tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48250017471458822532024-03-05T11:57:58.823-07:00Kosmic EggThe Storyteller's Orchard where organic writing grows.Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.comBlogger176125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-18483053982983839712013-03-08T09:58:00.003-07:002013-03-08T09:58:24.373-07:00Little Updates<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I thought I'd just post a few updates on my brain recovery situation...<br />
<br />
Visited the new neurologist on Monday. I actually spent an hour or so on Friday writing an extensive letter explaining my concerns and emailed it to him because I get to those appointments and follow the doctor's lead and then leave feeling that I haven't quite gotten the information I need. So, of course, he didn't have time to read it until I got there, but at least everything was written down. I'll take the same letter to my neurosurgeon appointment next Monday. I would recommend that when you're dealing with brain fog and things that go with that anyway, that any professional visit you make needs to be accompanied by a list of queries, otherwise, you may leave feeling even more fogged up.<br />
<br />
What was accomplished, if not perfect by any means, is a plan for long-term health. Determining that yet another anti-seizure medication was making me sick, we scaled back to the Dilantin and the gazillion anti-histamines. The point being to make sure I don't have any seizures. Suggesting that perhaps the fog is coming from side effects of the Dilantin in generic form, we are switching to the more expensive pure pharmaceutical Dilantin. After two days, I already feel less stressed out and so I think this is a good step. However, Dilantin is not a great drug for women in particular. It is messing with my estrogen levels and it is, long-term, a threat to my skeletal structure right down to my teeth. So, it is still an in-between solution for now.<br />
<br />
We identified three potential medications that I may switch to in time, as my brain settles down. I can't remember their names at the moment. What I can say is that they're all likely more expensive than Dilantin, and one of them has a tiny research track record so far. I'm okay with taking my time to get to that switch as long as the Dilantin is not making me sick all along the way.<br />
<br />
I went for my quarterly MRI yesterday and had a ridiculous panic attack in the pod. I've never had that happen before and it really didn't go full-blown because I refused to let my mind toy with me. I did this by doing some really patient breathing exercises while the "music" of the MRI rattled through me in dissonance. I breathed in four counts, held four counts, breathed out four counts and rested for counts (or finished breathing out), and repeated, imagining that I was drawing a square over and over again. That quieted my brain enough that I came close to falling asleep. It is funny that they bother to put earplugs in, really. I'm nearly deaf now in my left ear, and it is so loud anyway.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/30449697" target="_blank">Jurica Jelic Microtonal Music Video</a><br />
<br />
I really enjoy this composer's music, and I love this video that, to me, captures the odd rhythms in the passage of trees in a forest to begin with -- like a barcode. It may seem for a moment like it makes no sense, but if I can relax and listen and accept that the rhythm of earth is not necessarily the same, as say ocean waves, but is there nevertheless. If I walk this way and pass the trees in a forest, it is different than if I walk from another direction. And, this is what being in an MRI is like in a lot of ways. If I lay there fighting for a regular beat then I may have a panic attack, but if I can marry my square breathing to the irregularity of sound dissonance then I can be still and enjoy being in a pod or on a walk.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWerNJ43xpLnmysQ43npqjXhOmSttQ_EBNNAiBfauxFqEBqWp0Nm-Pciv1QMcEG8XGP2W44QJX_b02S1b2JAcuQOCVbNamOXhcgVYkR6RumGmsLChVCy1yAj_V1YA3btaWqKucxzBqecM/s1600/barcode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWerNJ43xpLnmysQ43npqjXhOmSttQ_EBNNAiBfauxFqEBqWp0Nm-Pciv1QMcEG8XGP2W44QJX_b02S1b2JAcuQOCVbNamOXhcgVYkR6RumGmsLChVCy1yAj_V1YA3btaWqKucxzBqecM/s320/barcode.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The nearly last thing to mention is that I'm really feeling better without the wheat, and other gluten foods, in my diet. I am aware this is a partial progress, and that as far as my diet goes I have a way to go before I get to the low-glycemic number of perfection. I'd rather take it slowly and be realistic than to do it perfectly for two weeks and then blow it. This take it slowly and make it permanent seems to be a new theme in my life in all directions. Fast solutions don't seem to hit the mark, even if they come close.<br />
<br />
