Tag Archive: Life Lessons


The Monopoly On Truth

Filed under: Life Lessons, Right Speech, Social Justice
May 8, 2020

Last Friday (May 1), MSNBC’s Mika Brzezinski read back to Biden his own statement from 2018 about Christine Blasey Ford’s claim that Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her more than three decades earlier: 

“For a woman to come forward in the glaring lights of focus nationally, you’ve got to start off with the presumption that at least the essence of what she is talking about is real, whether or not she forgets the facts, whether or not it’s been made worse or better over time.”

In February 2020, Forbes Contributor Karlyn Borysenko wrote:

“If you call a woman a liar, even if you didn’t do [what you’re being accused of], you’re guilty of calling a woman a liar, so there’s no way out. If you don’t deny it, you’re thought to be guilty. If you do deny it, you’ve committed an additional political sin, so it’s a trap. And it feels just horrible…They either assume your guilt, or they assume you shouldn’t be asserting your innocence.”

Ms. Borysenko’s words haunt me; I can’t get past them. In my 2017 blog post, The Monica Lewinsky’s of the World Need Us, I wrote from a perspective of my failures – demons, some I might claim to carry even today. My writing exposes deeper truths. Throughout the years, I’ve taken an extensive personal inventory of the man I’ve become. For quite some time, (my stock) wasn’t pretty. Many years later, I take responsibility for speaking out for listening to those who claim to be victims and holding men accountable for their actions.

For Trump, there is no truth. He has written his own rules for years. The irony of Trump Presidency came while watching conservative religious leaders trip over themselves to support a man, that by all accounts, would likely experience the express elevator to the basement. At the same time, I was excommunicated by the church for having the gall to visit a Buddhist monastery. 

Looking at the Biden allegations, I see only caricatures of authoritarian pompousness from everyone. Is the accuser some form of monster: a wasted figure that retreated for nearly thirty-years only to now give up her secret? Were the motivations for potentially destroying Biden’s campaign (or Trump, or Clinton) clear: is it really in the interest of justice? Is the process of scrutiny really to protect the public from an abusive leader? Is so, why did America fail and assert no such strength during the 2016 campaign? And, should an accused resign, is resignation is proof of guilt?

In the wake of the #MeToo movement, it’s hard not to leap to the presumption of guilt once a sexual accusation is made. This is 2020, and in dramatic form, we must always believe. Therefore, the burden of proof is on the defense.

For many victims, the #MeToo movement has transformed an assault into something empowering. And for the most part, such movements have netted positive change. Nonetheless, when such allegations occur, all of us (media included) begin a righteous quest to discover our Truth, not necessarily the real Truth. In the end, without evidence, we become trapped by torrents of opposing viewpoints. 

Herein lay our error. 

If we believe we hold the monopoly of Truth, the truth will die. Reality is neither black nor white. Real allegations occur, and false allegations occur. Who do I believe? What is the Truth of this moment or that moment? Will I ever be able to judge this person? Will I ever be able to put this to rest, with a verdict? Can we get closure?

In the end, while most believe sexual assault is unacceptable, when push comes to shove, there are circumstances we’re willing to tolerate simply because other things matter more. That certainly held for Trump. The same for Clinton. But I hope to god it’s not true of Biden.

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Feeling Real

Filed under: Life Lessons
May 6, 2020

A cousin contacts me only when he needs something. Needs tend to vary. 

“We’re having a family reunion (in three days). Can you fly/drive/hike/skateboard/surf half-way across the country and join us?” Other times, “Hey, we’re celebrating my mother’s 50th/60th/70th birthday? (Usually in three to five days). Can you fly/drive/hitchhike/Greyhound/balloon here?”

After a couple of years of silence, he contacted me via email. 

“Hey, I talked to your mother today. I haven’t heard from you. Just checking in on you to see how you’re doing. Let me know.” 

The first thing I did was call my mother, who confirmed that my cousin called. “He said that since he wasn’t allowed to get his mother out of the nursing home, he wanted to know if I could go out and get a ‘Mother’s Day Card’ and send it to her.’

“So,” I asked. “Why would you break Social Distancing in the middle of an epidemic to get a ‘Mother’s Day Card’ on Wednesday for your 90-year-old sister? I presume he understands Mother’s Day is five days away?”

“Don’t know,” my mother retorted.

I wrote to my cousin, informed I was doing well, even though I am working with frontline clinicians. I was tired, tired of ‘flatline’ monitors, tired of being exhausted, that I was working 12 shifts since March 6th, and that we lost one of our team members to COVID.”

