THE SOLUTION OF MY MIGRAINE PROBLEM

In October of 2004, in a very stressful meeting with some angry folk in my Victoria church, I suddenly lost much of the vision in my left eye and it subsequently began to ache. The next morning, however, everything was fine and the problem didn’t recur. I treated it as a one-off and thought no more about it. Then, about two years later, in September of 2006, in another very stressful meeting with the Church Board, the same thing happened. I left the meeting immediately and went to Emergency. They checked me out, ordered a bunch of tests, and over the next week or so concluded that I had a stress induced migraine condition. The migraines, they assured me, were not as significant as the stress. I went on stress leave immediately and by January of 2007 had resigned my position as pastor. And by June we had returned to Edmonton.

Over the next few years the stress problems, which were very real, gradually subsided, but the migraines continued at intervals. Every few weeks I would have a visual incident, usually in the evening and in my left eye. My vision would blur and halos would appear around light sources. These were seldom accompanied by headache, but I was assured they were migraines nonetheless. – Though migraines generally manifest as headaches, they can also be visual, auditory or even olfactory (smell), with no accompanying pain. – There wasn’t much to be done, so I set about learning to live with them.

By the time we moved out here to North Bay (May 2011) these were becoming weekly occurrences and more severe. There was often pain now, and because they usually happened in the evening our social life was considerably impaired. By October of 2012 they’d become almost daily occurrences and I had become quite accustomed to going to bed by 8 or 9pm.

I managed to get through the 2012 Christmas season but in January of this year, the 15^th to be exact, I finally went to Emergency with the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I checked in at about 6am, and by 11am had had laser surgery for glaucoma. On the 18^th I had another laser surgery session in the ophthalmologist’s office. And that was the end of my “migraines”. I use eye drops daily now, and have had no reoccurrence of the problem.

I’ve learned several things from this experience:

1. Diagnosis is difficult. The type of glaucoma I have is acute angle glaucoma, and the attack I experienced (in dim light, under stress) is classic for this form of the disease, but no one treating me ever thought to check my eyes. Why? Probably because this condition is rare among Caucasians, rare in men, and runs in families. As a white male with no family history I’m perfectly positioned to be missed.

2. Misdiagnosis is worse than no diagnosis. If they simply hadn’t been able to figure me out I’d have been better off, but because they told me I had migraines, and had reasonable answers for all the probing questions I could think of, I spent seven years coping with a problem I didn’t have, and getting no treatment for the one I had.

3. Good health is a very good thing. I can see all day again. I can do things in the evening: watch a movie, read a book, drive the car and stay up late. Going to bed at night has become, once more, a matter of self-discipline, but that’s a condition I’m willing to cope with.

There are two kinds of people in the world, the disabled and the not yet disabled. I am grateful to be one of the former for the time being. Just one more reminder of how much I have to be thankful for.

SEEMS MY LAST POST WASN’T AFTER ALL

Last June I published a reflection on my life entitled “Life is for things that matter”. It was the anniversary of the passing of my father-in-law, and concerned my desire to devote my life to meaningful things, as I felt he had done. Then I stopped blogging.

I never decided to stop, never intended to. I simply didn’t post another post. I got busy doing other things. (When you’re retired you do a lot of “other things”.) I thought about posting from time to time but didn’t. Days rolled into weeks, then months. Maybe I had just run out of things to say, but that had never stopped me before. Perhaps something in me thought blogging wasn’t worth devoting any more of my life to. Could be biorhythms, feeling tired or lazy, Jupiter aligned with Mars. Regardless, I’m returning to my keyboard and looking forward to it.

To bring you up to date:

·         We’ve been back from Israel for over a year now. When I first returned I didn’t have anything much to say about our trip. This wasn’t for lack of meaningful experiences, but because it just takes a while to absorb such a thing. As I go along I may have things to say.

·         I’ve started running again. Back in August of 2010 I stopped running because of a chronic foot problem. I figured I was finished for good, but last July I went for a short run, just on a whim, and found I felt fine. So I’m back at it. I’m not a great runner by any means, but I am grateful to be able to go 15 or 20 kilometres a week. At 65 such a blessing is not to be taken for granted. God is good.

·         One of the best things that’s happened to me since I last shared is the solution to a major “migraine” problem that had been making my life increasingly difficult for about seven years. I was at the point where most days (about six a week) were ending in weird vision (halos around light sources and flashes of light) and pain. I’ll unpack the whole story for you in my next post. For now, just know that normal vision and no pain are not to be taken for granted. We expect these things in life, but they really are amazing gifts. There is something to be said for a taste of suffering though. Gratitude, like patience, is a virtue born of trial.

