The Name Of The Rose...

Alright. This post will be my attempt to explain the concept of Trinity in my own humble way as we move into the week past Trinity Sunday. Now I am no theologian and perhaps there will be serious flaws discovered in what I have to say, so please be kind.

To get started I want to introduce a few concepts in order to make my point. Let's start with the image with which I opened this post. I did a search on "three atom molecule" and as it happens that is an illustration of ozone. Let's call it it a God molecule though, shall we? The molecule is God - the three atoms are the Trinity - one and three at the same time.

Next I would direct you back to the title of this post, borrowed from the Umberto Eco's first novel. Apparently the true meaning of this title is not known. The book is a mystery set in the middle ages at a monastery in Italy. What I recall from Professor Elizabeth Dipple's class in college was that title might refer to the debate over universal concepts vs. physical objects. My philosophy is a bit weak, but the idea is that a universal rose exists in the ether and that all roses are but reflections of the universal rose and that if I ask you to imagine a rose, you are tapping into that universal rose.

Borrowing from that idea then, I want you to think about the various ways in which that rose might be "real." There would be that universal perfect rose. Next there are the roses that we imagine in our minds - can we think of them as being real (regardless of them being physically present?). Are not our thoughts real? These imagined roses may be a form of memory of physical roses. Finally there are the physical roses that you can see, touch, and smell.

So this is my thought on trying to explain the Trinity. Imagine that there is a universal Larry out there - this universal, perfect Larry is the equivalent of "God" as it relates to the Trinity. Now let's break down Larry into the components of the Trinity. There is my physical being sitting here typing away at my computer. Those folks around me can see me. They can touch my flesh. They can engage me in conversation. Yet these people around me do not understand the entire me through this physical being. They do not fully grasp the universal, perfect Larry. This is the God the Son third of the Trinity. Even my family and friends who have known me for years, those who would recognize this physical being in their presence instantly, do not fully know the God/me - the complete me.

Now let's consider the Larry that exists in the minds eye of all the folks who know me. In my mother's mind there is an image of her eldest son. Is not her image a real image? Now living hundreds of miles apart - this Larry is a more real Larry for her than my physical body. Or consider the many cyber friends I have who have never seen my physical body, never stood in my presence. I am a disembodied voice, words on a computer screen, digital images only. Am I no less real in their minds? Yet these mind images of me scattered around the globe are distinct in many ways from the physical me. Let's think of this as Larry/God the Spirit.

Finally, I myself carry an image of myself in my own mind. This is the me that lives in my head and never quite translates to the physical world. It is the part of my that always stands alone. The part of me that cannot be completely revealed for we can never really know what it feels like to be another person. This "head" translates to Larry/God the Father.

Each of these three Larry's compliments the others. The physical Larry can try and relate the "Father" Larry to the world either in person or through the Spirit Larry. All are pieces, however, of that three atomed molecule - "the universal Larry."

This is how I came to have a slightly better understanding of the Trinity. What do you think?

I Is A Freecycle Convert...

Freecycle...have you heard of it? What an amazing idea. I'm simply hooked.

The concept behind Freecycle is that rather than toss away usable goods, you log into your local freecycle network and let folks know what you have to give away. Similarly if you are looking for stuff, before you run out to your local box store and buy some cheaply made Chinese-kill-the-environment-made-with-toxic-crap item, someone in your network may have what you need sitting in the back of their garage or basement.

I have done an amazing job over the past decade of shedding my pack rat tendencies. However, there are items that clearly have value that I simply do not need, but to throw them out hasn't seemed right either. Case in point, my dad bought a new smoke a number of years ago and brought me his old one which has sat in my porch for years now.

I joined my local group - set up as a Yahoo group - and posted a "TGA: smoker." This lovely young couple was so excited. I'm sure they don't have a pot to piss in. As they were leaving, they saw my beat up old Weber grill on the junk pile and asked if they could have that as well.

Then I saw someone looking for a pet rabbit. In the heat of my illness, the animal care was beginning to be overwhelming. Thelma and Louise are beautiful creatures, but I wasn't getting much rabbit love back for all the work I was putting into them. I have been thinking about finding them a new home for months, but was afraid if I simply put up a notice at the feed store, some kid would talk her parents into them and they'd end up killed by the family dog or escape or simply get sick and die (rabbits are tricky as prey animals - they are near death before you notice they are sick).