“Hey,” my cousin responded. “Glad you’re ok. By the way, Mother’s Day is upon us. Can you send a Mother’s Day Card to Aunt P.?”

I didn’t respond.

Feeling Real

A family settled down for dinner at a restaurant. The waitress first took the order of the adults, then turned to the seven-year-old. “What will you have?” she asked.

The boy looked around the table timidly and said, “I would like to have a hot dog.”

Before the waitress could write down the order, the mother interrupted. “No hot dogs,” she said, “Get him a steak with mashed potatoes and carrots.”

The waitress ignored her. “Do you want ketchup or mustard on your hot dog?” she asked the boy.

“Ketchup.”

“Coming up in a minute,” said the waitress as she started for the kitchen.

The boy looked at everyone and said, “Know what? She thinks I’m real!”

Conclusion

When others don’t pay attention to our presence we feel as though we are objects to be maintained or avoided or fixed, rather than real human beings to be treated with respect and dignity. On the other hand, when someone listens to us, we feel loved and we feel real.

In the current COVID world, please ensure everyone is loved and feels real.

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On the Road to Kingdom Come: Customer Service

Filed under: Life Lessons, Parkinson's
May 2, 2020

Buddhism claims wealth is temporary, is no path to happiness, and may not be the best source for money wisdom. This view obviously struck the devil as odd. He looked upon the Buddha and said, “To test this theory, I create something unusual, something wonderful, something so special everyone will rush to claim one. He created a Goldman Sachs Apple Credit Card.

If you have an Apple Card, its best rewards are achieved when making Apple purchases via the Apple Wallet app on your iPhone. In theory, it’s less a physical card than it is an incentive program for using Apple’s technology. Need et Coke, open your app, press your Apple Credit Card, double the funky power button, and ‘boink’ with a magic checkmark.  Congratulations oh Apple ‘Oneder.’ (Or is One Dur? Maybe Wonder?). 

My titanium slab came FedEx. I’ve never had a credit card delivered FedEx, except that time in 1996 when a Louisiana ATM Machine gnawed my Business Mastercard like a kid high on Happy Meals. Most Apple ‘Oneders’ claim a certain love with the concept. Few mention inherent problems. A few mention the high-interest rate. Others mention the failure to allow the user to download their purchases to Quicken or other software (an issue they’ve reportedly fixed). These two issues were enough for me to rarely use the titanium slab. Most months, I carry no balance. 

I found another issue: dealing with Apple/Goldman Sachs Credit specialists via text. 

Prior to leaving work, I used my iPhone’s Best Buy App to order $100 in office supplies. Everything was in stock and would be ready in an hour. Best Buy asked if I wanted to pay via my titanium slab. “What the h••• I said,” as I pressed the funky power button twice. Immediately thereafter, “Boink” and a magic checkmark. Moments later, I received a text.

Best Buy Order Status: Order BB###-############ is confirmed. Visit http://blah blah, blah blah for order details.

God damn it. This Apple ‘Oneder’ was a happy ‘Oneder.’ Nothing makes a Coronavirus fighter happier than a “Boink” and magic checkmark – Until getting to Best Buy.  No one was in the store. I and ten other ‘Oneder’s’ waited. And waited. And waited. No one came out. None. Nada. Zip. 

I decided to cancel the order. Laughing from his crypt, the Devil said, “Not so fast schmuck-face.” I could not cancel the entire order at once. I actually had to cancel each item in my order one at a time. I found this annoying, but, since Best Buy’s exceptional service was missing in action, I had no choice.  Since Best Buy already charged my Apple ‘Oneder’ account, I contacted Apple, via the Wallet app, to request any Best Buy charge be denied. Turns out, I couldn’t. Since the transaction was pending, “Tough Toenails Toots.”

My conversation started with Apple Support, who transferred me to Goldman Sachs, who transferred me back to Apple Support, who then fed me a Little Orphan Annie decoder telephone number that I had to call to confirm my conversation. 

Amie (not her real name) sounded like the same representative I conversed with when my Mastercard was devoured. I literally called the Little Orphan Annie decoder telephone number texted to me. Amie (not her real name) answered.

“Can’t do (s•••) anything Apple ‘Oneder.’ You have to wait until the charge clears, then dispute it. Thanks for calling Apple ‘Oneder.’ Make sure you save your texts to prove your claim. My name is Amie and I’m glad to have assisted you (i.e., in confirming I was F’d).”

