The Health Saga

"The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age." - Lucille Ball

People have been asking me how come I'm proudly embracing the fact that I'm turning 40 this year. I have blogged about it. I have contemplated putting up a talent show for my gifted friends of the same age. I even organized a joint birthday party for my high school batch entitled "40 is the New Sexy." We rocked that videoke jeans party like the silly teenagers we once were.

Photo credit: www.desh.biz

Well, if you can't beat turning 40, I said you might as well celebrate it. And I embraced this even as early as March last year, when I resigned from my job and left the country to take stock of life and regain my bearings. Upon my return since March of this year, however, everything I had left behind and even some more matters that I had encountered the past year required my attention.  In full, crashing force.

My health was the first to announce its agenda. Since being cured of astigmatism in high school, I had to start wearing eyeglasses again last March. So first doctor, ophthalmologist. I finally got to use the cool eyewear frame that my sister sent me from the States. I embraced this change Ella-style, certainly fashion-forward and with a lot of selfies.

Then, I set a swimming date with my nephews at their family condo's pool. When I got there I was having the headache of a lifetime and my brother discovered that my blood pressure was off the charts. I did not get to swim, to the dismay of my nephews, even as I had every intention to exercise. Instead, I had to lie down, rest (a strange word) and pray for the energy to drive back home. Being asymptomatic, I did not know that I was hypertensive. Or probably I knew but was ignoring it. Or perhaps it was the plateful of crab fat (yummy aligue) that I had for lunch the Sunday before. I am sad to report that I have not eaten crab since then. So the second doctor that I was sent to was an internist. He took my BP from my left arm, shook his head, and took it from my right arm as well.  He then prescribed maintenance medications for hypertension and instructed me to go through a battery of tests just to check my overall health.

The week after, armed with my test results and a bad cough, I returned to the internist. He prescribed cough medicines and then told me I had to see a hematologist because I was anemic. I asked if he could just make his own conclusions because I did not want to go to another doctor (wishful thinking, in hindsight). He simply said that it was important that I see a hematologist. He recommended one from the same hospital. I returned the next day following the doctor's schedule given by the hospital guards, but alas, said hematologist was out of the country. I called up another hospital, and all of my friends who were related to doctors, for another referral. At this point the fact that I had no medical insurance coverage was sinking in.

I received two referrals, one for a male hematologist, and another for a female one. I went to the one who held clinic on a Saturday, as my family was beginning to worry. In the process, I missed my high school barkada outing to Las Casas de Acuzar, a place I had long wanted to visit. So I was really sulking inside by the time I got to the doctor's clinic. When he saw my blood test results, he said in other cases he would already recommend transfusion. That scared me. He wanted me to go through a whole lot of tests to determine the cause of my anemia. I found myself complaining at the discomfort level of those prescribed tests. I obeyed him on some tests but not for the others. I had to miss a family outing for that. Summer came and left without me seeing the ocean. More sulking.

In the meantime, my blood pressure continued to be high, despite the medication. I was constantly feeling tired and even bordered on depression. I had, at the same time, job interviews, as my career was in need of a makeover. In fact my agenda upon returning from Australia was just that - find a job. My body disagreed with me. Listening to my body, I wanted a second opinion on my anemia and went to the other specialist, the female hematologist. I waited outside her clinic for hours in the intense summer heat. By the time she was able to see me, she took my BP and we both got shocked because it was at 176/111. Regarding my anemia, she recommended two more tests, but she was pretty certain that it was not serious. I texted my family that I was going to rest at a nearby Starbucks before driving home. Unknown to me, my brother consulted his cardiologist and learned that I was at risk for stroke. When I got home, he was waiting for me and told me I needed to see a cardiologist.

I had lost count by this time of the hospitals, clinics, and doctors I had been to. All I knew was that I had to see another specialist. I talked to my father and asked him to set an appointment with his cardiologist. I had no job, and mounting medical bills. Thank God for the support of family.