So I contacted this guy and asked him if he has had experience with rabbits and he started to list about four different breed types that he'd raised over the years. I found them a new home. When he came to pick them up, he arrived with his boyfriend who nearly wet himself using the "we" pronoun to emphasize the nature of their relationship. I so wanted to look him in the eye and say, "Cool it, sister, you're preaching to the choir..." I hope to make friends with them. They are little babies at the university - or at least Austen is. Older mentors are important in my humble opinion. Relationships need lots of potting soil to spread their roots. But I digress.

I have a few other things up for claiming right now and hope to empty my basement by the end of the summer. Should my mother be reading this, "Not to worry, mom, not giving away and family heirlooms."

I highly recommend you check it out. Anything we can do to begin tearing down this consumer culture that is destroying us and our environment. Peace.

From St. Laika's...

A Reading from the commentary of St. Ephraem on the Diatessaron

The Word of God is an inexhaustible fountain

Lord, who can grasp all the wealth of just one of your words? What we understand is much less than what we leave behind, like thirsty people who drink from a fountain. For your word, Lord, has many shades of meaning just as those who study it have many different points of view. The Lord has colored his words with many hues so that each person who studies it can see in it what he loves. He has hidden many treasures in his word so that each of us is enriched as we meditate on it.

The word of God is a tree of life that from all its parts offers you fruits that are blessed. It is like that rock opened in the desert that from all its parts gave forth a spiritual drink. As the Apostle says, "All ate the same supernatural food and all drank the same supernatural drink."

He who comes into contact with some share of its treasure should not think that the only thing contained in the word is what he himself has found. He should realize that he has only been able to find that one thing from among many others. Nor because only that one part has become his, should he say that the word is void and empty and look down on it; but because he could not exhaust it he should give thanks for its riches. Be glad that you were overcome and do not be sad that it overcame you. The thirsty man rejoices when he drinks and he is not downcast because he cannot empty the fountain. Rather let the fountain quench your thirst than have your thirst quench the fountain. Because if your thirst is quenched and the fountain is not exhausted you can drink from it again whenever you are thirsty. But if when your thirst is quenched the fountain also is dried up your victory will bode evil for you.

Be grateful for what you have received and do not grumble about the abundance left behind. What you have received and what you have reached is your share, what remains is your heritage. What, at one time, you are not able to receive because of your weakness, you will be able to receive at other times if you persevere. Do not have the presumption to try and take in one draught what cannot be taken in one draught, and do not abandon out of laziness what you may only consume little by little.

(Click on the title to be taken to the St. Laika's page to hear this reading in the service)

...Got Some 'Splainin To Do

On a lighter note, I mentioned in the previous post that I had to lock Zoe in the bedroom during my first trip to the Emergency Department. I said that I knew I would suffer the consequences or some such statement. What follows is the latest "I Love Lucy" episode in my life with my neighbor and friend Heidi.

As I said, I managed to get down into the basement to lock up the dogs, but in the confusion, Zoe snuck back upstairs. I wasn't going to be able to do another round trip so I simply locked her in the bedroom. Now Zoe is a bit of a piddler and hysterical pooper. I was fairly sure I would come home to some kind of minimal mess in my bedroom. She didn't disappoint me.

After traipsing back and forth across the hospital campus in order to retrieve my new meds, I finally made it back home Monday evening. I managed to get the dogs outside and even managed to get down to the basement to feed them (they would not have let me rest until their bellies were full). Sure enough, Zoe had left some turdlets on the floor by the bed and had piddled on some dirty laundry. I figured I would deal with it when I could. The window had been left open all day so there was no obnoxious smell in the room and bending down to clean it up was not an option.

At the last minute, Frankie decided to take off and I thought, "Well, dog, you're on your own, I have to go lay down." I struggled to my bedroom, phone and urinal in hand, and collapsed. After catching my breathe I zipped off a text to Heidi (Ethel to my Lucy). Oh, yeah, in the midst of all this I was watching her airedale and had to bring him home that morning before heading to the hospital. So I texted her, "Please help. When will you be home?"

She called me back immediately and said she had just gotten home and would be over shortly. I told her Frankie was outside and to see if she could round him up when she got here and to use the kitchen door. I then just tried to relax and wait.

Abby the Cat was perched on top of The Kitteh Tower and I had thought nothing of it. However, once Heidi arrived all Hell broke loose. I had not believed that the cats would be more afraid of other humans than of Skittles-the-Mighty-(almost)-Cat-Killer... I was very wrong.

All I could hear was extreme chaos as Heidi and her daughter inadvertently spooked Abby sending her flying off the tower to an awaiting Skittles below. A rapid chase around the great room apparently ensued. Would Abby simply make a break for the safety zone of the basement? NO! She decides to head for Papa's bed and dives beneath under the headboard.

