Conversation Stoppers

My father-in-law never met a stranger.  He could turn to an unknown person standing behind him in line and start up a conversation.  He could turn to a person he had never met seated beside him in the theater or concert hall and begin visiting like a long-lost friend.

He had an enormous supply of “conversation starters.”  He might ask, “Have you lived in this area long?” or observe “Your hands look like they’ve seen some hard work over the years” or “Your accent reminds me of New York. Have you ever lived there?”  His “conversation starters” always conveyed his personal interest and curiosity about the unknown person.  Such an approach never failed to get the stranger talking about himself or herself like a new friend.

I admired my father-in-law’s ability to quickly and gently break through social barriers with his “conversation starters.”  But I wish I could consult with him about some problems I am currently having with “conversation stoppers”.

In my present state of declining health, I am discovering that common phrases I used to take for granted are becoming “conversation stoppers.”  That is, phrases such as “How are you?” temporarily stops conversation as I consider whether I should answer truthfully or kindly.  Does my friend really care enough to listen for 20 minutes to my description of my most recent breathing challenges and weakness?  Or should I be kinder to their limits of concern and time schedule and just answer “I’m OK.”

“Surely you’ll get better soon,” is another of those “conversation stopper” phrases.  How should I respond?  Should I answer honestly?  “Excuse me.  You don’t seem to understand my situation.  I’m not going to get better.  I am going to slowly and steadily get worse until I die!”  It is far kinder to say, “Thank you.  I hope so, too!”  Since I don’t like to upset friends or other people, that is my usual comeback.

Another “conversation stopper” I’ve had to deal with several times is the stranger who approaches me in a public place and asks,”May I pray for you?”  I am not used to being prayed for in public. On the other hand, I am deeply grateful for prayer support from my many friends, so innocently I’ve said “Yes.”  What has followed several times is a lengthy prayer spoken aloud in a commanding voice instructing God exactly what God is to do for me!

Now don’t misunderstand me, friends.  I believe in God and I believe in the power of prayer.  I even believe in God’s healing power, but I also believe that acceptance of God’s love - even in an unwanted form - is more important than demanding God to perform a miracle!  I must confess that these events embarrassed me.  After a quick and quiet “Thank you” I went looking for some private place where I could offer my apologies to God!

“Conversation stoppers” continue to pop up from time to time.  I have not yet figured out what to do with them.  Do you have any suggestions?

I Know You!

On May 14, 2019 I was an outpatient at Mount Carmel St Ann’s Hospital in Westerville, Ohio for the surgical placement of a pacemaker. A friend had taken me to the hospital with a 7:30 am arrival for a 9:30 am procedure. After I was prepared for the procedure staff called my friend to sit with me until I would be taken for the surgery.

Following the placement of the pacemaker I returned to the same room as before for a time of recovery and observation. The nursing staff allowed my friend to spend some additional time with me before he needed to leave for an appointment. But they told him that I would be ready to meet him if he would be at the main entrance of the hospital at 3:30 pm.

I rested comfortably for those several hours and even enjoyed some tasty food and at least one nap. I remember looking at the clock at 3:00 pm and thinking that I was still in a hospital gown and had an IV in my arm. I began to wonder whether it would be possible to get dressed, go through all the discharge routines and still be at the main entrance by 3:30 pm. So I pressed the nurse call button. 

The call was answered by somebody whom I had not seen previously that day, but she explained that my nurse was helping somebody else. Was there anything she could do for me. I explained about the 3:30 promise and asked about getting dressed and the discharge, but she said wait another ten minutes.

Then, she looked closely at me and said, “I know you!” Quite honestly, I did not recognize her, but I told her all the units of the hospital where I had been in the last month related to my diagnosis and heart valve surgery and recovery.

No, she said, she had not been working any of those areas.

Well, I said, I had an aortic valve replaced in 2015.

“Yes,” she said, “I was working on One East at that time. I was on night shift the first night you were in the step-down unit and I was watching the monitors in the nurses station when you flat-lined.