The cardiologist is a brilliant doctor who explained everything and encouraged me to take care of my health more seriously. He was the one who synthesized all that was possibly happening to me. He had the best bedside manner, and I wanted to hug him. (I have previously been known to hug a specialist, my Dr. House, who diagnosed me of an ailment I was suffering from since birth, which was the precursor to this saga.) He adjusted my medication and prescribed the proper heart rate for when I am exercising and when I am at rest. He also ordered more tests, as I had unexplained bleeding. He also asked me to see an obstetrician-gynecologist, and he happened to know of a good one, his wife, whose clinic was just next door. After weeks of queuing up at doctor's offices, I was really happy to be the first patient of the OB-GYN. She ordered more ultrasound tests.

I completely detached from job hunting as it was too much to handle. I just sent my resume whenever a friend referred me to an opening, but did not anymore stress over it. I accepted a project but had to resign because I was neither fit nor ready to work. I then watched my diet and took up zumba classes on top of my regular walking. I also went with my parents to the mall week after week to watch movies and enjoy my unplanned vacation.

The tests had to be timed and one by one, I was cleared. My friend, a radiologist, did an ultrasound test of my liver, kidney, and bladder and did not note anything unusual. Then a harrowing experience with an OB sonologist yielded news that there was some improvement in my ovaries since my last ultrasound. My iron levels and this thing called electrophoresis were the last scheduled tests before I returned to the hematologist. I got the results last Friday and the other day, returned to the hematologist. She confirmed that my anemia was not causing the hypertension, and that I had something that 1/3 of Filipinos suffered from, alpha thalassemia trait (yes, I love talking medical now, after reading and watching "The Fault in Our Stars"). She even took me off medication.

I was so happy after that last consultation but could not help thinking, what was that all about? Why did I have a grand hospital tour since March? Why did I have to go through so many tests? My parents said that they were thankful that nothing was seriously wrong with me physically, that I did not need to go through surgery. At least when I start my new job and my new life as a 40-year old woman, I could embrace a healthier me.

I still have to go back to the cardiologist and report all these, plus my exercise activities. I will do it after this week of job applications, which thankfully kept moving even without my deliberate attention, and after my short break to try the simple life in the province.

I have also been in touch with my spiritual director, the best doctor of all, who as a psychologist can manage my intellectual and mental state, and as a priest is able to check my emotional and spiritual balance. He is the one who invited me to look at the blessings of turning 40, of knowing myself better and being stronger after so many trials. (After reading this, he mentioned that he was also going through his post-turning-40-transition. He is really the perfect companion for this journey, and I am sad that he is leaving the Philippines soon for further studies. The lessons I have learned from him were timely, bordering on perfect.)

It has been a tough journey, and in fact I am still dealing with a lot of backlog, but I am now able to celebrate more the gift of life. The other day, as I was eating strawberry ice cream with some friends, which was a favorite but something I had had to give up for health reasons, I felt happy. I knew who were with me in sickness and in health. More than the doctors, my family and friends have been a great source of strength and courage.

I look forward to the next chapter of life, which is coming very soon. I put all my trust in God, who has been with me, and who has gone there before me.

All the Bread We Need

Mark 8:14-21

14 The disciples had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. 15 Jesus enjoined them, “Watch out, guard against the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod.”16 They concluded among themselves that it was because they had no bread.17 When he became aware of this he said to them, “Why do you conclude that it is because you have no bread? Do you not yet understand or comprehend? Are your hearts hardened? 18 Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear? And do you not remember, 19 when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many wicker baskets full of fragments you picked up?” They answered him, “Twelve.” 20 “When I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many full baskets of fragments did you pick up?” They answered him, “Seven.” 21 He said to them, “Do you still not understand?”

As I played this scene in my head this morning, I was grateful that Jesus was not just a teacher, but the most patient teacher there ever was. How frustrating it must have been, after demonstrating how five loaves could feed five thousand, or the seven loaves could feed four thousand, that his disciples, the very men who had been walking with him and listening to his teachings firsthand, could still miss the point of his lessons. How he must have shaken his head, that after talking about greater things, his men could still be hung up on the basic needs that he had proven to be already covered through faith and action.

