Monday, February 18, 2019

Chasing the Wind

How much of my life I have spent chasing the wind,
and I haven’t caught it yet!
As a little girl, I loved feeling its gusts
rumple through my tidy pigtails.
 A teen on a bike, I delighted when its hidden strength 
pushed me down the road.
In adult years, I sometimes chased the wind
down paths designed for others,
Or let it pull me toward goals 
too high for me to reach.
I also pursued that breeze toward unknown adventures
down roads that others avoided,
So they missed the precious and profound experiences
those pathways held.

In recent years, I still chase the wind,  
but slower and in a different way.
I now chase the wind that comes from
oxygen tanks, a concentrator, and a nasal cannula.
I must constantly monitor myself
to make sure I have enough wind to keep going.

But I also chase a different wind:
A Holy Wind, a strong, divine Wind
Ru’ah, Pneuma,
The Holy Spirit.
This time I know I will catch the wind
because that loving Wind
Is also chasing me!


18Feb 2019 - mshr

Saturday, February 16, 2019

It’s Unanimous

Unlike current politicians, my health caregivers all agree.  My lung doctor, his nurse practitioner, my primary care physician, and our patient care advocate all say that I have lost the precious gift of longevity. None of them think I will make it to 100 years of age!

My scarring lungs have jumped to the next higher level of limitations and my health care professionals have all helped me get the additional equipment I am needing.  They have strongly suggested I enroll in palliative care at the local hospital home health.  This gives Bruce resources and a support system to call upon when needed.

You see, within the past couple of weeks after that thief broke into my body and stole most of my energy, both Bruce and I have had to make some major changes in our daily routines.  I now require twice as much oxygen 24/7 as I did before.  After two weeks of having to depend upon Bruce and a wheelchair, I am just now beginning to be able to walk around the house a little. I sleep ten to twelve hours per day and spend the rest of the time sitting quietly reading, doing handwork, or praying.

Our only social engagements these days are doctors’ appointments and Bruce spends much of his time monitoring my oxygen supply, picking up my prescriptions and running errands.  And oh what a God-send he is!  He is not only my “go fer...” but also my cook, bottlewasher, housekeeper, oxygen expert, personal care assistant, my emotional rock of stability, my companion, and through it all, my best friend.

It’s an enormous adjustment to make.  I often feel like the ball in a fast-paced ping-pong game: a fragile little object batted first one way toward sadness and loss, and then the other way, back toward gratitude and thanksgiving.  I have no idea how long the game will last - that part of the game God keeps secret! - or whether there will someday be one hefty smash that will shatter my little self!

That game, however, has no losers.  When my “ping-pong ball” life finally runs out of energy and breath, I will then be freed of all oxygen tubes and tanks, wheelchair and assistive devices, and limitations!  “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, free at last.”  And that’s unanimous, too!


16 February 2019 - mshr

Thursday, February 7, 2019

I've Been Robbed!

Yes, that’s right. I’ve been robbed! A thief broke in a stole some very valuable things from me. Nothing of monetary value, but lots of things more precious to me than expensive possessions.

You see, last Thursday I woke up to find my energy gone and my stamina. Much of my breath had been taken and I had barely enough to talk in short sentences. Unfortunately, my cough had not been taken. My peaceful mood had taken a hit and I thought my sense of humor was gone. Thank goodness I found it later buried under layers of other emotions.

But my independence has disappeared and my connections to the outside world. My plans for the future are gone.

The good news is that the thief has been caught and locked up. The bad news is that his name is Pulmon Ary Fibrosis.  He is part of the large Fibrosis family involved in many types of disorganized crime.  He is confined in my lungs.

There is hope for relief however.  I don’t expect to get back what has been taken from me. But if I turn up my piped-in oxygen and sit still doing nothing, my breathing is eased and the whole world looks brighter.  So apparently I’ve moved into a new relationship with my indwelling thief. I wonder what he will steal from me next.

6 February 2019  MarySue H. Rosenberger

Sunday, January 20, 2019

BLACK SHEEP OR VICTIM?

There is a mystery living in our family tree.  David Wineland was my mother’s grandfather.  On October 23, 1887 Wineland shot William H. Dietz in front of his billiard hall on the street in Girard, Illinois.  Dietz died early in December as a result of that wound.

A jury of six men of the community was appointed by the county coroner on the eighth day of December,1887, after Dietz’ death.  They heard testimony of six witnesses to the shooting and concluded that “William H. Dietz of Girard came to his death by a pistol shot in the hands of David Wineland.”