Well, that’s a good beginning, so I’ll sign off for now, except for one last thing. Some of you will recall that I’m not much given to patriotism. A friend, however, sent me an email suggesting a new national anthem. I feel this might have merit, so give it a listen and let me know what you think. (It’s a song so, of course, you will need sound.)

An anthem we can believe in.

With songs like this Canadian culture is secure.

Life is for things that matter.

Twenty-eight years ago yesterday, on a Sunday, on Fathers Day, Suzanne’s mom and dad were at their cabin at Alberta Beach when Ernie started experiencing pain that he thought was probably a kidney stone. He was a Doctor and, though obviously not infallible, had successfully diagnosed these sorts of things many times, so he decided to go back to Edmonton and get checked out the following day. By late Sunday afternoon he was beginning to fail in a way that indicated it was something more serious, so Suzanne’s mom, Margaret, called one of his partners to come over and check on him. The partner called an ambulance immediately and he was rushed to the General Hospital for surgery. He had an aortic aneurysm.

We got a call about 9pm that evening at our home in Calgary. We were told that Ernie was in surgery, his condition was serious, and we should come immediately. Our four children ranged in age from 10 to 3, so we got a neighbour to watch them and headed off to Edmonton. We had to connect with one of Suzanne's sisters so it was about 11pm before we left town.

We arrived at the hospital in Edmonton just after 2am Monday morning, and were told Ernie had made it through surgery, and the situation was guarded but hopeful. Very quickly, however, we began to get less encouraging news. Things were looking bad and then worse. Eventually we were invited to go in and see him in recovery. He was unconscious, on a respirator. And, shortly after that, he died.

The sudden, unexpected death of someone you love is a shocking event, and I'm sure my recollections vary in detail from those of others, but all would agree that the impact was devastating. Ernie was the unrivaled patriarch of an all girl family. Don't misunderstand; his wife and six daughters were and are strong women, but Ernie was Papa of all he surveyed, and left a gaping hole in everyone's life that night.

He was only 61 (about one month younger than Suzanne is now), and, when you die so young, regardless what you've accomplished, you leave some important things undone. Though he was “Papa” to our kids and Maureen’s kids, he missed lots of grandchildren. He missed weddings too, and was sorely missed. He was a great husband, father, grandfather, doctor, and much more. His youngest daughter, Margo, was only 21, so if, as the Bible says, “there’s a time to die”, this wasn’t it. Ernie left a remarkable family, and that’s a great accomplishment at any age, but I often think of what more he would have given us if we’d had him for the past 28 years.

Now, at age 64, as I look back on Ernie, I think about how precious and fleeting life is. I too could get sick today and die tomorrow. I never worry about it, but I think about it often. And it helps me focus when I remember that I don't have unlimited life at my disposal. It's one of the reasons I'm in North Bay pouring out my life on my grandchildren. I'm a channel of life to those around me, rather like a garden hose attached to a cistern with no shut-off valve. I don't know how long my limited portion of life will last but, if I can’t quite control it, I can direct it. As it pours out every minute of every day, what am I pouring it on?

In Mark 14, the story is told of a woman who brought a jar of precious perfume and poured it on Jesus. Some of those present objected, "Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." But Jesus commended her for having done a beautiful thing.

In the end, every life is completely poured out. The trick is to pour it on things that matter. When I look at Margaret, Maureen, Pat, Marianne, Kate and Margo; and consider the husbands, children and grandchildren; and especially think about Suzanne and our own kids and grandchildren, I see that Ernie poured out his life on things that mattered. And, 28 years after I’m gone, I want people to be able to say the same about me.

Ernie, Pat, Marianne, Margo, Margaret

Suzanne, Kate, Maureen

The Man Who Quit Money

Last weekend I read a very interesting book, The Man Who Quit Money. It’s the story of Daniel Suelo, who, in the year 2000, took all the money he had ($30), placed it in a phone booth, and walked away. Since that time he has lived completely money free. He accepts no welfare or government handouts, earns no income, pays no taxes. He lives in the wilderness (caves in the Utah desert), forages wild and discarded food, and receives from others only what is freely given. He doesn’t barter (this work for those chickens) but he is active and does volunteer, receiving the natural benefits that flow from the work (transport on a fishing vessel, being fed with the other workers, etc.). Suelo is not a bum or a hermit. He is very engaged in society with many friends. He simply will not be paid in money and, when he can’t graciously avoid receiving it, he gives it away. He is popular in the nearby city of Moab as a house sitter and maintains a blog about his moneyless experience.

People like Suelo are very interesting and a blessing to the rest of us. They challenge our notions of what is possible and open our minds to new things. When I was I new teenager, a mere fifty years ago, I was quite involved in track and field. At that time it was obvious to most people that only very exceptional human beings could run marathons, and widely believed that women could not safely run races longer than 200 meters. Today, thanks to the efforts of countless, Suelo-like non-believers, we shake our heads at these notions.