Bread basket at the Green Dragon Inn, New Zealand

In the past, I taught law students about legal writing and research, and much as I loved to pass on my tips and techniques, I got easily frustrated when, even after several exercises and projects, my students still committed the same mistakes during the final exams.

They concluded among themselves that it was because they had no bread. I imagined this scene and almost laughed out loud, thinking of the disciples, looking at each other, whispering, with puzzled expressions, trying to make sense of what their teacher was saying. In that scene, I could not fathom the depth of Jesus's patience, but could easily relate to the disciples' stubborn confusion.

I felt the Lord lovingly asking me, in my life, if I could remember how He had provided for me, and how there was always more than what I ever needed.

 Ella, do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear? And do you not remember? Do you still not understand?

I smiled as I recalled the "wicker baskets of fragments" that I was able to pick up after each answered prayer; the abundance, the generosity, the magnitude that always accompanied an event or milestone in my life, by the grace of God, especially the past year.

As I, voluntarily, face another impossible turning point in life, and Jesus speaks to me, I hope to hear what He is really saying, and not conclude to myself that it was because I forgot to bring bread in this castaway boat. May my heart and attitude be changed, and my feelings be lifted. May I see that I already have Jesus, my savior, and nothing should be impossible for me. Like the disciples and my law students, this lesson has to be repeated until learned.

For a bible study on leaven, I read this very helpful article.  

Displaced, But Not Discouraged

This morning, I spent a good two hours staring through the glass windows in the living room that led to the gardens belonging to this house and its neighbors.  I stared and stared but could almost see nothing, as the autumn was giving way to winter and the trees were almost fully covered with a white mist.  Some leaves peeked through the fog, reminding me of their presence.

I wasted away the hours, partly because I needed time to finish my bowl of barley and oats with some honey and a serving of banana, the healthiest breakfast I had ever known, and partly because I needed time to reflect on my own displacement.

Like the garden, my life was before me but I could not see it clearly.  Everything was shrouded in mystery and suspense.  True, I had known better than to pin all my hopes to Sydney and My Gap Year, but still, there were times when I wish I could see the future, both immediate and faraway.

This displacement was self-imposed, planned, long-considered, and welcomed.  And yet, as I had not been fully transformed into perfection, I continued to be gripped by fear on seemingly futile nights of empty pages and silent inboxes, and visited by doubt on mornings that could have been beautiful had I been wearing my rose-colored spectacles.

I blamed God.  I questioned God. I begged of God to speak through my doubt and make me a happier, more hopeful person.  He who had carried me through all my unpreparedness in life, all my dependence, all my little indiscretions of the mind and heart - He always got the blame.

Someone told me that in this time alone, I should not expect all my life's questions to be answered.  Perhaps, he said, it was time to face the questions.

But the questions could be dark and depressing.  Certainly, they were not pleasant to the eye and warm to the touch.  They were cold and lifeless and unyielding.  I wanted everything to be handed to me on a silver platter, with a silver fork to consume it with.  I did not want to go through isolation and uncertainty.

There were days, not many, when I would grow tired of reflecting, and I would get restless.  I would look up options not really consistent with my life's direction.  I would make plans that had no signs of my passion.

Another wise fellow shared withe me that when he and his wife left the city for a while and tried provincial life, they got to know themselves better.  What he said was already familiar to me; however, the confirmation was real and reassuring. It was going to be worth it.  Jumping, leaping, to stay hungry and foolish, leaving behind all self-judgment at the lateness of the choice, closing my eyes to the doors that could lead to alternate lives where I could pretend to be another version of myself: happy enough, comfortable enough, and still asking questions; the words of those who had journeyed with me would be the silent force that would sustain me.

Something happened, both expected and unexpected, that displaced me once more.  That's why I had to sit, stop the aimless fluttering, and regain my bearings.  Where was I? Why did I go here again? Who did I want to become? What was being asked of me to do? What was the point of pursuing myself, when I could never be whole, when parts of me would always be scattered to the four corners of the earth?

I knew I needed faith, more than I had been used to.  No surprise there.  It was the grace which I needed all along.

Lifting Weights

I used to go to the gym regularly (yes, back in the day) and at one point even hired a personal trainer.

