Health | Crone Story

5 Things Rheumatoid Disease Patients Wish You Knew

Posted on February 2, 2016 by K.S. Schultz

A Rheumatoid Disease diagnosis leads to a double life. Thanks to new treatments, many of us have hours every day when we appear to participate in life just as you do. There are also private hours spent soaking in Epsom salt baths, taking pain medications, going to doctor’s appointments and physical therapy, meditating, exercising, journaling, supporting one another online, wearing compression gloves and socks, applying cold and hot packs, applying menthol creams and patches, dipping our hands in hot paraffin, napping, taking hot showers, and wearing splints and braces, all to possibly have a few precious hours of normal, or as close to it as we can get. Sometimes it works, and sometimes the disease rules our day and all we can do is rest and take comfort measures. This aspect makes traditional employment challenging for Rheumatoid Disease patients, 60% of which are disabled within 10 years of diagnosis.

Different than Osteo-Arthritis, Rheumatoid Disease is an auto-immune disorder that affects people of all ages, even children. Rheumatoid patients around the world advocate for “Rheumatoid Disease” to replace the term “Rheumatoid Arthritis” due to wide-spread misunderstanding. Rheumatoid disease produces destructive molecules called fibroblasts that attack the protective lining around joints causing inflamed and shredded tendons, cartilage loss, and finally bone erosion. That is the part you may be familiar with, but Rheumatoid Disease also causes:
1. Costochondritis (painful swelling in the ribs)
2. Uveitis (painful eye swelling, may cause vision loss)
3. Pleurisy or interstitial lung disease
4. Cervical subluxation and myelopathy (compression of the spinal cord)
5. Kidney disease
6. Atherosclerosis (heart disease), the leading cause of death in RD patients.

Educating health professionals about rheumatoid disease manifestations would facilitate early treatment of co-morbidities and delay disability.

Even when symptoms appear controlled, Rheumatoid Disease marches on and adapts to treatment. RD insidiously erodes cartilage and bone while patients feel perfectly fine, especially during the first 5 years. Recent MRI studies confirm that even in clinical remission, there is inflammation around the joints, indicating a need for life-long treatment. The first RD medication I took stopped working after 4 years. Currently, my rheumatoid antibodies are eleven times the norm after 3 years on an expensive biologic injectable. Our super-immunity develops work-arounds to the medicine. In the near future I will need to add a low-dose chemotherapy drug to suppress my immune response. We will have to try other medications that may or may not slow the disease as my immune system keeps adjusting. There are many RD Warriors who haven’t found a medication that works well enough, or who have run out of options. One friend of mine injects herself every week for a 20% improvement in Lupus and RD symptoms.

Rheumatoid Arthritis drug commercials exaggerate ability benefits and list a litany of risky side effects in a low monotone. Actors appear in full remission without Prednisone moon-faces, but more than half of patients never achieve clinical remission for even a short period, and most medications help to a degree if at all. Don’t get me wrong – I LOVE Enbrel because I can walk, fevers are less frequent, my pain is manageable, and I have little to no bone erosion. While this miracle drug makes my life worth living, it doesn’t make running on a sandy beach or toting around a toddler on my hip possible. More importantly, the medication doesn’t make working full-time possible because the disease is still active and unpredictable. What it does make possible are life-threatening infections, which is why patients whose symptoms are fairly controlled often choose to risk joint erosion. The risk-benefit ratio is tough to navigate, especially with the booming vitamin/supplement industry promising their own brand of remission. Just like wrinkle cream promises, none are entirely accurate.

We need you to help us spread the word. Rheumatoid Arthritis is one of the 6 most debilitating diseases in the world, yet the number of rheumatology research projects funded by the National Institutes of Health dropped by 52% from 2010 to 2014, while the number funded by private foundations fell by 29% over that period, according to data published by the Rheumatology Research Foundation (RRF). A cure is on the horizon with new immuno-therapy breakthroughs, but funding is moving in the wrong direction.