Final Thought

The ‘End Literacy Council’ erected a sign, “Learn to read FREE! 222-6325.”

That’s what the Buddha warned. Nothing is free. 

During the drive home, this Apple ‘Oneder’ called his Cell Phone Carrier and ordered a different phone. I used an American Express card.

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Sometimes the Crisis Makes the Leader

Filed under: Life Lessons, Right Speech, Social Justice
April 8, 2020

Kathryn Dill and Te-Ping Chen wrote a great article in The Wall Street Journal.

‘Sometimes the Crisis Makes the Leader’: Andrew Cuomo and Five Lessons on Leadership’

The lessons the want readers to understand are:

  1. Transparency;
  2. Lead and be a field general;
  3. Make people believe you’re in there with them;
  4. There is such a thing as ‘bad television;’ and
  5. Clarity is important

Everyone should read their article. It’s fantastic.

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Messaging

Filed under: Life Lessons, Social Justice
March 29, 2020

Guardian Writers Ed Pilkington and Tom McCarthy wrote a stunning byline.

“When the definitive history of the coronavirus pandemic is written, the date January 20, 2020, is certain to feature prominently. It was on that day that a 35-year-old man in Washington state, recently returned from visiting family in Wuhan in China, became the first person in the U.S. to be diagnosed with the virus.

On the very same day, 5,000 miles away in Asia, the first confirmed case of Covid-19 was reported in South Korea. The confluence was striking, but there the similarities ended.

In the two months since that fateful day, the responses to Coronavirus displayed by the U.S. and South Korea have been polar opposites.”

In the months since, U.S. leadership dithered, procrastinated, became mired in chaos and confusion, got distracted by the individual whims of its egotistical leader, and now faces a health emergency of daunting proportions.

Let’s face it, Coronavirus messaging has sucked. On one hand, Gov. Andrew Cuomo (N.Y.) extended the order for non-essential workers to stay home until April 15. One the other, Lt. Governor Patrick (TX) urged a return to work, saying the vulnerable should sacrifice themselves for the greater good. 

In the political world, messaging either looks good or bad. In the real world, messaging is hollow. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t understand how consequential America’s lack of preparation.

I reside in a heavily impacted State. The lake looks peaceful from here. Eerily calm. Inviting. Save for a hearty lone soul; everyone’s disappeared, including Sunday afternoon joggers, walkers, hikers, and lovers. For the residents of my building, messaging meant little. Going to the store, I noticed how empty our underground parking was. Empty parking stalls meant an empty building. Everyone left, probably wishing to spend time with those closest.

Disasters do not respect messaging. Coronavirus has no respect for messaging. Neither does it distinguish victims by age. The economy will return, but a person who dies stays dead. I’m reasonably positive Chef Floyd Cardoz (59) would not appreciate Lt. Gov. Patrick’s message. Neither would CBS Journalist Maria Mercader (54), nor singer Joe Diffie. Likewise, I presume Jeffries Group CFO Peregrine “Peg” Broadbent (56) would have loved a few more years just like the Illinois infant (under a year old).

A March 29 tweet from Trump was different but claimed a similar, yet subtle message.

Because the “Ratings” of my News Conferences etc. are so high, “Bachelor finale, Monday Night Football type numbers” according to the @nytimes, the Lamestream Media is going CRAZY. “Trump is reaching too many people, we must stop him.” said one lunatic. See you at 5:00 P.M.!

If any of you have read my blog posts, I often claim to remind myself of Rabbi Brad Hirschfield’s comments from “Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero:”

“You want plan? Then tell me about plan. But if you’re going to tell me about how the plan saved you, you better also be able to explain how the plan killed them. And the test of that has nothing to do with saying it in your synagogue or your church. The test of that has to do with going and saying it to the person who just buried someone and look in their eyes and tell them God’s plan was to blow your loved one apart. Look at them and tell them that God’s plan was that their children should go to bed every night for the rest of their lives without a parent. And if you can say that, well, at least you’re honest. I don’t worship the same God, but that at least has integrity.

It’s just it’s too easy. That’s my problem with the answer. Not that I think they’re being inauthentic when people say it or being dishonest, it’s just too damn easy. It’s easy because it gets God off the hook. And it’s easy because it gets their religious beliefs off the hook. And right now, everything is on the hook.”

Truthfully, part of me wishes that either Trump or Lt. Governor Patrick (TX) would give their ‘message’ to any family having lost a loved to the Coronavirus. I wish Patrick would explain, face-to-face, how that family should be proud that their loved one took it for the team. In the words of Hirschfield, “At least that would be honest.”

