Tag: pain

SoCS: organ

While I have been delinquent/busy/overwhelmed and a few other adjectives lately, I have mostly been skipping out on Stream of Consciousness Saturday, which I once did diligently, but when I saw that this week’s prompt was “organ,” I knew I had to write.

In my younger years, I played the organ. After several years of childhood piano lessons, the priest in our tiny Catholic church asked me if I would learn to play the organ so that I could take over when our current high-school-aged organist went away to college in three years.

So, I learned.

I was lucky that my first organ teacher was very good, so I developed good technique. It was also good that he played in a larger church in North Adams which had a pipe organ, so I got to learn on a decent instrument, even though I was practicing on a not-great electronic at my own church.

I played at my church, first substituting and then becoming our organist my sophomore year in high school. I earned $5 for playing two masses every weekend and $3 when I played for weeknight masses a couple of times a week. I played a few weddings and funerals, too. I admit that playing funerals as a teen was really hard.

My original organ teacher had moved away and I was back to studying piano as I was looking for a college to attend, but my teacher used her connections to get a list of nearby colleges that had good organ/music programs. Smith was on the list and I fell in love with it on a campus visit, applied early decision, and was accepted. I wound up being the only organist in my year and played often at Catholic mass and played preludes and postludes for ecumenical services and at some college events. I used to joke that I had the biggest practice rooms on campus, as I played the three-manual Aeolian-Skinner organ at the chapel and the four-manual Austin in the 2,000-seat John M. Greene Hall.

After college, I spent a couple of years in an assistantship at an Episcopal church and after my daughters were old enough, I went back to playing, mostly on a volunteer basis.

Unfortunately, there was a problem. Even as a teen, I had pain in my right arm. It would come and go, but I sometimes had longer bouts of pain, especially if I played the piano a lot. (I will spare you the discussion of how piano and organ technique differ.) As time went on, I had more and more problems which led to doctor visits, physical therapy, various diagnoses including what is usually called “golfer’s elbow” and eventual surgery. We had hoped that would finally solve the problem, but I developed calcifications which have made the problems permanent.

I have shifted some things that I would ordinarily do right-handed to my left hand to help protect my right hand from over-use and pain. Obviously, this strategy does not work with playing the organ which takes both hand and both feet. If I had been one of those people who was a fantastic sight-reader and improviser, I might have been able to continue playing because I wouldn’t need very much practice time; alas, I am someone who needs lots of practice to play well.

For a few years, I was able to continue some accompanying with the youth choirs at our church, swapping over to conducting as needed to protect my arm. When that parish fractured and we had to leave, I no longer had a reason to continue playing or access to an organ and I stopped playing totally.

Sometimes, it’s still hard. Sometimes, it seems like another lifetime. Most times, I don’t think about it – and then, something happens to remind me, like hearing organ played on public radio or getting ready for Christmas or a prompt from Linda, and I miss it…
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Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “organ.” Join us! Find out how here:  https://lindaghill.com/2018/07/20/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-21-18/

 

 

One-Liner Wednesday: Hate/grief

“Hate is just a bodyguard for grief. When people lose the hate, they are forced to deal with the pain beneath.”
~ ~ ~ Sarah Fields

Join us for Linda’s One-Liner Wednesdays! Find out how here:  https://lindaghill.com/2016/12/28/one-liner-wednesday-one-of-those-days/ .

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waking up to more violence

The level of violence in the United States and in the world was already much too high.

And then, there was this week.

It’s too much to bear.

Yet, we must go on.

But not with violence.

Not with vengeance.

We need to stop to reflect, to examine our problems as a society, to consider how to act with greater justice, mercy, peace, and love, to put the best solutions into practice, to uphold the dignity of each person and protect their safety.

We are all wounded, which makes us vulnerable.

Many want to repay violence with violence, but that is what has gotten us into our current untenable position.

The way of non-violence is not easy, but what has the way of violence gotten us?

I wish there was a way to magically draw us into harmonious communities, but there isn’t.

All I can do is look to my own thoughts and heart and keep them focused on positive change, not violence and vengeance.

And I can beg you to do the same.

Wounded

Sharing this thought-provoking, heart-breaking post from Nancy of Marginalia.

It is hard not to lead with our wounds. We all have them. Some are personal. Some are from childhood. Many are cultural. Every day we step out into the world

Source: Wounded

April 8

I am going to preface this post with the statement that Nana is doing well, so as not to cause anyone undue stress.

On Friday, April 8th, my plan was to do a couple of things at Grandma’s cottage, which we were working on cleaning out, have lunch with a friend, and then head to Syracuse to bring daughter T home for the weekend, which would be her first time home since Grandma died on March 22nd.