Knowing Your Boobs Could Save Your Life

Posted on October 22, 2015 by K.S. Schultz

On Tuesday, the American Cancer Society published new Breast Cancer Screening guidelines reducing the recommended frequency of mammograms for women over 54 to every 2 years and increasing the age for a first mammogram to 45 for women with an average risk of breast cancer. They also kicked the clinical breast exam to the curb. How much can a physician know about my boobs and my “normal” by feeling them once a year? Now me, I can touch them every day if I want, and I certainly see them during my daily ritual. Early diagnosis is key to beating breast cancer and many are triggered by women who notice a change in the look or feel of their boobs. Our breasts feel differently in each decade. Natural changes occur, especially as we bear children and get older. Tiny, swollen, lumpy, I know intimately the phases my boobs passed through to land happily at soft tissue. I know what my skin looks like, where there are stretch marks from pregnancy, and the color of my areola, however I need to use the mirror more often with arms raised. Rashes, dimpling, or swelling also occurs in the breast tissue on our sides, and is more likely to go unnoticed.

The American Cancer Society is careful in its language, stating a woman should have the choice at 40 to request a screening mammogram and become educated on mammography limitations. Women at high risk (20-25% lifetime risk) should begin annual screenings at 30. They recommend breast MRI in conjunction with mammography for women at high risk because the two detect different types of cancer, so if I found a lump or had other breast cancer symptoms such as skin or nipple changes, my plan is to request both. False positives are more likely with breast MRI, but despite the American Cancer Society’s concern about causing me ” a lot of worry and anxiety”, I prefer an unnecessary biopsy with a huge slice of peace of mind to later-stage cancer. And despite a statement that self exams do not show a clear benefit, I trust my judgement on this one and will continue to feel myself up in the mirror on a regular basis because self-love is a beautiful thing and the new guidelines for breast cancer screening are not definitive, but leave the responsibility with me.

Endometrial Ablation, An End to the Bloodbath

Posted on October 3, 2015 by K.S. Schultz

*Warning: If discussions about menstruation and lady parts make you queasy, this post is not for you.

Since perimenopause set in eight years ago, I developed penis envy, not so much because I’d like one, but simply to eradicate several unpredictable and exquisitely painful periods per month. Never prepared, no matter how many bloody tidal waves assailed my linens, my pants, my chairs, my life, I was taken off guard. I am unaware of a more irritating interruption than a distinct gushing feeling in the middle of a meeting, especially when you are the one taking minutes. Several times I prayed for a fire alarm. When my red blood cell count fell to a level worthy of a gynecological consult, I felt relieved. Dr. Burns, well into his 8th decade, said I seemed a good candidate for an endometrial ablation as long as fibroids did not lurk in my uterus. Two tiny fibroids, one smack dab in the middle of my uterus and likely the painful trouble-maker, showed on ultrasound. Fortunately, Dr. Burns has practiced for more than 40 years and was competent in more than one ablation procedure. The simplest ablation procedure used a triangular mesh electrode that expanded in the uterus and delivered an electric current which cauterised and destroyed the uterine lining, and if needed, he had a back-up plan that used a roller-ball for the trouble-maker fibroid.

Elective surgery, while not typically as serious, entails risk and pain. Infection is the scariest risk to me, likely due to a 3 month post-surgery infection following a previous gynecological mini-surgery. I did not agree to an endometrial ablation sooner because of it. Fear is a bitch, worthy of a post all its own.

Dr. Burns used the electrically charged mesh with success. Prepping me with information, introductions, consent forms, and anesthesia took longer than the ablation, positively making me comfortable before asking Patrick to hurry up with the anesthesia in the operating theater. Such a simple procedure to require such a dramatic environment, but…the risks.

My recovery nurse enjoyed my eyes-closed rendition of Gin and Juice and said I was her new favorite patient. Apparently, I had my mind on my money. Over the next few days I got to know the pain-killer norco as my uterus healed and I laid about on the couch drinking lots of liquids and eating toast. So this is what it’s like in the 5th decade. We endure procedures, therapy, and surgery to make life doable, and in this case, better than previous decades. Little spots of blood every couple of months are all I have now. Feminine hygiene companies are devastated by the decline in sales.