On March 27, Dan Patrick published the following tweet. 

“If you encounter any type of fraud or price gouging, you can contact the National Center for Disaster Fraud (NCDF) Hotline at (866) 720-5721 or by email at disaster@leo.gov. You can also contact the @TXAG’s Office here: https://bit.ly/2WMxgA0.”

I called and reported Lt. Governor Dan Patrick was fraudulently posing as a caring politician. “Yeah,” the respondent stated. “You’re not the first.”

In the aftermath of Hurrican Harvey, I was in southern Texas. I worked for several weeks. I will say that when people came to get a hot meal, they’re hungry. They weren’t looking for prayer. Simply giving them a bottle of water and asking them how they are doing provides them an opportunity to talk. And before you know it, you’re hugging people, giving support, and offering something more durable than a blessing.

“Fuck off” is not a spiritual message.

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Explanation of Benefits

Filed under: Life Lessons, Social Justice — 3 Comments
March 3, 2020

Just prior to summer, my intern informed me he had received an opportunity to interview at Google. Asking for my advice, I told him to, “Go for it.” We went through pro’s and con’s, the fact he may have to ditch his girlfriend should she not find Seattle appealing, and whether he liked Seattle’s Best or Starbucks. (Seems like one on every corner). Inquiring of how to prepare, I told him, “Drink four of your favorite beers in 30 minutes and watch Fantasia backward.” In all seriousness, “There are lots of websites with tons of sample questions out there. Maybe they’ll ask how you would decipher a provider’s ‘Explanation of Benefits (EOB).“

An EOB is a health insurance provider statement describing the costs it will cover for the medical care you’ve received. In reality, it’s a ‘swindle sheet.’ I received my EOB (or lack thereof) for February’s tumor surgery this past Saturday. I envision the EOB creator found the most niche way of paraphrasing just how beautiful one’s benefits are while simultaneously informing how much is not covered.

“Greetings, Member. Had you had no insurance, the original cost of this surgery would be over $5 grand. However, since you chose a physician and surgical center under contract, and the fact you chose to check yourself out versus staying overnight, we’ll knock off $2 grand. 

Costs were calculated based upon the full moon cycle during the week your surgery was performed, the associated gravitational pull, multiplied by the total square miles of depleted water in the California basin, then divided by the remaining number of brine shrimp in the artic. In summary, we’re covering half. Therefore, your estimated costs are $1,500.

Thank you for allowing us to be of service. Remember, we believe you’re special, but so are we.”

The exact cost was $1,540, for there was a forty-dollar copay.

The American Bar Association claims healthcare is a human right. Understanding the EOB is not. Having worked in healthcare since 2006, there’s no rhyme or reason for the EOB. The average ‘Joe‘ can’t make sense out of it. The facility would better serve by saying we’re ‘f•••ing you’ for half the bill. ‘Being F’d‘ is something the average ‘Joe‘ understands. Just once I would love a Trump supporter to hand Trump an EOB and ask him to explain it. But here’s the catch, Trump has promised that repeal will end with “a beautiful picture” – a beauty that ends upon receiving the EOB.

Here’s what I wish the hospital said:

“We’re sinking our tentacles into your a••, and we’re going to drain your bank account of every possible dime. And, if that isn’t enough, we’re going to drain the gas from the car used to drive here. We understand you’ll have to push the vehicle upon departure. However, on the positive side, your physical therapy gets off to a great start.”

Next time you receive an EOB, remember that top administrators at U.S. hospitals are paid exceptionally well. CEOs make $400,000 to $500,000 a year, not including benefits (such as stock options). Administrative expenses eat up as much as 25 percent of total hospital expenses we pay (much higher than in other countries). For all the chatter and talk about free healthcare, no single candidate has explained how they will prevent the average ‘Joe‘ from getting tentacled up the a••. Neither GOP, Democrat, Socialist, nor Independent has been able to state how they would turn the good ship ‘Healthcare‘ around.

I’m fortunate. I can pay the bill. Millions can’t. And spiritually speaking, I believe in healthcare reform, but we need a robust framework, not a ninety-second campaign pitch. The average ‘Joe’s‘ of the world demands it.

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Because It’s Wednesday

Filed under: Life Lessons, Parkinson's — 2 Comments
February 28, 2020

Understanding ‘down days’ has been easy. I ignored them. For the past five or six years, I never understood why I felt great one day while stuck in second the next. Since doctors readily dismissed my symptoms, the only avenue left was ‘out of sight, out of mind.’