Each witness reported they had heard a heated public argument between the two men and saw the night security officer trying to quiet Dietz and restrain him from pursuing Wineland.  Witness S.S. Garst reported Dietz was “using some very rough language” to the security officer R. Collins.  Dietz then turned his vile language on Wineland, who was backing away from his attacker and responding “Don’t let him come here... Don’t crowd me!”

Dietz broke free from Collins’ grasp and pursued Wineland saying “You son of a bitch.  You are [a] coward; you are afraid to shoot.”  Wineland drew his revolver and shot Dietz.  The local doctor, R.C. Cowen, immediately took over the care of the wounded man as Officer Collins took “the revolver from Wineland” who was arrested without incident.  No weapon was found on Dietz. 

Available court records do not include the sentence handed down to Wineland.  A local newspaper article reporting on the event, however, says, “Wineland is now under a heavy bond to the circuit court and at home.”

What was the cause of this violent argument, you may ask?  Family gossip has always said that it was over the price of a hog that one man had sold to the other!

Wineland led a troubled and tragic life, but why?  He was born in 1840 and raised in Montgomery County, Ohio, the son of parents who were faithful and active members of the German Baptist Brethren faith community.  This group was often called “Dunkers” because of their method of baptism.  They were a pious, quiet, law-abiding people for whom the church was the center of their lives. Most were farmers and they kept their distance from the wider society.  Their plain clothes identified them as distinctive when business made it necessary for them to mingle with “the world.”

David Wineland, however, seems to have been shaped by a different mold.  He would maintain his Dunker loyalty all his life, but other influences must have impacted him greatly.  His arrest in Girard, Illinois was not his first encounter with public conflict.

During the years of the Civil War, 1863 to 1865, there were in the Northern states some who supported the cause of the Confederacy and opposed the war.  Their official name was “The Peace Democrats” but their opponents called them “copperheads” after the venomous snake of coppery-pink color.  Ohio, especially Montgomery County, was a hotbed of Copperhead sentiment.

David Wineland, in his early twenties, came under their influence and apparently was not reluctant to share his unpopular anti-war views in public.  Family gossip includes a tale of Wineland having to leave Dayton, Ohio quickly, before the tar and feathers arrived!

After the War between the States was over, David seems to have spent much time in the home of Jacob Ulrich and Hannah Studebaker Stutsman of Elkhart County, Indiana.  They, too, were part of the Dunker community in northern Indiana and may have been acquaintances of his parents.

On February 4 of 1896, Wineland married their daughter Susanna.  Not long after their marriage, they and her parents moved west to Macoupin County, Illinois for unknown reasons.  They settled near the town of Girard in the southern part of the state where there was a thriving Dunker community who welcomed them.  The church house of the Pleasant Hill Dunker congregation was located outside of town and included a large, open area of land which became the official cemetery for its members.  It is well maintained to this day. 


Getting settled in this new location, Wineland’s life was immediately caught up in a tug-of-war between birth and death, gains and losses.  He and Susanna welcomed their first child, a son, in November of 1896.  One year later, Jacob Stutsman, died leaving son-in-law David Wineland as the only bread winner for their household of four.  Another year brought another mouth to feed when a newborn daughter joined their family.

A second son arrived in 1876 and daughter number two was added in 1878.  Wineland was now somehow supporting a family of seven.  As was the custom of the day, they no doubt had a garden and raised much of their own food.  The 1880 census, however, gives us a clue when it describes “David Wineland” as a “mill owner.”  Two more children joined the family: a son in 1880 and a daughter, Rhoda, in 1882.  That youngest child was my mother’s mother.

However, life’s tug-of-war was pulling David Wineland down again.  In December of 1884, his wife Susanna died at 36 years of age.  Suddenly he was the single parent of six children between the ages of fifteen and two and a half years.  Only his aged mother-in-law was available to help him keep the home secure and the family together.  Susanna was buried in Pleasant Hill Cemetery near her father.

The local newspaper, reporting on Wineland’s shooting of Dietz in October of 1887, identified him as “a carpenter,” not as the owner of a business.  It also included the observation that Wineland was “under the influence of liquor” at the time of that event.  Had he discovered that alcohol deadened his grief more effectively than his faith?

One more tragedy awaited him.  Local newspaper reports describe it best.

THE INDEPENDENT of Hawarden, Sioux County, Iowa
“Revenge
Girard, Ill, March 29 [1888] – ....This afternoon as Wineland was walking along the street with his little girl [Rhoda] James Dietz, ten years old, the adopted son of W.H. Dietz, slipped up behind him and shot him in the back, using a 32-caliber bulldog....The wound is pronounced very serious if not fatal.  The boy was immediately arrested.  He says that no one put him up to the act; that Wineland had killed his father, and it made him mad to see him walking around, so he thought he would shoot him.  The boy was taken to Carlinville to be confined in the county jail to await his examination.”