Food and Drink, Health, Humor, Life, Travel

Walking & Gawking in Ireland – Part 2

Gallery | Posted on September 7, 2015 by K.S. Schultz

Leaving Glendalough we wound our way through the Wicklow mountains to the Hollywood Inn, where we were introduced to the Hurling Finals and learned a few Irish turns of phrase not mentioned in guide books.

Great food, beer & patrons at the Hollywood Inn

Ravenous from hiking about, I dug into fish and home-cut chips, fascinated by the muscular men on the field balancing a tiny ball on short clubs while running, hitting the ball and being hit by it, all with no protective gear, but plenty of blood and bandages. The excitement rivaled a Superbowl party and Hollywood Inn was more than I hoped for with an uneven stone floor, heavy dark wood , a stone courtyard, tasty fresh food and superb service. Our first day in the Irish countryside was a success, now we had a real drive.

Bolstered by a hamburger he described as “very lean”, Jim drove us on narrow back roads to Kinsale, a quaint harbor town in County Cork, where we stayed at the Actons Hotel overlooking the harbor.

Actons Hotel in Kinsale, County Cork

Our TomTom was set to avoid toll roads, which made each trip a bit longer and more scenic than motorways. We had no trouble finding “toilets”, a convenient petrol station in many towns we passed through.

Billy, our bartender in the lounge at Actons, patiently explained how children in Ireland begin their first day of school with a lunch box, a backpack, and a hurling stick. An older gentleman at the bar put us through a course of Irish dialect in a descriptive telling of a helicopter ride over County Tipperary that his daughter gifted him with on a recent birthday. They both asked what we liked most about Ireland thus far. I said I loved the water everywhere, especially the streams flowing down mountains and bubbling over rocks. The old man said, “Ahhh, that’s the piss!”, then laughed open-mouthed as did we. I told him I also like the potatoes, they were better than at home. He said, “Ahhh, yes the new potatoes are in, but don’t eat the chickens!”. Billy told us of growing up in Kinsale and said he would like to visit the Wicklow Mountains someday. Huge sprays of Asiatic lilies and eucalyptus graced tables throughout the hotel while small bouquets of hydrangea and roses adorned each stall in the lobby bathroom. Our room was modern and bright with clean lines and a warm breeze blew through a tall unscreened, tilted window. Sailboats rocked in the moonlit harbor. We slept deeply.

Kinsale Harbor

After our first day of venturing we had a true appreciation for a full Irish breakfast, which consisted of an array of juices, fruit, pastry, cereal, breads, cheeses and smoked salmon. We ordered eggs and sausage and the plate unnecessarily came with white and black pudding and a grilled tomato. Each day seemed as though it may be the one to try the pudding, but I never did chance it, afraid my stomach might upset our plans. We walked around Kinsale’s colorful streets while our breakfast settled before taking off for Blarney Castle.

Colorful Kinsale

Blarney Castle was THE castle of our trip and we took our time exploring all the nooks and scary crannies. Stone stairs spiraled up to the stone with a rope on one side to hold on to. As we ascended the walls grew closer and the old man in front of us stopped in fear, the opposite of my typical run through it reaction. Voices filtered up from the stairs and signaled a group coming up behind us. I felt trapped already, barely able to breathe. I jumped back down two stairs and yelled to my husband that I’d see him when he came down. My discovery of the family room, murder-hole above the castle’s main entry and arrow shaft views throughout the castle rooms thrilled me more than if I kissed a stone that through my camera zoom looked wet. Ugh. But, do not let claustrophobic me deter you.