I don't remember if I wrote about this already. The analogy hit me again today, about my secret life as a (light)weight lifter.

Sometime in 2008, I signed up for thirty sessions with the PT just so I'd have someone reminding me of my workout sessions, assisting me during warmup, and directing me during the actual calorie-burning chores.  She did a good job, for before that I had zero desire to sweat like a pig.

I was, as expected, a major complainer.  I kept asking for lesser repetitions.  I made faces when she made me take heavier dumbbells.  I felt unglamorous as I sweated while my cute little PT just looked fresh-faced, all the time.  If she were not so fragile-looking, I would have hated her.  I preferred the dance classes but I had to go to them outside of actual PT sessions, which meant I had to spend more time at the gym than my lifestyle permitted. 

After less than a year of hitting the gym, I started to feel pain on my elbows.  I mentioned it to my PT and she said that she noticed a change in me as well.  That was when she told me that I had actually gained strength and was already able to obey her almost effortlessly, until that time.  I didn't know that I was particularly strong, or that I had improved.

It turned out that I overexerted myself during a business trip to a national lawyers' conference, as I had to bring heavy luggage containing CD Asia materials, and this resulted to a minor injury.  I experienced pain whenever I tried to lift heavy objects.  I had to stop going to the gym (and forego my remaining prepaid sessions), and instead went to a physical therapist.

Now, my spiritual direction sessions are starting to feel like work.  I want to make faces at my SD when he assigns me to look more closely at certain situations and feelings that I tell him about.  He said I had to endure the discomfort so I could deal with my emotions and let them point me to what they mean.

I just hope that I am gaining strength even  if I do not see it. That I am lifting incrementally heavier weights with less sweat and aches.  And I hope that I do not overexert myself outside of my SD sessions so that I don't get injured again.

I can't stand another injury.

Facing Failure 101

I just had coffee with a good friend, one of those blessed creatures who had it all - looks, brains, and talents. He told me how his past week had been difficult because he felt that he was last at everything and that was why he threw himself a pity party. He said he had low moments and expressed this to God in prayer.

I had to ask him if he was serious in thinking that he was inferior in any way, because from my vantage point he had no right to complain. At all. But he was genuinely insecure; worse, he wanted to be perfect. He could not live with failure, however insignificant it seemed. He wanted it all.

Who was I to criticize him, when I myself had bouts of insecurity especially the past few weeks when my worth was tested in various ways? In fact I had been feeding off my friends' encouragements just so I could keep going. I had failed to see my own brilliance and awesomeness, as one friend put it. Instead, I focused on my weaknesses (for there were many).

Even we Christians do not find it easy to face failure. We may succeed at it some of the time, but there are always areas which cause us to become human, and so we suffer from the pains of rejection and look at ourselves as the sorriest of God's creatures. We pray for the day when we can win that game, or get that award, or succeed at that venture that we think would really make us happy and contented for the rest of our lives. We compare ourselves to our friends and think of how much more blessed they are. Pride and envy are so deeply entrenched in our hearts that it is so hard to live by faith. We are shackled by these fears and feelings.

I do not have a concrete answer to this; nor do I want to put a spiritual band-aid to what my friend and I are suffering from. We obviously both need to work on our faith and to focus on the Lord's strength rather than at our personal weaknesses.

I did try to look for a verse from Scripture that could address the topic of failure. And it led me to this:

If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all, how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things. (Romans 8:31)

It is a daily struggle to let my hope be bigger than my fears. It is something I want to grow more into this week.

I am comforted by this, one of my most favorite verses:

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

I will face this challenge with confidence, hope, assurance, and faith in a God whom I know is for me. He knows me. He has my best interests at heart. He has my future in His hands.

As for my friend, I know he will have better days ahead. He is a saintly man, actually, and this episode is but a part of his journey.

Facing failure or any difficulty becomes a whole lot easier with a good friend who is able to see the best version of me, in a fraction of the way God sees me. And I do the same for my friend. I can see now that God will graciously give my friend and me all the things that we need. We just have to put our faith in that.