THE EVENING BULLETIN of Maysville, Ky, Monday, April 2, 1888
He Fulfilled His Promise
Carlinville, Ill., April 2 – David Wineland, who was shot at Girard,Thursday afternoon by ... Dietz the 12-year old boy, has died from his wounds.  The boy was brought here and placed in jail.  He is perfectly cool and self-possessed, and acknowledged that he did the shooting.  When told of the result of his act he seemed satisfied, and remarked that he had only fulfilled a promise he had made to his dying father.”

           David Wineland died March 28,1888 in Girard, Illinois.  He, too, is buried in Pleasant Hill Cemetery near, but not in the same row, as his other family members. Someone remembers him, however, and has honored him with a new headstone.  

But our question remains unanswered: Was David Wineland really a black sheep in his sedate, law-abiding family?  Did he intentionally make bad decisions that harmed himself and others? Or was he just  the victim of tragic circumstances beyond his control?

19 Jan 2019 - mshr

Monday, January 14, 2019

THREE STEPS FORWARD - BIG LEAP BACK

Chemotherapy was finished in early October.  Other than nausea, vomiting, exhaustion, weight loss and hair loss, it went quite smoothly.  One step forward.

Radiation was completed in late October.  Other than the tiresome daily schedule for seven weeks and some heartburn and swallowing problems, it, too, went smoothly.  Forward step two.

In early December, we began forward step three.  My cancer doctor began a treatment for me with an immunotherapy drug he had researched.  It was designed not to kill remaining cancer cells  but to strengthen my own immune system to prevent them from spreading.  I had no problems with the first treatment I received.

A week later I began coughing.  Breathing problems are a known possible side effect of that new drug.  So, when I saw the backup cancer doctor a week later, he did not give me the second treatment of it.  Instead, he ordered a short course of antibiotics and steroids.

A week later, when I saw my regular doctor again, I was a bit better.  But he decided not to give me the second dose until he was sure it was not making my pulmonary fibrosis worse.  He did not order any follow up on the medications because my cough was a little better.

The next day I got sick.  I had no fever but the cough was worse, I was short of breath, and too weak to do anything active.  The short course of steroids had jacked up my blood sugars way too high. For some unknown reason, I had taken a big leap backward!

My primary care doctor developed a sliding scale of insulins to try to control my blood sugar levels.  My lung doctor showed me the shadows in my chest X-ray and gave me a longer course of a stronger antibiotic and more steroids.  The cancer doctor asked himself aloud, “Is this a fluke or is it related to that new immunotherapy drug?”

The one thing they all agreed on is this: “You are sick.”  But why? And from what cause?  They do not know but have mentioned pneumonitis, viral pneumonia, or some bacterial infection.

In the midst of this dilemma we got a phone call from the long-term care facility where our names are on the waiting list: a room was available if we were interested.  Was this some kind of an omen of what lay ahead?  We trusted our instincts that one room would be too small for the two of us, and we declined.

Then, to push my progress back even further, we received a sizeable bill from the hospital.   Through all this lengthy adventure in the health care system, this was the first bill we had received.  My Medicare and Medigap secondary insurance had covered everything.  Bruce did some extensive research in my online insurance records and discovered it is hospital error!

I’m trying to think optimistically that the current antibiotic is helping me feel better.  But I’m eager to read the next chapter of my ongoing saga of “Surviving the Healthcare System”!  Will I be going forward or back?

13 Jan 2019 - mshr

Saturday, October 27, 2018

PRO-SEMITISM

“Mass shooting at Pittsburgh synagogue.”: NBC news, 27 October 20-18


God’s Chosen People
– the Jews –
have been hunted down through the centuries
and murdered in their innocence.
Why?
Is it the jealousy and envy
of those of us on the outside
who want their divine blessing?

Jesus Christ
– God’s own Self –
was hunted down and
murdered in his innocence.

Perhaps those of us called by His name
would kill less
and be martyred more
if we were really true
to His claim on our lives!


27Oct2018 - mshr

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Ringing the Bell

In many cancer centers the custom of ringing the bell marks the end of active treatment for cancer.  Today MarySue had her thirty-fourth and final radiation treatment for lung cancer. Immediately after that treatment, the Zangmeister Cancer Center staff invited her to "ring the bell" to celebrate.  

We realize that the cancer fighting effects of chemotherapy and radiation will continue for several weeks after active treatment.  Thus, we may not know for some time what the results of treatment have been, but she is already experiencing less coughing and easier breathing.  We look forward to the results of a CT scan scheduled for the last week of November.