Manicured grounds, gardens and a long carriage house were lush with vintage blooms and beside the castle stood a poison garden planted with castor beans, foxglove and other nefarious, yet pretty, flowers and plants. We rested and took in the groups of people who dotted the expansive lawn before we perused the gift shop and purchased a watercolour that I would carry on the plane to insure its safe arrival home. Our breakfast worn off, we headed back to Kinsale and away from tour bus crowds in search of a late lunch and a pint.

One of many Blarney Castle Gardens

Before the Blarney Stone stairs turn scary

Under Blarney Castle but not the dungeon

Blarney Castle Family Room

Food and Drink, Health, Humor, Life, Travel

Walking and Gawking in Ireland – Part 1

Gallery | Posted on March 30, 2015 by K.S. Schultz

Walking a mile to a mile and a half 4 times a week for 6 weeks prior to our Irish holiday deflated my middle and I lost five pounds, which to me means I can eat potatoes and bread (as long as I keep walking). You hear wild rumors as you get closer to 40, but I had to experience gaining weight while subsisting on salads and water to accept that my squirrel-like metabolism is dead along with my desire to buy a swimsuit. It all works out, though, because the rumor about fading endurance is also true. Just a few weeks of a walking routine increased my stamina and made Ireland more enjoyable than I imagined. I was even able to imitate running to catch our connection at O’Hare.

We spent our first evening in Blessington, a tiny town with a lone little terrier scouting main street just south of Dublin. On the winding gravel road back to our lodgings we got out of the car to peek at Blessington Lake.

Blessington Lake

The next morning we started off for Wicklow National Park and found ourselves stopping often to explore.

A park in Wicklow County

A park with a fast flowing stream over mossy rocks and a stone bridge called to us, as did a cemetery with Celtic crosses raised high. The faeries moved a bit too quickly for my eyes, but I swear I heard their giggles just beyond the bubbling gurgle of water.

Between my walking routine and Ireland’s vistas, I shed not only fat, but a bit of cynicism. Dreams coming true take chinks out of a calloused soul.

Walking does not build much muscle and muscle burns fat, so when I stop moving, my metabolism does, too. Motivation is plentiful on vacation, but hard to find on a snowy frigid days, which is when I discovered that truth. Almost a decade ago Ireland renewed a walking culture to combat the country’s growing obesity rate along with national dietary standards. It is not difficult to persuade an Irishman or woman to go for a stroll and GMO-free counties offer up food that reminded us what food used to taste like. My theory is that we do not eat as much when it is flavourful because we are more easily sated.

Exploring Wicklow

Low in the Wicklow Mountains

In the hills of Wicklow National Park I stumbled on loose rock and stepped in a deep uninhabited hole, highlighting the need for a walking stick. Mountain rescue teams are stationed in every area for good reason.

We were off to find St. Kevin’s monastic ruins in Glendalough and mistakenly walked up a steep road to find St. Kevin’s Parish where we lit candles for loved ones in heaven. There were lovely engraved garden sculptures on the grounds and I suspect my husband knew I would stop at the craft fair on our way back down as I was excited for any opportunity to visit with locals.

St. Kevin’s Parish

Gardens at St. Kevin’s Welcome Center

On the way up, I stopped to rest and take in the gardens at St. Kevin’s welcome center. It was all meant to be, I am sure. Just down the road we found the ruins of St. Kevin’s 6th century monastery. Raided for centuries by the Vikings, most of the standing ruins date to the 11th and 12th centuries. A man in a kilt and hose played Uillean pipes, whcih lent a melancholia to the scene, but a little girl yelling at the top of her lungs, “Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!” brushed it away. A spiritual place, the sun broke through the thick cloud cover just as I offered up my gratitude.

St. Kevin’s monastic ruins in Glendalough

Glendalough Beauty

St. Kevin’s ancient church often called “St. Kevin’s Kitchen” due to the chimney.

My husband was usually ahead of me because I am quite the gawker. Also quite the talker and writer, I have many a story to tell you about Ireland, so I will break our adventure into a few posts. Sláinte! (Good Health!)