Finally, next Monday I'll see the neurosurgeon. This is my last quarterly visit, I believe. After this I may go to see him only once every six months, and then once yearly. That would be nice. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up.</div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-11257723374016933602013-02-16T00:30:00.000-07:002013-02-16T00:30:01.214-07:00A Year Since, Part III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
No matter how wonderful painting and drawing is, I am grieving a part of me that seemed so committed, while admitting that those "tired ofs" are there, and the "<a href="http://erikanapoletano.com/blog/where-do-i-begin/" target="_blank">oulda sisters</a>" exist behind that door. I visit the idea of doors closing and windows opening, and hold onto it. I am back to working on doors that seemed closed, but were left open a crack, for instance, my lifetime quest to make my own <a href="http://kosmiceggtarot.wordpress.com/">Tarot Deck</a> with all of my new realizations, complete with 79 poems that have yet to be fully edited and loaded. Then there are people are asking me if I'd consider doing a special portrait for them! Of course, I would! I'm learning how to set that idea to a reality score of inner music. Composing a real plan for it. I am also in a place of learning how to look at the windows around me.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QqU-YifQfjh0iiML_K7kIvn0UpYOzTNRhohbzvG9NCYNlTk4HTu4sidKknLzjZDXff50vjb1ILRgVox4K9Pax3HTGvTlVN-t66Ooo-rz3irwZNAh64O_ZJrV3wAZTPxmKRJns08kLMg/s1600/2012-05-19+12.02.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QqU-YifQfjh0iiML_K7kIvn0UpYOzTNRhohbzvG9NCYNlTk4HTu4sidKknLzjZDXff50vjb1ILRgVox4K9Pax3HTGvTlVN-t66Ooo-rz3irwZNAh64O_ZJrV3wAZTPxmKRJns08kLMg/s320/2012-05-19+12.02.53.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainy Afternoon, Oil Pastels on Archival Paper, 11" x 17"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Physically other doors that have closed and don’t seem to be cracking open are hearing in my left ear, feelings on the left side of my face, and taste on the left side of my tongue. This is due to nerves taking their time to rebuild connections, or <i>not</i>. Also, I had a grand mal seizure in December that has me off the road (you should be happy about this!) and that has in turn limited my ability to be a useful chauffeur mom, and to getting to anything but the grocery store when someone can take me. I really relate to Arab women and those under house arrest now. To be constantly accompanied is both wonderful and uncomfortably demeaning. Don't feel sorry for me. It is just a thing.<br />
<br />
It also means that I have to make peace with being on anti-seizure medications for the rest of my life, according to all the neurologists I've visited, and this is a huge drag. Better than having seizures. Yes. That. But, I’m still fighting acceptance of this for the long haul. I give in for the time being. This means I really have to look at ways to make that work -- which turns out for me to be changing my lifestyle choices - diet, exercise, self-care, how to be a productive mom and person and ways to make a living from my home (back to writing??). Oy! Never ending things that fate has given me. <a href="http://youtu.be/vJTxzsHsako" target="_blank">Everyone has them</a>. <br />
<br />
To focus on what CAN BE DONE is the thing. If you haven't seen "Silverlining Playbook," yet, this is where I am highly recommending it. <br />
<br />
I can be a great mom somehow right? Even if I cannot be there to scoop up, to deliver... I’m looking for that purpose, and meantime realizing that my kids’ lives are not about me anymore in any way, shape or form. I realized this by remembering my love of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRLrZ66bwPQ" target="_blank">Bay City Rollers</a> back in the day, and realizing that they've already grown past that time and I know I didn't give a shit what my parents were doing even then. They’re out there discovering themselves and experiencing things they’ll never share with me. This is what every mother goes through. The empty nest. I’m just getting an advanced, slowed-down, warning. You know, mother birds do not stay in empty nests. They return to an adventure of flying.<br />
<br />
I begin flying by learning about being an artist from something other than my childhood. There are a FEW (Har, many) how-to books, classes and crafts (like how to frame and mat an oil pastel piece) to take in. I can take some of the business skills I developed as a freelance writer and editor and apply them to an art career. Heck, ten years or more in Consumer Products branding, copy and content ought to be valuable to an artist. It is not really like I’m giving up on my experience so far, I'm just changing its focus from writing about the visual to making the visual. Who knows? It may bring me full circle.<br />
<br />