I went running to your room and by the time I had gotten there you had come around all by yourself. Normally we need to do chest massage, but you revived all by yourself.”

She went on to tell how she called my wife with the update and how they transferred me back to the ICU for additional observation.

I had to acknowledge to myself that even though she recognized me after three and a half years, I did not recognize her. I thanked her profusely for recognizing me and for retelling that story.

The Poverty Puzzle

My declining health has put us in a new and unfamiliar situation.  For the first time in our lives we are having to hire household help.  Our employed caregivers are only in our home for five hours each day because most of the time we can manage on our own,  But it’s been a learning experience for us in many ways.

Our caregivers are women, in their early 20’s or middle aged, and almost all of them are west African immigrants.  Some came to the States as children and others are more recent arrivals.  Quite a few are preparing for, or currently enrolled in, higher education, especially in nursing or social work.

They’ve given us a different outlook on the problems of poverty.  Listening to their stories, we learn how difficult it is for a single mother to raise four children by herself on minimum wage; the life-long effects of a chaotic childhood; the dire results of  disasterous marriages and unexpected pregnancies; the stresses of being profiled by police; the struggle to find the money to pay off a traffic ticket or to save for college; the trick to saving your job when your car has been totaled!  It’s the “personal and underside” of poverty that we are not used to seeing or hearing about.

It reminds me of a jigsaw puzzle my sister once had.  It was circle-shaped and on the top side showed a lovely nature picture of flowers and trees.  That same picture appeared on the back side of the puzzle, too, but at a 90 degree angle from the front!  So maintaining the proper perspective was essential to working out the puzzle.

Most of us who are fairly comfortable financially spend our time looking at the top of the poverty puzzle.  We probably agree with my nephew’s analysis when he was working with a home repair ministry in a poor section of a big city.  “The problem with poor people,” he would say,”is that they have no money!”  So, staring at the top side of the poverty puzzle, we decide the solution is that the poor should “get a job”, “stop buying alcohol and junk food”, “go to college and get a better education”, “stop having so many children”, and on and on with shallow advice.

However, there is another side to the problem of poverty: the underside of the puzzle where the angles of reality’s picture run differently than on the top side.  The poor are more familiar with this view where a dark skin is the same as a black mark; where prejudices and unwritten rules limit all available opportunities; where, despite many laws, housing, education, health care, and voting rights are limited.  The picture is not as pretty on the underside because it is in black and white.  White is considered normal and black is out of place.

One of the major differences between these two worlds is in what each values.  The economy of the wealthy on the top side of the puzzle counts value only in dollars and cents,  Anything that cannot be measured in dollar signs is not considered valuable.  Only money counts.

But the underside of the puzzle, the world of the poor, considers value in a different way.  There, compassion, community, and cooperation are as important as dollars and cents. Caring for one another, working together, and forming supportive networks is a kind of wealth they understand.  This is the currency that has enabled the poor to survive when money is scarce or absent.

I asked one of our hired helpers why so many of them from west Africa were attracted to such caregiving work.  She replied,” That’s what we do in our home country. We take care of our sick or aged family members in our homes.”  Community, compassion, and cooperation at work.

Sometimes this type of currency is forged into crime, violence or intoxicants because it, too, can be contaminated with the worship of money.  This economy of three Cs is mostly ignored by those caught up in the dollars and cents value system.

However, community, compassion and cooperation is a currency practiced worldwide wherever money is scarce.  People learn to care for others, especially family and neighbors.  They work together to solve problems and form communities from which any can draw help when needed.  Could it solve the poverty puzzle if we all could learn to value both systems?

Playing the Numbers

One of the social sins that can impoverish us ethically and financially is gambling.  “Playing the numbers” is something that I have never wanted to try,  By nature I am a “penny pincher” so I cannot even imagine taking chances with money.  I agree with a friend who used to say, “I’ve been blessed financially.  I’ve had enough money to buy everything I needed and some of the things I’ve wanted.  But I’ve never had enough money to risk throwing it away!”

