Happy Birthday, America

The script is faded now.  The parchment yellowed and brittle. The Declaration of Independence lies, encased in glass,  in a dimmed room of the National Archives.   I can’t tell you if, before today, I had ever read it word-for-word; beginning-to-end.  I think I must have at some point in my high school or college history classes, but I can’t remember anything except the looming signature of John Hancock and the opening words of Thomas Jefferson: 

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

There’s so much more here:  the outlining of grievances;  the recognition that overthrowing a government is a bold and last resort.   The declaration of our forefather’s efforts to maintain their link with Britain; to make the colony and the crown work together for the good of both.   But in the end, 56 men stood up and said:  ENOUGH.

America is founded on the idea and principles of freedom.  I think we take that for granted today.  I think we luxuriate in our complacency.   We denounce those who think differently than us as “Unamerican.”   We call them wackos, nutbags, zealots.  We decry their very existence in our country and in our democracy.  Right wing, left wing — it doesn’t matter.  Turning on the news, picking up a paper, reading blogs, scanning Facebook postings, forums, Twitter — everywhere we turn the impulse to silence the opposition is acted upon.  We are trying to silence those who disagree with us; we are acting as though only our opinion, and those who think like us, matter.  

Freedom is a responsibility.  A way of life that must be defended and guarded.   As Americans, we must fight against the tyranny of hatred, here in the United States more than anywhere.  We must fight to let those we disagree with have a voice — especially those we disagree with.     Religious freedom and tolerance is a cornerstone of our nation.   As is free speech, freedom of the press and a right to protect ourselves from those who would harm us.  As an American I have been granted an unalienable right to speak my mind, worship as I want, and vote for those who will lead me.    And the granting of those rights comes at a cost:  I must ensure those I disagree with have their rights protected.  I must ensure those who worship differently than I do are allowed to worship.  I must sacrifice myself to ensure respect and honor for those who differ with me.  And I must trust they will do the same.  

Freedom affords the opportunity for dialogue.  For interchange.  For innovative solutions to complex problems.  

Unfortunately, it also affords the opportunity for oppression.  For drowning out the minority voice; the minority opinion.  It affords the opportunity for it’s own destruction.

Today, 233 years after the ratification of the Declaration of Independence our experiment in democracy and liberty remains unfinished. It is our turn now, to pick up the mantle and move our nation forward.

Long live the United States of America.   

The threat of cancer.

The oncology surgeon says it’s 60/40 in favor of cancer.  It’s not the odds I wanted, but it’s what he thinks.  

It’s hard to describe what I’m feeling.  We have no certainty.  Just probability and odds and expert surmises.  We know for certain something is wrong; we know it’s size, it’s location, it’s presence.  But we don’t know it’s nature, it’s entanglements, it’s ultimate threat.  It’s hard to concentrate on the 40% benign option.  It’s easy to be sucked into the 60% cancer thinking.

I don’t want to be sick.  I want to be strong; I want to be healthy.  

I don’t know how to ask my friends to carry me.  I don’t know how to let others be in control of my life.  And I don’t know how I am going to fight to put me first.

I can learn, though.  And learn I will.  If it’s cancer, we’ll beat it.  If it’s not, we’ll rejoice.   

I am certain only of this:  I want to live and I want to live a life in service to others.   

So I won’t count myself out and I won’t give in and I won’t feel sorry for what I’m going through.  I will, instead, find  a way to make a difference from a hospital bed and a recovery ward.

And I will ask my friends to help me.

Val’s Portland Chin-Up Tour

Mike calls my trip to Portland this weekend my “chin-up tour.”  We came down for a few appointments on Friday and intended to leave on Saturday morning after fitting in a trip to Powell’s, a walk on the river front, a good meal in the Pearl District and a quiet night in the hotel reading together.

Didn’t turn out that way.

So Mike headed home on Saturday morning and I got about the business of creating the Chin-Up Tour.   I did what every woman I know would do; called some friends, booked some spa and headed out in search of cool shops and delicious wine.  

The weather was gorgeous this weekend.   Walking along the river osprey, herons, bald eagles and kayakers all competed for my attention.  Mt. Hood reached for the sky, a quiet presence, a quiet reminder of peace and serenity and strength.

Portland Spa and Boutique is right along the Columbia River and is nestled between a couple of nondescript store fronts.  Calm and quiet, with water features everywhere.  A glass of cool water and an invitation to disrobe and soon i was on the table relaxing with a heated towel on my neck.  Ah.