I can make my body stronger and less dependent on medication to prevent the brain from having a lightning storm, if I keep after what I know. I know I have to reduce swelling, and I know going to a low-glycemic practice, and to keep walking is part of that. Perhaps I will find more. It will be a step-by-step thing. It took me 32 tries to quit smoking cigarettes for good many years ago. I must be approaching that with quitting gluten. Let the 33rd try be the one that lasts.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.danielsmithblog.com/?page_id=3918"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNyz4BOI0NEO1m_FHqgFLRTObGMLSVE-vTNQ9Vfozjop3NRBlcbjPndG4Zu2YPjO7PcVYEhv3drIz-mt6iO842AK5fbwHrwPHPCmyXSzJSO48MA-FZEBfZWAfrjVhA1mT5yjK1nTbTk8/s320/2012-09-20+22.46.07.jpg" width="237" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.danielsmithblog.com/?page_id=3918">C,G, Jung Laughs, Oil Pastels on Black Archival Paper, 19" x 25" </a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I can face the failure/success question little-by-little, first by linking my work of art to a higher goal of preparation and exposure by entering into an art contest. (I tell all my screenwriting students to consider it a real step along the way, to submit their screenplays to well-respected contests). Maybe if you vote, I'll win something that could help me along the way, a "full studio" Super Shawn Taboret, a nifty piece of furniture that would make it possible for me to do professional level artwork at home.<br />
<br />
I could learn that asking for help is not a bad thing. I could use your help. I would really appreciate your help. All I'm asking you to do is to click on the painting to the left. When you land at Daniel Smith's Art Contest, click to "Monthly Voting Gallery," and then go to page two. You'll find this painting about half-way down the page. I am putting myself out there to see what the next step might be and to challenge myself to get beyond a shyness I have about having my work seen beyond a hundred FB friends. I don't know what will happen, but right now I appreciate what I'm learning about what I can do everyday to sell myself tall rather than short. You, by the way, can vote once every 24 hours for the rest of February 2013, if you so choose. Please choose.<br />
<br />
So to sum it all up, my year of recovery: My gratitude runs deep. I accept the bits I cannot change...mostly. I can turn away from closed doors and let go of clothes that don't fit. I can ask for help...and even accept it. I can be content by embracing curiosity and dislodging expectations. I don't know what tomorrow brings...<br />
<br />
2013 © Amanda Morris Johnson</div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-42172884470977123352013-02-15T00:30:00.000-07:002013-02-15T00:30:04.718-07:00A Year Since, Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdccGNfS8G4Z3chRhrAoy_UEDWCyot6lu-aysasLzF1Y4biJ1vwQ-umFG9QooTAhmV7XRcL5GemLLS8LD0WnSsUZIoiIVN3HO7bk5rhyFRQ0O40Xe6Sm02A8y2f0NeUPf7DKsVAz3ZwM/s1600/2012-06-25+12.57.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbdccGNfS8G4Z3chRhrAoy_UEDWCyot6lu-aysasLzF1Y4biJ1vwQ-umFG9QooTAhmV7XRcL5GemLLS8LD0WnSsUZIoiIVN3HO7bk5rhyFRQ0O40Xe6Sm02A8y2f0NeUPf7DKsVAz3ZwM/s320/2012-06-25+12.57.50.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wave 4, Oil Pastels on Archival Paper 6" x 10"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
As I was saying...recovery...<br />
<br />
My right brain, it turns out, has a lot to express. Prolific is an understatement, especially as my energy reserves gained some momentum. At times I have been drawing four or five pieces of artwork a week! I went from drawing pictures of people, to drawing pictures of the dreams I was having about great waves that I would simply walk into. It was an “of course I walk into giant tsunami waves” moment. Then I began to combine the style of the waves to the faces I drew, and so on all year, just seeing what I could do with this wonderful, colorful, soft and tender medium, the oil pastel. Again, I received so much support for what I shared with the social web that it encouraged me to create more and more, to experiment with detail and ideas. It has become a possible pivot in my career goals...to be a professional artist. I am looking for some kind of viable confirmation that this is a sensible thing to do. Har. I have projects and ideas just growing all over the place and a need to set up some parameters and plans for them before the garden becomes an unmanageable jungle...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk2FrG-LZsI8ghXdwRrP_mI53TyJx9UPKjzGpFTS8Ow581onXVZlVurrHSKZqz2gQzyFkhncouAX3z3jLV19oCGEnHg41LERMcxT3DvBxBXkDEGHr5k59NQkv6KB4WnMk5Ar5iXN9KVY/s1600/2012-09-16+18.13.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk2FrG-LZsI8ghXdwRrP_mI53TyJx9UPKjzGpFTS8Ow581onXVZlVurrHSKZqz2gQzyFkhncouAX3z3jLV19oCGEnHg41LERMcxT3DvBxBXkDEGHr5k59NQkv6KB4WnMk5Ar5iXN9KVY/s320/2012-09-16+18.13.11.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dragon Wave, Oil Pastels on Black Archival Paper, 19" x 20"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My friend, Erika Napoletano, made a few really viable suggestions <a href="http://erikanapoletano.com/blog/where-do-i-begin/">in her blog about new beginnings earlier this week</a>. She suggested looking at what was NOT next. Oy. That would mean a decision and while it was easy for me to quit some things along the way, it is not easy for me to quit the something that used to be my dream, but maybe isn't anymore, and maybe needs to be revisited before I really, really say NOT.<br />