But I am discovering that there are non-monetary ways of “playing the numbers” and I have little choice but to play.  My aging and scarred lungs cannot take in as much oxygen as my body requires.  So I have to give them supplemental oxygen constantly in order for my body to function. 

I wear a little`device around my neck - an oximeter - that tells me numerically whether my body is getting enough oxygen.  At 90% or more, I’m at a functional level.  If the reading is in the 80s or 70s, my body is getting “oxygen hungry” and needs a boost.  I can usually tell  by the way my body feels but sometimes a spell of “oxygen starvation” can come on quickly.  Then I have to check the oximeter reading to make sure what is going on!  So even though I’ve never wanted to gamble, life and declining health are forcing me to “play the numbers” frequently!

Several weeks ago a friend and a hired helper took me to an appointment at my lung doctor’s office while Bruce was recuperating from his heart surgery in the hospital.  The doctor’s staff always invites me to use their oxygen tank to save use on my own tank.  We were talking together paying no attention to the oxygen tank when suddenly I began to rapidly get very short of breath.  My oximeter reported low 70s.  I was in trouble!

I glanced at the oxygen tank I was connected to -- and it was empty!  The staff quickly got me connected back to my own tank and I could breathe again.  What a relief!

We headed home from the doctor’s office and I got out of the car to walk into the house -  but could not even stand up.  My own tank of oxygen had run empty and my number was at 55%!  I was in big trouble!  I was losing consciousness as they quickly got me into the wheelchair we were wise enough to take along.  I don’t know how they got me into the house and re-connected to my oxygen concentrator, but they did it somehow!  (The concentrator is a machine that converts room air into oxygen and so provides a constant supply.)

It took several hours to recover from that event but it did teach me to check more often to see how much oxygen there is left in a tank!

We’ve learned a lot in the past 18 months about the use and care of a supplemental oxygen system.  But, even so, it still often feels like a gamble, a game of chance.  I’m  “playing the numbers” to survive.  But perhaps that is the penance I must do for passing judgment on other people’s sins!

MarySue Helstern Rosenberger

27 May 2019

Dem Bones

Do you remember the Negro spiritual about “Dem Bones”?  It’s a musical description of part of a vision the Lord gave to the prophet Ezekiel. That revelation is recorded in chapter 37 of the Old Testament book that bears the prophet’s name.

The Lord takes Ezekiel into a valley full of dry bones and asks him, “Can these bones live?”  The prophet does not know the answer to that question, but when he speaks the words given to him by the Lord, “suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone…” (vs.7).

The song “Dem Bones” picks up on the image of the bones reconnecting and declares in the chorus “Dem bones, dem bones gonna’ live again. Oh hear the word of the Lord.”   The verses then picture exactly how those bones were put back together again: “The toe bone connected to the foot bone,
            the foot bone connected to the ankle bone,
            the ankle bone connected to the leg bone,
            the leg bone connected to the hip bone,
            the hip bone connected to the back bone,
            the back bone connected to the neck bone,   
            the neck bone connected to the head bone.
           Oh, hear the word of the Lord.”

I was reflecting on this image of re-connecting dry bones when a question popped into my mind: I wonder what the “lung bone” is connected to?  (Now friends, I successfully completed two courses in anatomy - one in college and one in nursing school - so I know there are no bones inside the lungs!  But that is the question that came to me!)

What IS the “lung bone” connected to?  I confess I think about my lungs quite often these days as they struggle to perform their respiratory responsibilities.  I’d be delighted to hear the word of the Lord about what lies ahead but I had not thought about connectedness.  Does my “lung bone” feel disconnected and alone like I sometimes do?

Of course not!  My “lung bone” is connected to my “heart bone,” the center of human life and vitality.  They work together, strengthening each other and me.  And my “heart bone” is connected to the “heart bones” of other people!  Every kind thought, warm greeting, or supportive prayer your “heart bone” sends my way strengthens my “heart bone” and empowers my “lung bone” to keep on keeping on! Thank you, thank you!  Perhaps that is as much of the word of the Lord as I can understand at this point in my life!