I found my favorite new place, Thirst, a wonderful wine bar and bistro with outside seating overlooking the marina.   They serve great wines from the Pacific and have a daily Pinot Noir.  I have had it each day we’ve been here and if my luck holds, I’ll sneak tomorrow’s Pinot of the Day in before I hit the train.  They serve local cheeses and Salumi cured meats, olive flights with great bread.  The service is a bit lacking in it’s attention to detail, but the food, wine and scenery is outstanding.    The Pinots from Daedalus Cellars and Witness Tree were both delicious.   I had post-massage wine sitting in the sun reading the latest Ann Perry, and then a nap.  And it was back to Thirst for a late evening glass with my friend John.

Today I trundled back to the spa for a pedicure and a great cup of coffee, then met up with my friends Ro and Dave who had come up from Eugene.  We hit O’Conners for lunch in Multnomah, the off to Patagonia, REI and the NW district.  We went up to NW 23rd in search of a The Dapper Cap, a fabulous little hat store with over 2500 hats for men, women and children.  Three hats and a hat box later we’re walking back down 23rd ducking into local shops full of wonderful treats by local artists; food, jewelry, clothes, purses, shoes and more.

Then of course, back to Thirst!

Dave and Ro Ann headed back to Eugene and I headed up to my room to read Thirty-Three Teeth by Colin Cotterill and bask in the glory of my Chin-Up Tour.

Tomorrow, it’s back to reality and more visits to the OHSU doctors.

We are the world.

Michael Jackson isn’t really my cup of tea.  And the circus surrounding his death puts me off.  Yet Michael Jackson remains an important historical figure for my generation and I cannot simply dismiss him with a ‘good riddance’ and be done with it. 

Like it or not, Michael Jackson influenced the music of my time and made an indelible mark on an entire generation.   But it’s not Thriller or Pretty Young Thing that I most remember him for.  It’s his work on United Support of Artists for Africa.  Watching and listening to this recording session reminded me that there is more to most of us than meets the eye.  I am reminded we all can do more than we are to help those around us.  

Margaret Mead reminds us that the only thing that has ever changed the world are the efforts of a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens.  For all his quirks, flaws, foibles and tragedy, Michael Jackson banded together a group of artists for a common cause.  And that’s how I choose to remember him.   Good-bye, Michael.  Thank you for the music.

Health Care

I’ve never really, really needed health care before.  I’ve always been able to get in to see my Doc or get a massage, visit the PT, see the Chiropractor, have stitches put in, and all those routine things.   My parents, aunts, uncles, in-laws — that older generation – has always needed care but they’ve had medicare to help and it’s all be sort of once-removed for me.   

A few years ago when my Mom got so sick the hospital and her doctors took great care of her, as did the nursing center where she lived for the next two and a half years.  She’s home now and when I was talking to my sister this morning, the visiting nurse arrived to check on mom.   Yes, there’s been headaches with paperwork, and sometimes Gail had to really push the doctors, but Mom’s been taken care of.  When my father-in-law, at age 89, got pneumonia in New London, Connecticut the nurses, doctors and hospital staff were amazing, truly.    It wasn’t until we got back to Seattle when we started to feel the need to push the system to help us.  It seemed to us that they saw an old man and decided it didn’t matter.   

And then my Dad got sick last year and when he really needed care, the emergency room failed him.  Again, I think they saw and old guy and figured it didn’t really matter.  Once he was in the hospital, after several trips to emergency, they took great care of him until he died.  There were some issues, but in general, we felt he was well cared for and we knew Medicare would cover the bills and not burden my mother.

And now I need health care.  The kind that makes noted surgeons scratch their heads and send residents off to consult with other doctors.   It would be easy for me to get passed around, but that’s not happening here at Oregon Health and Sciences University (OHSU).  Yesterday I saw a world-class neurosurgeon (Stanford, UW, University of Virginia, and hospitals across the US and UK).  He literally sent his 5th-year resident up the tram to the main campus to bring my MRI films to another surgeon.  That surgeon was in surgery.  He looked at my films, consulted with my doctor, and then my doctor scheduled a consultation for me with the 2nd doctor and they will team-manage my care.  WOW.  Collaboration and communication in real time.  I saw another specialist in the afternoon and she had already pre-consulted with other doctors about my situation and was prepared to share as much as she could.   She was honest, kind and generous with her time.

Back in Seattle, I still have only been able to get one appointment, a week from now, for a general consultation.   I know I am getting expedited care at OHSU because I have a friend and advocate in the system.  But that’s only part of it.  You don’t change how doctors work because a friend asked for it.  Oh that ask may get you past the scheduler and the test results back a little quicker, but the fundamental principles of collaboration and communication don’t change.

As we face the health care crisis here in the US, I hope we build in incentives for working together and not just for more tests.