Now up until that moment I had a wooden bar stool at the headboard on which was a nice halogen reading lamp. Skittles comes flying around the corner and proceeds to launch herself through the legs of the bar stool and wedge herself half way under the bed, sending stool and lamp flying through the air and crashing to the floor. Minus one reading lamp.

Heidi and her daughter try to get the dog out of the room. Of course, I already realize that I will have to get up again because I will need to get the cat out of the bedroom if I will have any rest. I'm lying there, glasses over on the dresser and so blind as a bat. The constant struggle to remove Skit from the room is occurring just out of arms reach.

First I tell Heidi that there are two pill bottles on the bathroom counter that I need - antibiotics and pain pills. She goes to retrieve them amidst the insanity and comes back with three bottles and begins to hand them to me (remember I am without glasses and blind). Unfortunately the lid was not on my pain pills and as she hands the bottle it slips and my pain pills go flying all over the bedroom.

Now Heidi is scrambling to pick up all the pills so the dogs don't nab them. Tylenol is very bad for dogs and the narcotic portion isn't much better. I am stuck in bed trying not to lose my temper. Heidi stands up and declares she's recovered them all - ten. Ten? I had already taken one and thought they had only given me ten. I hold the bottle up close to my blind eyes and see that they have given me twelve. One is still missing. Heidi looks again and declares that she cannot find it.

She asks what else needs to be done. As I realize that I will have to get up now anyway to remove the cat AND find the missing pill, I suggest that there's really nothing more, but she does manage to remember the dog food downstairs (thank god). So I have her go down and bring up all the dog food and dog dishes so that I will not have to do the stairs again in the near future. She also puts out cat food for the cats.

While she is doing this, I manage to get Skittles locked in the bathroom and other dogs out of the bedroom and close the door. I begin to try and coax Abby out from under the bed. No luck. Heidi comes back upstairs and I thank her and send her on her way.

I begin to realize that I will have to get down closer to the floor. I pause and gulp slightly. OK, pillow onto the hard tile and slowly ease myself to my knees and then down to my elbows. Knees and elbows are still relatively pain free at this point. Sure enough, Abby is sitting pretty and I eventually manage to ease her out.

Once she is out I see the missing pill back behind where she was hiding. No way to reach the pill in my current position. Without thinking that my phone is across the room, I ease off the pillow and stretch out onto the floor. I end up having to use the pillow to swipe the pill out from under the bed. Now I have the pill and I am lying flat out on the floor with hands and feet/legs that are not really functional and only then wonder how I am supposed to get up.

I imagine myself lying there for hours in my own urine and figure out a way to gradual breathe through the pain and get back up on my knees. Funny thing as I do, I start to smell dog poop. Remember there was no odor in the room when I got home. This could only mean one thing. Yes, I had laid down and squished the little turdlets. In fact, as I manage to get completely up off the floor I have one smeared across my thigh. Using more dirty laundry I wipe off my leg, carefully put the pill into the bottle, recover the dogs, and, once again, collapse in bed.

At this point, and this is the really important point, I am faced with a choice. I can burst into tears in pain, frustration, and anger and curse my fate or I can get Kate on the phone and tell her the story and have a good laugh at the total ridiculous nature of life. I choose the latter.

And the appropriate coda to this story is that on Thursday I once again had to lock the dogs in the bedroom when I took off for the hospital via ambulance. Once again, Zoe did not disappoint and there were two small piddle puddles on the floor. I called Kate and said that at least this time I would not end up rolling around in dog shit. After getting off the phone, I took care of running/feeding the dogs, gathered them up into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. As I rolled over, I could feel something cold and hard under my back. Yes, it would appear I ended up rolling in it one more time as Zoe had left a little present for me in bed. ::sigh::

Ending Radio Silence

It has been a very long couple weeks and I have been rather quiet about what has been going on. My parents left for vacation while the crisis hit and I did not want to spoil their vacation, so I kept quiet but for a few select friends. My folks have been regularly on Facebook while they've been gone, so the decision to maintain radio silence, as it were, has been a good one. They return tomorrow and will know what has been occurring by tomorrow afternoon.

You all may know that my health has been messed up for a good two years now. I started with pain in my hands followed very closely by a skyrocketing blood glucose. Not long after that the pain in my hands spread to my wrists and upper arm joints and began in my feet and spread up my legs. Not long after that I began having carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists.

Over the past two years I have been seen or followed by a rehab doc, a rheumatologist, a neurologist and his NP, an endocrinologist, a neurosurgeon, and an infectious disease doc. I finally changed primary care physicians last February to a gal who is much more on top of things than my previous doc. This was prompted by an abnormal thyroid lab.