Yeah. I get it. The approach wasn’t the best plausible approach, but it was the most effective.

“How do you feel today?”
“I am feeling slower,” I’d respond.
“Any idea why?”
“Hell, I don’t know. It’s Wednesday. “

I’ve written about this before: For close to a decade, pain has been a companion. Legs were stiff as far back as 2010; neck stiffness graced my presence in 2014; neck and shoulder pain announced itself in 2016; and arm spasticity followed in 2019, with on and off twinges of the foot, hand and finger issues. During such times, mental fortitude and daily, a multi-daily dose of pain medications were downed like M&M peanuts in a snack bowl.

As the years drifted by, and while doctors could detect the problem, fortitude and drugs allowed to forget. With them, I was equal. No one knew.

A year ago, I was informed that only two good years remained. “Prognosis is poor,” the report stated. Post-surgery, I thought the surgeon might have bought additional time. Last Friday’s Parkinson’s diagnosis was a shot across the bow, a reminder to accept the frailty, the beauty, and the levity of life.

The tumor was my blessing. Maybe via that and Parkinson’s, I can relearn the opportunities of profound growth and how to access gifts untapped. Maybe in the next year, I get more family photographs, visit Zion and Bryce Canyon, and walk along the Snake River Canyon.

I know there will be some dark days, some scary twists and turns. And I will find comfort in the kindness of others. They will be my angels along the highway – never forgotten. God and Ms. K. will provide strength and support from which I always drew.
Lastly, there’s my internal staff: Fortitude. Always had it, always will.

In whatever you do, I wish everyone health and an appreciation for all that life offers.

If that doesn’t work, blame it on Wednesday.

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Silence

Filed under: Faith & Doubt, Life Lessons — 2 Comments
February 26, 2020

Parkinson’s. … Parkinson’s. Another crossroad of life – my life. Four days post-Parkinson’s, I remain quiet. Not a word. Not a soul. And unlike my tumor, to which I told only a selected few, nothing.

Like my tumor, I don’t want Parkinson’s to by my identity. I know it will (eventually), but not now. Not yet. I can’t handle this being the forefront of life. Just can’t.

I don’t want to be dependent. In Tuesdays with Morrie, author Mitch Albom noted the loss of control that leads people to rely upon others unconditionally. For me, Parkinson’s represents a loss of self. Maybe it’s the fact someone gets to wipe your a••. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

Albom’s work was about his conversations with a former professor, Morris “Morrie” S. Schwartz. One night, Schwartz was talking to Nightline host Ted Koppel.

“Well, Ted, one day soon, someone’s gonna have to wipe my ass. It’s the ultimate sign of dependency. Someone wiping your bottom. But I’m working on it.”

In my way, Parkinson’s scares me more than my tumor. Depending upon the story, Parkinson’s is slow. And while cancer can be as well, the thought of losing my mind, my thoughts, my most inner secret is worrisome.

The good news is that I know I will die. I have too much negativity in this old body to make it too much farther down the road—arthritis, Cervical Stenosis, a tumor, and now Parkinson’s. But dying is more than negativity; it’s about the positivity that I understand my death, and that to live better despite it.

A significant part of me is not to whither against the hard rain darting past my hat. I aim not to disappear. The key for me is the daily query of one repetitive question, “How do I make the best of it?” I believe in the life hereafter. I believe Ms. K., will meet me. I believe in a spiritual force. I believe in God. I believe in love.

And that’s where I want to live. And that’s why I will probably say zilch until I absolutely must. I prefer to live in the center of those items just listed then in Parkinson’s. I should have done that all along.

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Lies We Believe

Filed under: Life Lessons, Main, Right Speech — 2 Comments
February 24, 2020

The two days post-Parkinson’s diagnosis was spent reflecting. Admittedly, I accomplished little. Yeah, 2019 taxes remain partially complete, but there’s laundry, mail, and several medical bills. Prima facially, I accomplished little, but inwardly, I accomplished much. 

Much like my tumor, I’ve told no one of my Parkinson’s diagnosis. If revealed, one would probably curse my doctors, tell me to sue or at least write a well-thought nasty letter. Sure, I could spit in my original neuro’s face. Yeah. That doctor who blatantly told me in April 2015 told me to see a psychiatrist. I could have done that. I didn’t.

I could have attempted an angle. As a former rescueman who risked his, I effectively calculated all aspects. I was known for quickly summarizing the best outcome, and often, beat back the face of death. Doing such was a lie I told myself and others.