30 April 2019 - mshr

The Fine Art of Napping

  The Fine Art of Napping

No, I’m not talking about kid-napping or dog-napping, or theft of anything tangible. I’m referring to those blissful moments when I can close my eyes, lean my head back, relax all my muscles, and perhaps sleep!

This kind of napping is the most frequent item on my daily schedule these days. There’s a little variety with occasional doctor’s appointments but the rest of my time seems to be filled with naps. Since I am napping so often, I decided to do a bit of personal research on that phenomenon. The findings are still tentative because I have slept through most of them!

Why nap?  Because babies and cats should not be the only ones able to enjoy this pleasure.  All of us deserve times to close our eyes, turn down our ears, and drop out of our chaotic life and confusing world for few minutes.  Personally, I nap because I don’t have the energy to do anything else!

Where to nap?  Nearly anywhere, with some important exceptions.  Never nap in the driver’s seat of a vehicle that is moving, whether it is an airplane, a car, a riding lawn mower or a bicycle. Also, avoid napping while you are swimming or scuba diving. Unfortunate consequences could result if you ignore these warnings.

It’s usually best to nap on your own property.  However, allowances are often made for quiet naps in the theater during a boring play or concert or in church if the pastor gets too long-winded in the sermon.  If you nap in a public place, it’s fun to choose a visibly unstable position and then watch the expressions on the faces of those who pass by as you drift off to La La Land.

When to nap?  Anytime is great, whether you are tired, bored, or want to escape an unpleasant task awaiting you.  It’s usually advisable to allow time between snoozes for a meal or two, and maybe a bathroom break.

We usually consider naps to be daytime diversions.  However, if you are unlucky enough to have to work the “graveyard shift” during the night hours, naps are even more refreshing than in the daytime.  I detested the 11 to 7 shift but, of course, in health care had to work my share of those night hours.  I can’t count how many times I would wake up with my head resting on a stack of patient charts not yet signed off!

How to nap?  Everybody knows how to nap.  We were born doing it but growing up has taught us some bad habits such as taking on responsibilities and then worrying about how we will carry them out.  But if you can repent of adulthood for a few minutes, lie or sit down in a comfortable position, close your eyes, then imagine some beautiful places where you have been.  Before you know it, you will have traveled through Drowsytown and arrived in Slumberville.  That was easy, wasn’t it?  (The hard part is getting awake again!)

But naps do not necessarily involve sleep. A relax-a-nap is also quite restful.  That is when you stretch out, close your eyes, carefully rest all your muscles, but DO NOT fall asleep.  It may take some practice but you can get to the point when your friends and associates can’t tell whether you are napping or relax-a-napping, especially if your face is hidden behind a large and boring book! When you get that good at relax-a-napping, listen carefully! You may hear some very interesting comments made around you -- and maybe even some comments about you!

Well, dear readers, I must go now.  You see, it’s time for my nap!

MarySue Helstern Rosenberger

16 April 2019

Saying Goodbye

 Goodbye, Adios, Auf Wiedersehn, Au Revoir, Chao ong ba, So long, 

On this journey toward the river between this life and the next, 

I must say “goodbye” too often.  

Sometimes out loud; sometimes silently; 

sometimes bitterly, never joyfully.  

Sometimes there are tears; sometimes happy memories, 

but never eagerness.

Such a harsh word! 

Now I understand a resident who refused to use it.  

As a gentler alternative, 

she chose the Spanish phrase “Vaya con Dios” (Go with God).  

I like that.  

It’s more like opening a window than closing a door!

 Family and friends will understand,

  But what about non-human things I must part with? 

- dreams and goals that will never be realized

- the things I enjoyed doing

- my independence and self-sufficiency

- setting my own schedule and use of time

- the stuff I treasured  

- the broader world beyond the walls of my home

 I miss them all. 

How can I properly take leave

of those important - but intangible - realities?

But I do not travel alone.

  Memories linger 

and love never leaves me. 

Emmanuel is my Companion and Guide, 

and when I reach that river, 

“God with us” will be my Bridge into eternity.  

Go with God, indeed!

9 April 2019 mshr