A few minutes after I arrived at the senior community, my cell phone rang. It was my mom (Nana) calling from the emergency room. She had collapsed in the waiting room of a medical building across the street from the hospital. The rapid response team had done a couple of rounds of CPR on her and she was in the emergency room for monitoring and tests.

I used the speakerphone to tell B what was happening. He made arrangements to go to Syracuse to get T. I left messages for my friend not to expect me for lunch. Meanwhile, I drove to the hospital.

I was lucky to find a parking space in the visitors’ lot and rushed up the hill toward the emergency entrance, a cold wind blowing directly into my face, making it difficult to catch my breath. After an unusually mild winter, we had a couple of cold snowy weeks once spring had officially arrived.

Once I was able to get through the line and behind the locked doors of the ER, the wait was on. An EKG was done. The heart monitor was tracing green lines across a screen above Nana’s head. Blood was drawn for tests. They took Nana down for a chest X-ray. There was a line started in her arm, although she wasn’t hooked up to any intravenous fluids. She wasn’t allowed to eat or drink. We were talking to pass the time. The ER became increasingly busy and noisy.

Nana was having some pain in her back and chest. The nurse told us it was from the CPR. A small price to pay from having been brought back from death…

Several hours later, the physician assigned to her case came in. Nana was not dehydrated. Her electrolytes were fine. She hadn’t had a heart attack.

In fact, her heart had not stopped at all.

She had fainted, mostly likely from a combination of cold, wind, walking too quickly uphill in the morning when her medications tend to drop her blood pressure.

We were grateful that she was okay, although I admit that I have been struggling with the fact that a highly trained medical team missed her pulse and performed CPR when they should have been reaching for the smelling salts.

This was especially difficult as she has had to deal with a bruised chest and ribs over these following weeks. It was all unnecessary.

For me, it was also an extra measure of fear that pushed me within a hair’s breadth of melting down. I have been working hard at keeping myself functional during this stressful time. For a few hours, I felt as though I might not be able to cope with an added crisis.

Thank God that Nana and the rest of the family were spared what could have been so much worse.

 

 

 

What to say

A reminder on invisible illness.

Heidi Jones's avatarLiving to thrive

Things you shouldn’t say to someone with a chronic illness:

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What you might say to someone with a chronic illness:

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The Summons

Church yesterday was unexpectedly difficult.

Our younger daughter Trinity was with me, which is a rare occurrence in the last year as she has been away from home for grad school and a summer internship. She pointed out that we were singing some of our favorite hymns, including “The Summons” which we were singing for entrance. (Text is at link; other sources list the author as John Bell.)

I love “The Summons.”  I love its message and its challenge. I love Kelvingrove, the lilting Scottish tune to which it is usually sung. I loved singing it. I loved conducting it during the years that I volunteered as accompanist with our youth and junior choirs.  (I usually accompanied anthems, but conducted hymns.) “The Summons” was an important part of an ordination and first Mass weekend for a member of our parish ten years ago last June.

And that is the problem.

That momentous celebration weekend was also our last with that parish, which had been my church home for over twenty years, where our daughters were baptized and made their first Eucharist, where I volunteered extensively with the music ministry and liturgy committee, where our daughters sang and cantored and rang handbells, where “The Summons” was an important call to mission, where I felt called to serve.

And it all fell apart.

The gospel reading yesterday spoke to what had happened. Someone in authority had fallen victim to an obsessive and slavish regard for the “laws of men” at the expense of love, justice, mercy, and compassion.  I believe that this person suffered from mental illness, but our bishop, to whom we had appealed, would not protect us.

After the ordination/first Mass weekend, we left the parish in solidarity with a staff member who had been unjustly terminated after decades of service.

Ten summers ago, Trinity was transitioning from 9th to 10th grade, which meant that she was in the middle of a two year sequence to prepare for the sacrament of confirmation.  In order to continue, we joined a parish near her school, so that she would already know some of the other students in her confirmation class. The circumstances surrounding our departure from our former parish had been soul-crushing for all of us, but she was in the most vulnerable position. She considered not being confirmed at all.  In the end, she did decide to request confirmation, which involved writing a personal letter to the very bishop who had refused us his protection.   The parish confirmation director told me the letter was honest and powerfully expressed Trinity’s feelings about what had happened.

I’m sure it did. I never saw it. I think that Trinity wanted to spare me any additional pain.

