnny in which he tries to explain to Frankie why she and he must connect. He says that we all go around in this world trapped in these bubbles bouncing off of each other and never really connecting. I think I blog because I want to connect.