Walking and Gawking in Michigan

Posted on July 30, 2014 by K.S. Schultz

For the next six weeks I will be walking and practicing with my new camera in preparation for a trip to Ireland. Walking is a bit boring really, compared to lithe runners with their snug running shorts and pretty shoes. My jazzy shoes rival any runner’s, but that is about all the competition I can provide. Have you seen the articles that say you can simply walk off excess weight around your middle? Yes, I saw the headlines at the supermarket, too! So, I will perform my own experiment, and it will not involve eating kale. My diet is mostly natural foods, however I still inch up a couple of pounds every few weeks. The reasons are valid and can be confirmed by witnesses, but how I got here is not nearly as interesting as where I am going. Honestly after sporting a boy body all my life I feel powerfully curvaceous with a B-cup. It is not the weight that I mind, but the pudgy bulges when I sit down, and standing for hours on the beach is tiring. Sitting down I look like I am wearing a flotation device around my middle, and some of my pants no longer fit over the floaty part. For the record I would like to keep the butt. And the B-cup. I will not cut calories, but will walk at least a mile 5 days per week for the first 3 weeks. Writing about my progress may cause a bit of a Hawthorne effect, so I must be diligent about eating sugar to protect the integrity of this experiment.

Something tells me that my current two walks a week is not sufficient conditioning for 7 days of trekking around the Emerald Isle. Arduous hikes are not part of itinerary, however the cumulative effect of a few hours walking per day could hobble me, and what a shame that would be. A six-week timeline also coincides with the number of summer days remaining here in Michigan. Winter is always coming.

This well-intentioned idea came to me while on vacation, where so many great plans are born, yet never make it back home. On the first day I walked down the gravel road and later along the shore of the island where we vacation. Each walk an easy mile, I walked with spring, buoyed by my new plan. Another benefit of walking outdoors in Northern Michigan is that the black flies and mosquitos spur me on and keep my heart rate up, like tiny coaches. A mile is easy because I worked my way up to that 8 months ago after my last RA flare. After limping to the bathroom for a couple of months, it seemed like a prize to walk that far at a good clip. It is time to move on now.

Birth Control Debate Attempts to Hit Men Where it Hurts

Posted on March 28, 2012 by K.S. Schultz

In a bid to show ‘em how it feels State Representative Yasmin Neal has proposed an amendment to Georgia’s anti-abortion law that would ban vasectomies unless necessary to prevent serious injury to a man’s organs or death. Missouri State Representative Stacey Newman soon followed suit with a similar bill that also limits where a vasectomy can legally be performed to surgical centers and hospitals. Both Representatives cited the fairness of legislating men’s bodies in the same fashion that predominantly male government bodies have attempted to legislate women’s reproductive health choices.

While women across the country are cheering for these bills, I see a couple of errors in this blatant strategy to encourage empathy in our male counterparts. If you have not yet fully realized the inherent differences in women’s and men’s decision-making processes, I suggest Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus as a primer. While many women are furious about recent debates over what a woman should be allowed to do with her body and affordable access to all birth control options, men will focus on one thing only- an attempt to mess with their genitals. I call it “dick-sensitivity”. When a man’s genitals become part of an equation, he loses the ability to think multidimensionally. Last night I spoke briefly to my husband of writing a post on a proposed vasectomy ban. He immediately covered his groin and started saying, “nanananana” to drown out my words. Admittedly, I would greatly enjoy a video of the Georgia General Assembly when they debate Representative Neal’s proposed ban. The looks on male lawmaker’s faces during such a conversation have great entertainment potential.

The second error in the bid to equally share government control over reproductive rights is thinking that men will fight for their right to a vasectomy. Think about it.

On the heels of FDA recommendations that men be tested for underlying causes of erectile dysfunction, Virginia state Senator Janet Howell introduced a bill last month that would require a man to get a rectal exam and cardiac stress test before receiving a prescription for a drug such as Viagra. Ohio state Senator Nina Turner has also proposed a similar bill stating that she is equally concerned with men’s health and believe they have the right to be fully informed of the risks associated with erectile dysfunction medications.