I leapt at the possibility that maybe my whole problem was thyroid related (pain, that is). The Mayo Clinic site listed joint pain and stiffness, as well as carpal tunnel syndrome, as possible symptomology of hypothyroidism. However, my new doc concurred that, though I am heavy and sedentary, my diabetes didn't seem to fit the pattern and that both the thryoid and diabetes were part of a bigger autoimmune picture.

Mind you every last one of those docs I listed wanted nothing more than to declare me an overweight American with diabetes and lump the chronic pain at diabetes' door, ignoring a strong family history of autoimmune disorder in the male line in my family and the fact that I had an unusual syndrome (Sweets' syndrome) about 8 years ago, which usually hits women over 50. As that didn't fit me, one of the other categories of Sweets' patient did, namely that it can be a precursor to autoimmune disease.

Everything changed very quickly the weekend of May 21st and 22nd. My pain had seemed to be incrementally worsening in the days leading up to this weekend. By Sunday, I was having severe difficulty walking due to the extreme pain in my feet and legs. My hands were also beginning to curl up again. I nearly went to the Emergency Department that afternoon, but talked myself out of it, preferring to wait until speaking with my docs in the morning.

By Monday morning I was in fairly bad shape. My primary care doctor's office wasn't helpful. I couldn't get past the phalanx of front desk help to ask my doc a question. In the end, this was beneficial (because I was going to try and get a script for steroids out of her). I called the neurology office next hoping to speak to the NP when she came in at 9AM. Two hours later at 11AM I gave up.

I managed to get Skittles and Lola downstairs, but Zoe snuck back upstairs. By this point, doing stairs was exceedingly painful and probably unsafe, so I simply locked her in the bedroom knowing I'd suffer the consequences later. Frankie, of course, continued to have free reign of the place.

I hobbled into the Emergency Department and was offered a wheel chair, but as I was already at the desk, I declined. The receptionist than instructed me to go sit down and wait until the triage nurse came to get me. I took one look at the chairs over there and decided I wasn't sure I would be able to get up out of the chair once seated. I turned to the gal at the desk and said, "I think I'll take that wheelchair now."

Long story short, I had a raging bladder infection and an Emergency Room doctor once again willing to suggest my pain was simply due to the diabetes and would improve as the infection improved. They handed me my prescriptions and sent me on my way, forcing me to "walk" across the entire hospital campus to the pharmacy and then walk back to the emergency parking lot.

I spent the better part of the next few days in bed with a urinal by my side, avoiding transferring out of bed as much as possible because standing/walking was horrible. I had been unaware of my bladder infection, assuming the frequency symptoms were due to a new neurology medication I was frantincally trying to titrate up (I could no longer take the neurology medication that was working as it was non-formularly and the "drug benefit" ::snort:: people finally turned down the doctor's request for authorization). The bladder symtoms were improving but the pain was not.

By Thursday, May 26th I returned to the Emergency Department by ambulance no longer able to do stairs at all and barely able to get out of bed and that with excruciating pain. Further my hands/arms were getting bad and I was beginning to have pain up my back/neck and into my right jaw. The PA in the Emergency Department ran some repeat labs and declared my problem was obviously autoimmune. I had skyrocketing C-reactive protein levels even as my infection was clearing. I received some IV steroids and then was sent home with some pain meds and some prednisone.

By midnight Friday, the prednisone was not controlling the pain. I took my Saturday dose at 4AM and waited until daylight to start making calls. In the end I had to apply my own medical knowledge to make it through the holiday weekend until my follow up appointment on Tuesday of this week. It was requiring 120 mg a day of prednisone (divided into two doses) in order to function.

I have had tremendous support from friends - my long distance friend Kate was on the phone with me multiple times a day to ensure I was hanging in there and coaching me along with regard to finding help etc. My neighbor and friend Heidi, picked up dog food for me, carried all the dog stuff upstairs from the basement, and brought me dinner every night. My friend Barb picked up groceries for me. Georgie and Mary came over to make sure all was well with the cats and the fish. I even managed to find a home for the bunnies in the midst of this (I'll blog more on that later).

My doctor obtained a referral for me to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota for 8/2/11. This occurred in a single day and, believe it or not, they are expediting things to get me in (8 weeks is actually fast apparently). I am relieved and scared and grateful and frustrated and everything else in between. Please keep me in your prayers.

Skittles particularly has been a blessing. It is her nature to be always by my side (except when she is in kill the kitteh mode). She is very affectionate despite her agressive nature. Fran is aware of how much I have appreciated her doggy kisses and her cuddles. More in a bit. Peace.