Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Tom. Paul. P.E.T. scan. Radio isotopes. Irv. Sukkot. Harvests and Harvest festivals. Corn Dolly. Sheafs of Wheat. Combines and Corn Pickers. Plucking Tomatoes from the Plants in Artemis. Garlic on its way. Kale, Spinach, and Beets all doing well. Carrots growing, too. All in cold frames. A frost yesterday morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rabbi Rami Shapiro

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei.

Week Kavannah:  Yesod.  Groundedness.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Once more into the breach, or in this case, the large machine with its bits able to see the uptake of a PSMA, a prostate membrane specific antigen delivered into my bloodstream by injection, the needle itself coming in a lead lined box until it penetrates my skin, protecting the imaging tech, not me, since this antigen has a radioactive tracer attached.

October Health Month: Continues today with yet another PET scan. This one because my PSA rose slightly and Dr. Buphati wants to know, as do I, what, if anything has happened to my metastases. I hope very little. The path could take a turn here, though I would prefer it not. I’ll know more, possibly as early as tomorrow.

My son, who has Hepatitis B, also goes in for scans on the 10th. In his case they’re checking the liver. Hep B, which he got at birth, as do many Asian and South Asian babies, can cause liver cancer.

A friend of mine goes for a PET scan on the 28th, I believe, checking, in his instance for prostate cancer. A diagnostic scan. It’s a small world under the sophisticated magnifying glasses we have today.

An old internist told me that each of us is a black box. All unique, yet similar. Once we cross the swaying bridge to chronic disease we need these high tech imaging systems to peer inside the black box; yet, we see through a glass darkly. Even the most sophisticated of them offer only approximations of what is there.

Medicine as art. Decisions get made, life altering or life saving decisions with often only hints, perhaps big hints, but with large margins for error. In spite of the general and well earned cynicism about medical care I remain in awe of these men and women, like Kate, who devote their lives to helping us with what remain crude and often fallible instruments. And with proximate knowledge only of how to fix what ails us.

Insurance companies, on the other hand? Not awe. But frustration at the corruption of a sound idea, spreading our collective risk over millions, hundreds of millions. In the hands of Big Medicine’s executives the art is how to wring the most premium dollars out of us while paying out as little as possible.

An art measured not in health preserved, not in lives extended, not in compassionate care given, but in the easier to understand bottom line. Money, or revenue capture, taints the whole practice of medicine, nowhere as much as in the C-Suites of outfits like United Health, Humana, Blue Cross.

Next week in health month: Glaucoma check and nerve ablations!

Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Evergreen Orthotics. Handicap placards. Ruby. Low thirties. Rain. Golden coins among the green Needles. Fat Bears. Horny Elk Bulls and Mule Deer Bucks. Shadow spending more and more time inside. Closing my cold frames. Picking Tomatoes today. Rabbi Rami Shapiro. Lidocaine losing its efficacy.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Morgan at Evergreen Orthotics

Life Kavannah:  Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod.  Groundedness.

Tarot: still paused

One brief shining: Morgan came in, her hands full of plastic wrapped cervical collars, opened one and set its front half on my neck and under my chin while strapping me in at the back; how does that feel? Weird. Too much.

DMV: Yesterday began with a visit to the Evergreen DMV to register for my first ever handicap placards. I drove down through fog, wipers on slow beats, past Kate’s Stream and her Valley.

The DMV and the Sheriff’s office share a building. As I sat in my car, I arrived a bit early for my appointment, a large man, built like a Bulldog with a Sheriff’s deputy uniform on, waddled to the door. When I went in a few minutes later, a uniformed deputy, not the same guy, stopped me. He had a ripe banana on the small desk, a laptop open.

“I have an 8:15 with DMV.”

“First name.” I told him. “You’re clear to go.” Seemed odd to me that there was a gatekeeper with a gun in such a quiet spot.

Inside the DMV had skeletons, bats, an orange spider web plastic basket, and Dracula hanging above the plastic window to which I turned. A pleasant gray haired woman took my document, checked it over, compared the data on it to my driver’s license, then went to a drawer on the wall behind her and found two of the familiar blue and white hangars, using a bar code on each to scan them into the system.

She explained how to use them. The only restriction that surprised me? If I use the placard, I have to get out of the car and go in wherever I am. I can’t drive someone somewhere, use the placard, and wait. Not sure about that one, but, hey. I’m glad to have them.

Handicap placards in my small backpack I drove back toward home, filled up with gas, ate breakfast at Aspen Perks, then drove down the hill, more fog, to Evergreen Orthotics.

Evergreen Orthotics: Where I met Morgan. What a kind and fun person. Mid-thirties, curly auburn hair and a casual smiling manner, we decided cervical collars, meant for folks with fractured vertebrae, were overkill for me. Not to mention sorta ugly and intrusive.

Wearing anything around my neck in public feels like, will be, a big change from 78 years of not doing that. However, my neck has become increasingly unstable. If I’m standing, looking up at a taller person while I’m talking, my neck begins to wobble almost immediately. I already walk head down and people notice that, plus the tilt to my head, especially later in the day.

Morgan, the clinical manager and Orthotist at Evergreen, has never made a custom neck brace. That’s how rare my situation is. Even so I asked her to give it ago. She’s doing some research and I may get something 3-D printed. Until then, I’m going to try a foam collar.

The material she’s looking at is the same kind professional athletes wear if they’ve broken their nose. You’ve seen the masks, I’m sure. They’re all 3-D printed. We’ll see where this goes.