While I appreciate the clever maneuverings of our female politicians as entertaining, I am skeptical that such tactics will do more than add to explosively divisive rhetoric. There are some things that need not be debated because they fall under our 4^th amendment rights, and some things that are serious enough to fight head-on with a resounding “No!” I would prefer female lawmaker’s efforts be strongly straight forward in their fight for women’s reproductive and healthcare rights.

Georgia Democrats to propose limitations on vasectomies for men (news.blogs.cnn.com)
Men Get Free Vasectomy Pizzas…While Women Fight To Cover Birth Control Costs (blisstree.com)

Keep your politics out of my sex

Posted on February 11, 2012 by K.S. Schultz

Even George Orwell could not have predicted the current level of absurdity surrounding women’s health in general and birth control pills specifically. What chicanery are the men that run this country up to that they are seriously debating accessibility to birth control in the year of Our Lord 2012? I feel as though I’ve stepped through a looking glass and been transported to a long-ago era before Margaret Sanger sought funding from Planned Parenthood to research a progesterone pill that would stop ovulation in the early 1900’s. This is not an issue of religious freedom or morality, but one of politics and diversion by both political parties.

First corsets made a comeback and 4-inch stilettos returned to torture the next generation. Then in 2009 U.S. District Judge Edward Korman not only questioned the White House’s interest in the FDA’s decision-making process regarding whether Plan B should be made available to women of all ages without a prescription, but rebuked the FDA for departing from its usual procedures. Korman wrote that the FDA’s lack of good faith was evidenced by, “repeated and unreasonable pressure emanating from the White House.” The federal court ordered that Plan B be made available over the counter to those 17 and older while the FDA continued its research, all of which turned out to be a huge waste of resources when Kathleen Sebelius, U.S. Secretary of Health, overruled the FDA’s conclusion that Plan B is safe for all ages citing concerns for parental rights and eleven-year-olds who may not understand the packaging. I find it utterly ridiculous that the current administration believes they can ever appease social conservatives by claiming to have such concerns. If a parent considers it their right to know about their daughter’s sex life, then it is their job to build a trusting relationship. Tell a teenager that it is a Washington mandate and see how far that gets you. The Department of Health and Human Services has never before said to hell with science, never before trumped the FDA, but then politics has never paid so well, either. Perhaps HHS’s efforts would be better spent educating a country with the highest teen pregnancy rate among any developed country.

To be perfectly clear, Rick Santorum did not say he is against birth control. What he said is that the Supreme Court was wrong to say that states cannot outlaw contraception in Griswold v. Connecticut (1965, YES, 196frickin’5). 1.5 million women in the United States, including me, take birth control pills for health concerns other than pregnancy prevention, but why would the average male politician be well-versed in women’s health? Mr. Santorum also stated that sex has been deconstructed to the point where it’s simply pleasure. And your point, Mr. Santorum? With infidelity’s wild ride through political bedrooms, I am hardly looking to you for relationship advice or spiritual counseling. My money is on hypocrisy.

The cherry on top of the movement to turn back time is the “religious freedom” debate regarding insurance coverage for no-cost contraception. When I went to pick up the birth control pill that my doctor thought would work best for hormonal changes I was told that my insurance company wouldn’t cover it, just as my daughter was told about the name-brand pill her doctor prescribed as birth control. Because I cannot afford $110 per month for those pills, we are trying a generic that might work, but certainly not as well. These costly limitations on prescription contraception coverage were addressed in the health care reform bill that was passed in 2009. Now, if I go to work for a religious hospital or university I am not entitled to coverage of that cost, nor is my daughter. In my case it means night sweats, hot flashes, and mood swings. For my daughter, who was married last summer and is watching her college investment pay off with a burgeoning career, it is her future and her children’s future. The religious exemption may be extended to ANY employer that has religious issues with contraception coverage. Religious freedom or money? Are women so threatening with our equal share of the job market, number of seats in university lecture halls, and longer life spans that the power structure has resorted to a paternal barefoot and pregnant strategy? I may seem paranoid, but how does automated packaging of 1 million birth control packages go awry? See…that’s the type of thinking that results from taking the cheapest pill instead of the right one.