<br />
I am challenged by the thing I once dreamed of doing for my whole life, well since I was about 10 years old: writing. I was challenged for a while before I was diagnosed. I’d say I’ve been struggling for 7 years to stay with writing, for writing’s sake and for a career path. The left temporal lobe is important to the skills of writing, but not to the talent of it, I believe. Why do I feel this urge to write, and feel just as much, "oh no, really?"<br />
<br />
So it is never a shortage of albeit rusty skills and opinions. This is a long, long blog, for instance, and I knew that much, so I divided it into three parts. It is a question of <i>what is my point</i>? What can I say that hasn't been said a million times better by a million other writers? I would love to be a writer who could write about adventures I haven't had because that is really what I dreamed of writing. Turns out I write about life as I live it, and I can't imagine that it would entertain anyone as much as it entertains me. This is a writer's conundrum, period, but it is a weird struggle now with added problem of the order of words being not normal and in need of practice.<br />
<br />
Before I had the surgery I composed 100 poems, easily. They aren’t perfect. The grammar is a mess, but when I take a moment to fix that, to rearrange a few words, they’re not so bad. I really love some of them, especially my Tarot poems. I have always had a thing for poetry, but, truthfully, I wanted to be a screenwriter. Screenwriting is about setting up the visual of a hero's journey and that’s my thing. I wanted this for an awfully long time and made some good progress up until 7 years ago. Ask any of my students and they can confirm I have a true passion for this craft. Perhaps, it is the divorce I went through from my co-producer that increased my trepidation of touching the craft and letting it grow, or perhaps it was the pressure, and release of pressure, on my left temporal lobe. At any rate, screenwriting has been put on a shelf, and now I’m at a stage where I am considering putting it into the storage unit for memorabilia. Leaving windows open for a lot of other ways to write, but still.<br />
<br />
Here is an amazing little piece of irony. The book I was studying, "Story" by Robert McKee, a screenwriter's guru, was left behind at the hospital after surgery. I didn't miss it until two weeks later, and by then it was long gone. Hmmm.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9NhqiTsw9ZPsDB2dZjCKLkDuSvqNIH6v9EC34Wp39fri44d7D0zWC2tSJrKjZgP0FbdvIsiFcKFqzwmvfFrn5YIYt9TpK6SB3OP4_5BXseEgS2mlhXPG4yO-V9AYW2cKb-MQOdWEVGQ/s1600/2013-01-18+14.09.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9NhqiTsw9ZPsDB2dZjCKLkDuSvqNIH6v9EC34Wp39fri44d7D0zWC2tSJrKjZgP0FbdvIsiFcKFqzwmvfFrn5YIYt9TpK6SB3OP4_5BXseEgS2mlhXPG4yO-V9AYW2cKb-MQOdWEVGQ/s320/2013-01-18+14.09.02.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Composer, Jurica, Oil Pastels on Archival Paper, 9" x 12"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For this and so many reasons this has got to be a NOT. It is a young person's business. I know this. And, yet, I know writers older than me making great progress into it, and then I know I'm lying to myself, making excuses. If you’re too young to imagine this, imagine the fear of choosing the wrong passion. Essentially, a moment to admit defeat is not really a great feeling, but a 7-year moment of indecision is much worse. It is not that I don’t know what I know. It's that I know that I don't know what might happen if I threw myself full force into this thing that bugs me often if I'm not drawing. Ugh.<br />
<br />
I value facing the truth, and it is coming to me that this may be the truth. In the long run, I never despair about truth.<br />
<br />
<br />
2013 © Amanda Morris Johnson</div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-20470257310331837842013-02-14T00:30:00.000-07:002013-02-14T11:46:30.014-07:00A Year Since, Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Part I<br />
<br />
It has been a year since I went to St. Anthony’s Hospital at the crack of dawn and had<br />
my skull sawed open, an incredible year in many ways. I survived. That’s the<br />
first thing. I survived and have so much to be thankful for all that’s around<br />
me. I want to review that for my own good, and to clarify that challenges can<br />
be met. The second thing I have to do is to face that in the next six months<br />
or so I’m going to know how far the healing can go, and I’ve already begun to<br />
accept that there are now things that will never go back to the way they were<br />
without a miracle. Finally, I want to do something with this acceptance<br />
besides sigh, I want to embrace what I can do instead of tripping over the<br />
obstacles again and again.<br />
<br />
When I announced that I’d been diagnosed with a brain tumor, a benign meningioma on my left temporal lobe, back in October of 2011, I was rather in shock to be<br />