“The Summons” became a painful reminder of what we had all lost. Whenever it came up at Mass during the first six years, I would cry through it, unable to sing. Gradually, as some healing occurred, I found that I could sing it again, especially once Trinity had graduated from college and was singing with the choir at Holy Family.

I thought I was finally over attaching pain to hymn.

Until yesterday.

I was thinking  – it’s ten years. Trinity is beside me, she is strong spiritually, and she is singing this beautiful song of mission which we both love.

And I started crying. Not enough that I wasn’t able to still sing, albeit tremulously and missing a phrase here and there.

Some tears of loss and pain. Some tears of gratitude.

And some tears right now, while writing this…

visiting palliative care

First, to set everyone’s mind at ease, no one in my life has a terminal diagnosis. Sadly, it seems that most people when they hear the words “palliative care” think that it is the equivalent of hospice care, but it is not. Hospice uses palliative care services with those who are experiencing their final months of life, but palliative care is available to anyone of any age and diagnosis.

Palliative care is a team-based, multidisciplinary approach to managing pain. Frustrated by the poor pain control following the compression fracture and subsequent vertebral collapse that Grandma had last fall, and the loss of appetite, weight loss, and increase in a-fib that followed, we managed to get a referral to the palliative care practice in March.

We are blessed to be working with the amazing Sister Hermie. I know in some places all nurses are called Sister, but Sister Hermie actually is a Catholic sister. I’m not sure what order.  She is originally from Africa, but is working as a nurse-practitioner specializing in palliative care here in the US. She is open and engaging, with a lovely smile and ready laugh. She manages to get the medical information she needs by asking questions within the context of storytelling. Even Grandma, who is endowed with a natural New England reserve, is charmed by Sister Hermie!

We are so grateful for Sister Hermie’s care and expertise. She immediately added a medication to treat nerve pain and the improvement was noticeable in the first 24 hours. Grandma has been able to go down to the dining center with her friends on a regular basis, to go on short shopping trips, and to eat better and gain weight.  The pain relief has afforded the opportunity to move forward with physical therapy, which makes her stronger and more functional, although she has also had to accept that she will never be able to do some of the things she used to do prior to the break. She has started to add massage to the treatment mix, which will be especially helpful when the physical therapy treatments end.

While the pain is better controlled, it is not eliminated. There has to be a balance between pain relief and the ability to function. It’s not helpful for her to be pain-free but too drowsy to do anything. Still, she is so much better the last two months than she was in the six months prior that it feels like we have Grandma restored to us.

Thank you, Sister Hermie!

Unfortunately, palliative care is not being fully utilized. Even many of the medical professionals in our community don’t know that it exists, so they don’t request referrals. We had to research it ourselves and then ask the primary care provider for the referral, but it has been worth it. I encourage anyone with a loved one who is dealing with chronic pain, whatever the cause and whatever their age, to look for a palliative care specialist, if their current pain control regimen is not sufficient.

SoCS: crisis du jour

OK – this is another one of those weeks where I am writing on Friday morning and scheduling the post for publication tomorrow. The weekend is going to be busy as there will be open mic poetry tonight – my second time reading, if I make it – you can read about the first here.  Saturday morning we will scoot up to Syrcause to pick up our younger daughter to bring her home in time for my dad’s rescheduled 90th birthday dinner. There will be a post about why it had to be re-scheduled eventually. Have I mentioned yet how I’m sort of behind on posting?

At any rate, my sisters and families will be coming up for the festivities which will be at a local Mediterranean restaurant, so there will be much yumminess and laughter and storytelling and dessert.

Provided things don’t get derailed by the crisis du jour.

It’s become a bit of a standing joke with me that I can’t make a plan because something will intervene. I wrote about the most dramatic of these events here. Long post but the condensed version is that my parents unexpectedly wound up in the hospital for two days at the same time with two totally unrelated problems.

Right now, I am waiting to hear back from my mother-in-law to see if we need to get her to her doc or to get an X-ray to investigate why her back pain has ramped up – after we thought we finally had her pain meds adjusted properly. I admit I’m operating on not a lot of sleep, mostly because I was worried about what is going on.

Right now, I’m trying to breathe and not make something into a crisis before its time. Maybe it’s just a pulled muscle from PT. Not really crisis du jour.

Please?

[Update from Friday night:  My mother-in-law’s doctor decided to just let things ride for the weekend and she improved through the day today. So fingers crossed that we make it through the weekend crisis-free, awaiting a previously scheduled Monday afternoon doctor’s appointment.]
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Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week is “-jour-“: add a prefix or suffix to complete it or use it as the French word for “day.”

Please join us!  Details on how here:  http://lindaghill.com/2015/04/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-1115/

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