As Obama Overrules the FDA on Plan B One-Step, Access to Emergency Contraception in Asia Grows (globalspin.blogs.time.com)
The National Women’s Law Center Takes a Position on Contraceptive Coverage & “Extreme” Legislation (jonathanturley.org)

Duct tape discipline?

Posted on January 30, 2012 by K.S. Schultz

I assumed newly patterned duct tape was intended for art projects, but it seems some parents, teachers, and caregivers are using it as a time-out option. To be perfectly clear, I do not find the act of duct taping a toddler to a wall or taping close a teenager’s constantly running mouth facetious. It is yet another example of how any immature imbecile can have kids and prove themselves worthy of my immature name calling by posting Facebook pics of duct taped-kid handiwork. The absurdity is what makes me laugh, just like when I watch the dumb criminals show on TV. Teachers and daycare workers who are trained and paid to curb child behavior must have lost some of their minds to believe kids deserve to be duct taped. I imagine all those perspectives change dramatically when the police show up to let them know in crystal-clear fashion that they do not see the humor, nor find it justifiable. In 2011 parents received 30 to 36 months in jail for duct taping their kids and last week a daycare worker in Kentucky was charged with first degree child abuse and is facing up to ten years for taping a toddler to the floor during nap time. Toddlers are chocked full of energy and curiosity and they lack impulse control, traits that they will also exhibit as teenagers when it’s even harder to assert one’s authority over the independent hellions. I do not often judge other parents. I had my turn and made hundreds of mistakes. I defended the Mom who admitted to drinking wine the night that her baby was stolen from her home because Moms get blamed for everything. It isn’t as if she was breast-feeding. Wine and parenting are frequent partners, Read More

Final Goodbyes

Posted on January 26, 2012 by K.S. Schultz

Although how we say goodbye to the dead has evolved and varies from culture to culture, the need is as old as time, as is the belief that there is an afterlife. Even Neanderthals placed flowers in the hands of the dead before they sealed the bodies in caves 300,000 years ago. Memories rush in, clouded by love and grief, and although it is past too late, we appreciate them more when they are out of our reach forever. Honoring the ones we’ve lost cauterizes our wound, and we accept that the ceremony is for us, the living. It sets us on the path to healing, our cries resembling a release valve on an overflowing well of hurt. Living there for a few hours reminds us that death is the great equalizer and for a time we hold our living loves closer, sometimes afraid of the randomness of death, oftentimes aware of how brief even a long life is.

The days of public displays of the dead are waning, thank God, replaced by memorial services and “celebrations of life”. We turn to God, even if it is the only time we do so, for comfort and hope that our loved ones live on. You may shy away from reading this, grief being among the hardest emotions and certainly one we want to avoid. It is also common ground for every person that was ever born. January is to me what April was to T.S. Elliot. Time dulls the edges, but I hold tight to my deepest grief because it is all I have left of my son. It is mine and this public declaration is unusual to say the least. I know death makes people uncomfortable and talk of it is to be avoided, especially when we are years away from a tragedy. One of the changes I’ve experienced in this decade is that I am becoming increasingly transparent and immune to other’s expectations.

We attended a memorial service last week for Dale, an uncommon character and dear friend of my parents’. I was moved when the preacher said that Dale loved to tease, or as his wife Sue put it, “agitate”. It seems more respectful to remember him as he was. Dale’s agitation came with rewards, however, such as his outlandish stories about inventing the computer, the internet, and a multitude of other modern conveniences. He was a Navy Seal deep diver (for real) when decompression was unheard of and his heart paid the price. Only Dale would consider his chainsaw as a remedy for the dozens of situations he employed it for. He made us laugh and was an overly generous man. We received a thank-you card from his wife yesterday that asked us to remember our good times with Dale. We will.

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