One particularly interesting point made by his biographer, Mark Sundeen, is that Suelo comes from a Fundamentalist background, specifically Plymouth Brethren. These are the folks who gave us Dispensationalism (the notion that world history is divided into seven periods “dispensations” and God deals differently with the world in each of these periods) and the Rapture (the belief that those who are saved will be spirited away just before the final tribulation). Sundeen’s point is not that Suelo is a fundamentalist – Suelo has left all that behind – but that coming from a background among marginalized people gives Suelo the freedom to be radically different, and the latitude to think thoughts that are profoundly unconventional.

As I read this book I was reminded that my mother was raised Plymouth Brethren, and that, as a teenaged girl, she was deeply involved in the Social Credit movement in Alberta. This was part of the counter-cultural, anti-establishment challenge to the money system that arose as a response to the Great Depression; the Occupy Movement of her day. William Aberhart, the founder of the Social Credit Party in Alberta, was also a fundamentalist and a dispensationalist.

I am neither a fundamentalist nor a dispensationalist, but I do think these sorts of people make a great contribution to our world. They’re the folks who challenge conventional thinking. Whether or not they have the answers, they raise a lot of questions. Questions drive the quest, and change the world.

ALL ABOUT DYING AND LIVING

The movie The Way was not my introduction to the Camino. In 2006 I read Walk in a Relaxed Manner, by Joyce Rupp, and found it oddly compelling. My response to the pilgrimage she described: foot sores, crowded accommodations, bad weather, strange food, stranger company, and hours of walking day after day, were anything but attractive to an introvert like me. But, when taken as a whole, what she described drew me like a magnet. Climbing Everest has never been a possibility for me (fear of heights), and my marathon dreams are a thing of the past, but this is something I could do. Perhaps I should get busy and do it before I can’t.

In the modern world (Western, North American and Canadian at least), the idea of pilgrimage is profoundly counter cultural. First, you walk for weeks, and cover a distance you could drive in a day, or fly in an hour and a half. We have a thing about getting where we're going. We say "getting there is half the fun", but it's definitely the smaller half. We jet halfway around the world to sit on a beach, race through high school to get to university, rush through child-rearing to get back to a career. We're a people in a hurry, scrambling to gather up as much life as possible before it runs out.

A pilgrimage, on the other hand, sets its own pace and, though it has a destination, the destination is not the point. We need to slow down, and that's part of what pilgrimage is about. Can anyone see more than a trillionth of what there is to see in a lifetime anyway? What can we possibly gain by dashing through life in pursuit of two trillionths?

Second, you set out for a destination that has no “practical” significance. Who really needs to go to the traditional burial place of Saint James, particularly when no one even knows for sure that this is the spot? And most of the Camino pilgrims are non religious. A pilgrimage, it seems, is about itself. It’s like so much in life; not what you do in it, but what it does in you. People say they are changed by the Camino and it’s intriguing to see how many people want to change.

Thirdly, a pilgrimage takes a significant chunk of time out of our “normal” life. It’s a bit like the notion of Sabbath I suppose, when each week you simply resign what you’re doing for a day, and let God run your little piece of the world without you.

It’s humbling to admit that the world doesn’t really need us. And it’s odd that we can pretend to ourselves that we’re so vitally necessary, when we know perfectly well that the day is coming when we’ll die and everything, and everyone, will carry on, just like they do when others die. A pilgrimage, then, is a bit like dying for a while. I suppose this is one of the reasons it’s hard to do, and, perhaps, why many of us should do it.

Fourthly, going on a pilgrimage is like choosing to live a life. Imagine God, a year before your birth, offering you the opportunity to be conceived. He will tell you nothing but the time and place of your beginning point. You might be male or female, rich or poor, healthy or sick. You might live a hundred years and become a great composer, or die within the first few weeks and never be born at all. All you can know for sure is that, if all goes well, you will have trials and triumphs, joys and sorrows, pains and pleasures. You will meet others on the journey, know acceptance and rejection, and share the experience. You will sin against others and need forgiveness, be sinned against and need to forgive. And, in the end, you will die, and your life will be what you and countless others have made it.

In other words, you are being offered a chance to go on pilgrimage. So, are we ready to embrace the challenge? If not, perhaps we should get ready, because our life-pilgrimages are well under way. Pilgrimage, it seems to me, is all about choosing life.

THE PILGRIM PRAYER

(Composed by Joyce Rupp and Tom Pfeffer, and recited as each day began.)

Guardian of my soul,
guide me on my way this day.
Keep me safe from harm.
Deepen my relationship with you,
your Earth, and all your family.
Strengthen your love within me
that I may be a presence of your peace
in our world.

Amen

Not a bad prayer at any time.