honest. Giddy almost, I was, that there was really something to blame for the<br />
never-ending headache and messed up phraseology. It wasn’t all-in-my-head, but<br />
really it was <i>something</i> and it could be addressed now! Then I had the challenge of<br />
getting on the right medication to deal with it, and that was a four-month<br />
ordeal I didn’t expect, but like everything in my life, it seems, sort of<br />
slowed down the pace of my impulsive tendency to rush in. I need those slowdowns<br />
to step right up often, and so they seem to do that.<br />
<br />
During those four months I received a great deal of support from people all over the<br />
world, and dove deeper into far flung friendships through poetry sharing and<br />
commenting deep into the lonely nights. I so appreciate the willingness of<br />
people I barely knew then to stand by me, even if only in cyberspace, and<br />
listen to my moaning and groaning, cheer me up with good and naughty jokes and<br />
hold my cyber hand. I did not want to visit in person that often with people at<br />
that time. I did not have much vital energy for live chit chat, but I valued<br />
not being totally isolated. What an awesome social web it was, keeping me from<br />
falling into a chasm of despair.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, my family drew in and caught me when I fell and let me cry on their<br />
shoulders when one medication after another turned out to be that list of side<br />
effects they play out at the end of a commercial. The fact is I will never know<br />
if I could have made it through this experience without walking my dog, without<br />
knowing that I was needed by my kids for something or other, without long hugs<br />
through dark nights. They were there and they helped me through, and that is it.<br />
<br />
So, the surgery went really well, I still believe, even if it isn’t to this day<br />
perfect. It took four hours. I felt immediately relieved of the grayness that<br />
had been in my head for nearly a decade and was getting very dark up to that<br />
moment. I could count, speak, write, talk, walk and eat. All is well. I went<br />
home in five days. I laid around for a week or two, and took up drawing,<br />
inspired by “My Stroke of Insight,” by <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html">Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor</a>, whose<br />
book I read before surgery. I had the notion that if the pressure was off my<br />
left temporal lobe finally, perhaps, that gave my right brain a chance, a chance<br />
to finally get a word or an image into the conversation I have been having with<br />
life.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_T_8G-LAFff0crw6Cc3fDXaMohGUgL_Bp-YBKhIVtKSUuNkX4eFNp-QihAiCVzsj2o0xzMJp0RM4gdI1W6PwBfbcMpbxNqZ3N3aue2UcpnRGPoxER3MMc8calFVZVI32BUxuYynhyphenhyphenj8w/s1600/mighty+good+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_T_8G-LAFff0crw6Cc3fDXaMohGUgL_Bp-YBKhIVtKSUuNkX4eFNp-QihAiCVzsj2o0xzMJp0RM4gdI1W6PwBfbcMpbxNqZ3N3aue2UcpnRGPoxER3MMc8calFVZVI32BUxuYynhyphenhyphenj8w/s320/mighty+good+hat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five hours after they sawed my skull open...might good hat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh my!<br />
<br />
2013 © Amanda Morris Johnson</div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-14065907162351250342012-09-17T12:08:00.001-06:002012-09-17T12:13:35.650-06:00The Wink of Potential<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPiXnnR0v4i8-fq9WpZ4_2HwQgd5_fhEOpQ7H42DAHD5QhySkjpq28UgCArWIy6xvtRBjjWdGuluga-8T9eAI0vQeljcrm8bgILB6FnTLsD3WX1JBmMrNAqWvTihL1GN4oOIV6CQLIM4/s1600/2012-09-17+12.01.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPiXnnR0v4i8-fq9WpZ4_2HwQgd5_fhEOpQ7H42DAHD5QhySkjpq28UgCArWIy6xvtRBjjWdGuluga-8T9eAI0vQeljcrm8bgILB6FnTLsD3WX1JBmMrNAqWvTihL1GN4oOIV6CQLIM4/s320/2012-09-17+12.01.43.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cabaceo<br />
2012 (c) Amanda Morris Johnson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8071903241798282" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seven Months out from surgery today! It seems like forever, but I know it is not really that long in any real perspective. I feel a bit like I’ve gone from newborn to a seven-month old in terms of the leaps of knowledge that have occurred. I’ve gone from, “I don’t know,” to “I don’t know and that’s all right.” Grin. I know how to smile and laugh and sit up now. Of course, I write metaphorically. I could do those things within coming out of anesthesia in the hospital, but now I seem to understand the reality of what’s going on a bit better.