Such lies bring comfort. If you’re dying, you want comfort God will dispatch angels to comfort and carry you. A young mother wants to believe doctors will heal their child or husband. If you lost your medical insurance, you’ll gladly listen to and swallow a politicians’ lure’ of free health care.

I could blame my neuro for all my ills. I could. I won’t. Why? Because I was the lie, I told myself. I’ve known for years my back was stiff, stiff leg muscles and pain, a left stiff arm, bad dreams, the nights I couldn’t sleep, and the ever so slight internal and left-hand tremor. I dropped more coffee cups and glasses than I could count. I just lied.

“You need to see a neurologist,” She urged.

“Ah, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. They’ll tell me nothing’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” she frowned. “There’s something about your symptoms that don’t make sense.”

I relied on my ability to elude danger. Like forty years prior, Celecoxib, Gabapentine, Tizanidine, Tylenol 1, and Tylenol 3 were my lies. Arthritis drugs killed the pain but didn’t treat the disease. The tumor forced me to address the pain. 

I didn’t have much choice. The surgeon who removed my tumor stated I required a neuro eval. And coming full-circle, I returned to the very clinic that ignored me years prior. In less than an hour, I went from viewing doctors’ confusion to hear, “We believe you have Parkinson’s.;” to hearing, “You have Parkinson’s;” to “I’m sorry.”

William Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” What Shakespeare is referencing is the drama everyone lives throughout their lives. He reduces life to performance or acting. To which, oftentimes looks ridiculous.

Is there some connection between truthfulness and personal integrity? Possibly. Spiritual men and women often had a disdain for lies. In fact, “not lying” one of the fundamental training practices of his path of self-transformation. “Not lying” might raise some ethical issues. For instance, what if a Nazi guard asked if Anne Frank was in our attic? Would I have lied? Of course.

The practice of deceiving with myself of true inner healing via false medication was like a sailboat anchored to the shore. I had a role in my own lie. I lived to the act, and my decision making was ridiculous. All of us need to focus on good days – living as many good ones as possible. Tomorrow, I promise to have a good day. 

Promise me you’ll live only good days.

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On The Road To Kingdom Come: Bringing Peace

Filed under: Life Lessons, Technology — 1 Comment
February 22, 2020

 

“It is in the nature of medicine that you are gonna screw up. You are gonna kill someone. If you can’t handle that reality, pick another profession. Or finish medical school and teach.”

~ Gregory House ~

Dr. House’s comment while substituting as a guest lecturer. Unfortunately, Dr. House’s statement to the interns occurs all too often. It happened to me this past Friday. I likened it to something out of Charles Dickinson’s Tale of Two Cities.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair . . .”

I returned for my post-operation evaluation. Good News. The operation was successful. Bad News. The symptoms remained relatively the same. My neuro was positive that removing the tumor would make some positive impact.

Studying the medical history, a sharp, bright, neurological nurse looked at my medical history, then she squinted and studied further. Her first poke went unacknowledged. With careful forethought, she grabbed a piece of the neuro’s flesh, twisted slightly. Turning to look where she pointed, the neuro read. He read again. And again. He pulled up the MRI from 2015. And he read. Read again. And again.

They excused themselves.

Ten minutes later, several doctors, en mass, poked and prodded. They left, leaving the neurological nurse and me to kill time quietly. After eons of seconds, she sympathetically smiled me. “We believe you have Parkinson’s.”

Pause . . . Long pause. 

I must have had this WTF expression, but just as she was about to follow-up, the flock of physicians returned.

“In 2015, the MRI we performed indicated over seven supratentorial FLAIR hyperintense lesions or plaques. We should have noted these. We misread the MRI. While there is no one single test that can verify Parkinson’s, this finding and your symptoms demonstrate the diagnosis. Unfortunately, your Parkinson’s has been untreated for at least five years.”

“All this time I was told, ‘nothing to be done,’ we recommend a psychiatrist…”

“Was awful,” he interrupted. Soulfully searching for the right words, “I am sorry.”

The tumor still had to come out. The remaining portion of the tumor still residing in my neck still remains. All the while, physicians had either denied my symptoms or attributed to the tumor was wrong. All those years of pain and suffering. All it took was for a twenty-year veteran neurological nurse to read the chart and connect the dots. 

I am still processing, but I left in peace. “Why?” one would wonder. Well, I found some level of peace in the doctor’s words.

“Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace.”

~ Buddha ~

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