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s the thing: They weren’t kidding when they said it would take a long time to heal. Considering how much better and brighter I felt within weeks of the brain surgery, I did have the hubris to believe that I was all better more than once along the way. What I have learned is that the things I am able to do, and the things I ought to do are not a necessary match in the scope of self-care, and real holistic health. I am able to do pretty much anything I want, even write, but my constant temptation to show this to myself and anyone in my periphery is dangerous to my full recovery. I’ve paid for over-doing time and time again since the beginning of summer time because I am stubborn about my ability and not stubborn about my rest. I am trying, trying to switch this in my thinking and planning, but am really an amateur at knowing what schedule I can really handle and I know there is so much I want to be that rest, meh, seems like a Universal manipulation to undo my ambition to be frank, and yet...</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I do too much, and I write this for anyone recovering from serious surgery, I pay for it. There is no recourse. I am down and out, and it isn’t from major efforts. It is from<br class="kix-line-break" />efforts I consider normal, like seeing friends, taking on a little more work, and generally expecting myself to be productive. I can’t do that yet. It seems insane to me most of the time to say, “No, thanks, I’m not up for it,” when I feel fine. But just because I feel fine after a good low-down time, does not mean I will feel fine after I do the most mundane things to “catch-up” with one thing or another. In fact, I will be knocked out. I am susceptible to colds and headaches, like everyone else who is overdone, but what I am most susceptible to is exhaustion, and it feels disappointing and pathetic to me sometimes.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I really understand how frustrated babies must feel when they cannot do yet what they want to do. It is just around the bend, so close, but sitting up alone, or standing up at the<br class="kix-line-break" />coffee table is simply not a solo act yet for them. Eating chewy foods are out of the question. Ah, the life of a babe. It seems from the very start of life we are in a rush to catch up and catch on and perform. Is it even possible, within our nature, to be calm and enjoy being slow, and being where we are at? Maybe only if we are surrounded by folks who are in exactly the same place and that doesn’t happen ever, and I suspect even then we’d compete to see who elevated off the floor first.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How can I limit myself, and admit that I cannot take on a normal life when I want a normal life? It is not possible. I just keep edging forward until I fall. I cry like a big baby at the<br class="kix-line-break" />feeling of failure. Then I do it again! I really believe this is the nature of our being and to pretend that I’m going to acquiesce to self-limitation until I am better is like putting a child in a car seat and never unbuckling him. I’m going to fall over and have a few bruises and need some recovery time, but each time my determination enters that recovery time sooner. I remember that my potential for accomplishing my dreams is as important as lying down to lick my wounds. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, I am in bed with laryngitis, but lack the interest in staring blankly out the window has caused me to write, when drawing out on the dining room table seems too energetic. I will not last all day here. The person I want to be whispers in my ears constantly, “Get up and see what happens...” like the "Cabaceo" look of a gentleman who'd like to dance with me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b></div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-8847280437279438332012-08-14T11:19:00.000-06:002012-08-14T11:19:13.753-06:00Truth is Strange<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="color: #666666;">“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.”<br />Mark Twain</span></i></h2>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G0bsr3sQdL5ybZPVmYmcN2E63B9ZFho5H925XMiri4hL5HLgPQiW-Nywl_IbmKW16tVzkSPZqmR6mdaqosX7VceWiTv6UbpdJL_LuLaJjgzEniCds00rtZ6whnXRUd56jptAKZ6TmVM/s1600/2012-08-06+21.17.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G0bsr3sQdL5ybZPVmYmcN2E63B9ZFho5H925XMiri4hL5HLgPQiW-Nywl_IbmKW16tVzkSPZqmR6mdaqosX7VceWiTv6UbpdJL_LuLaJjgzEniCds00rtZ6whnXRUd56jptAKZ6TmVM/s320/2012-08-06+21.17.52.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Discovery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I never wanted to be a journalist. There was a lot of insistence that this would be my best route to writing professionally, but in my experience Fiction did tell me the truth in ways that a biography or an article never did. I am in awe of fiction more than of facts. I never wanted to write memoirs either. The simple reason for this is because I knew that my memory was already selective and that I could not write the facts, nor could anyone else without blithering mistakes. It could be nothing but a lie. Now, we are in the age of the blog and social media, and what am I writing? I’m writing a journal, an examination of my opinions and experiences as they unfold as if they are the whole truth. It’s not a new thing to write this way, but it is public for the first time, and are there layers of information that I keep to myself? Of course, there are! So is this fiction or facts, and where is the truth?<br />
<br />
I’ve been thinking of this for a long time. That's a fact. Why don’t we see loads of fiction unfolding in the blogosphere? Tales that draw us into to imaginary worlds, exploring the interior of minds that were invented? What would Mark Twain do with this medium, this internet of no particular reason except to share facts and opinions? Lately, even the publishing industry has been taken aback from the success of fiction in books to the point where for the last decade people have tried turning their works of fiction into “memoirs” only to admit later that they lied (see <a href="http://www.copyblogger.com/dont-lie/">Beth Hayden</a>’s blog today on Copyblogger).<br />
<br />
The more I learned about writing fiction in the medium that I chose - film - the less fun it became. There was little play for me in laying out the whole thing on notecards before I wrote the first line of dialogue. I understood the part of Twain’s quote that went, “...Fiction is obliged to stick with possibilities...” It meant that I had to decide what the possible outcome would be and build my story around it. Whereas in the realm of journalism and facts, well I watch the stories unfold often to my amazement, sometimes to my disdain and I'm never really committed by that observation to the truth. A great fiction writer has to have a sense of the “truth” before writing about it. A journalist finds out the “truth” as it unfolds, only making a conclusion, if making a conclusion, at the very end. Bloggers freely state opinions and offer facts and tie it up, but only the best build a frame of context, and, if they do this much, it might be somewhat fictional. The essential thing with blogs is that they've determined a point of view about reality and they find facts to uphold it. Does this mean it is the truth? Does this make it journalism?<br />
<br />
This must be very confusing to creative writing teachers. Classes I have had since my youth, laid out a false expectation that as I wrote fiction I would discover something I didn’t know while writing a piece of fiction. There is no discovery for a fiction writer, only for a fiction writer’s readers.<br />
<br />
But what of the audience? Why has the audience lost respect for the amazing feat of the fiction writer to find the truth AND THEN tell it in a way that the audience can discover it? Why is it unacceptable, for instance, to posit that the Bible itself is only part fact, and mostly fiction taught by the greatest minds of its time through poetry and story? Why must we have the literal belief of everything in order to own its truth? Have we become a world obsessed by fact-finding because of the journalistic claim that that is what they are presenting?<br />
<br />
Lately, I’ve become addicted to Aaron Sorkin’s new show on HBO, “<a href="http://www.hbo.com/the-newsroom/index.html">The Newsroom</a>,” and the obsession its characters have with sticking with the facts. They have created etiquette about what is wrong with America by pointing out that what is now presented on television as fact is actually fiction and fantasy. I love this show and I believe the point of view completely. Yet, I do not ever forget that it is imaginary, that there are NO news organizations pursuing the facts in this way today except maybe a comedian named Jon Stewart. If Aaron Sorkin had based the show on "<a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/">The Daily Show</a>" then it would be virtually a piece of journalism and we would watch it unfold, but then Aaron Sorkin could not be loyal to his possibilities about what would happen if journalists told the truth.<br />
<br />
So, today, I have no answer to my question. This makes me a journalist more than a fiction writer. Sigh. I am in a state of discovery. I admit it.<br />
<br />
</div>
Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-83440085305974988342012-08-06T13:18:00.003-06:002012-08-06T13:18:30.980-06:00What I Know That I Didn't Know Before<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.03120219591073692" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Is it really August? Six months out from my brain surgery and I sometimes have no idea how to look at my life. I have to say the overarching theme is </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">acceptance</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and the undertow is </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">over-doing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, but maybe those are just on the surface, maybe underneath those obvious things something else is happening. Am I really different than I was before I was diagnosed with a benign meningioma last October? Yes, I am. No, I am not.</span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15.454545021057129px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFJpYT5ga6wikKBb4eEKSMIhMl_xOi85DSWgWgWW728Ylb6iW8ZBF9_zf6vLTt250Gl5FVGwrcvIdB2sQDs_wz2gpjPYhIEX4-7pE1nwrmz8v-04yJz1D9HLPWocpDKpC8ZLOVZj7UY8/s1600/2012-08-03+12.36.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFJpYT5ga6wikKBb4eEKSMIhMl_xOi85DSWgWgWW728Ylb6iW8ZBF9_zf6vLTt250Gl5FVGwrcvIdB2sQDs_wz2gpjPYhIEX4-7pE1nwrmz8v-04yJz1D9HLPWocpDKpC8ZLOVZj7UY8/s400/2012-08-03+12.36.56.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15.454545021057129px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you’ve been reading this blog or following me on Facebook, you know that I’ve been very prolific in expressing myself through working with oil pastels since March. My interest in doing that goes back before the brain surgery, but then something blocked my ability to accept that my drawing was acceptable. Much of my pre-surgery work is muddied with a question mark about whether or not I’m good at it or whether I should spend so much time </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">playing</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> with it when there are other more important things to accomplish. I would say that after the brain surgery I misplaced the filter that didn’t allow experiment or even a development of concepts and practice time. That filter disappeared nearly completely, though now I am conscious that I must choose to ignore it when it returns, and it does, until hopefully someday it will just be an archived file of used-to-be. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Falling in love with visual art again has opened new doors for me about how I view my future, how my family sees my time and efforts and how I connect with my friends and acquaintances. This is something I’ve been seeking for years! The enjoyment I get from simply sharing my work and seeing how it strikes people’s fancy is immeasurable. Just fills my heart with joy.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dare I be honest? Of course, honesty, as undoing as it is, is the mission of Kosmic Egg Projects, myself by a company name. Nearly a decade ago I had already reached the end of my love affair with being a “hack” as my father might define me -- a copywriter, a content provider, a writer-for-hire, a copy editor and yet I continued to pursue the work for the pure reason of supporting my family and having some “freedom” to raise my children. More recently, after 20 years as a word-based communicator, I was already having trouble keeping even an ember of interest lit for a business focused on selling things and ideas with words. Before I was diagnosed, I was deeply depressed about losing my way off the creative path that I *really wanted* to be upon even though I enjoyed teaching creative screenwriting more than just about anything else I made myself do for a living. Still, I felt it was fraudulent, since I could no longer make myself write three scenes myself. I could not appreciate that I had anything valuable to share except what I had failed to stick to myself and achieve even though I knew what needed to be done. This obsession leaked into every part of my life before I was diagnosed. Who knows? It may have fed the tumor to begin with, or, perhaps, the tumor was the crime.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Diagnosis of having a brain tumor just exactly on the part of my brain that should be getting things done, that should be writing well was a huge relief. It was like a “get-out-of-jail” card. It opened the possibility that I didn’t have to write anymore. Can you believe someone who has spent thirty years now studying, practicing, working, and teaching writing was so elated to even think, “I may never do it again,” as a good thing? It is true, as much as I wrung my hands over it here. It is true. There was a little elation.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I have watched this part of my life and wondered, “Am I really allowed to stop?” I mean we have discovered, together, that I can still write. It has nothing to do with the brain or lack thereof, if I choose not to write anymore. Accepting this possibility into my thoughts throws me into a fit, an internal argument about who I am down to my core. I have been a writer. I may not have achieved what I expected to achieve, but that is what I have been for so long that I cannot think of myself without that definition attached like a talking bubble that follows me everywhere. To claim it as my own without disrespecting my effort was the argument before diagnosis, but the idea of stopping and cutting it free, is unbelievably shocking. Almost like the thought of losing a parent or child, it is that close to the heart. Do these things happen? I feel like I must go to the edge of this abyss and decide finally whether I’m going to walk back away from it, or finally jump in with all my heart.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What does that mean? Wait. I am an artist. I draw pictures. There is a future there that makes sense to begin. What is this writing thing? It’s just an old, beat up stone that’s hanging off a cliff now, and I could cut the chain.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Six months out from surgery, I’m recovering. The left side of my face is feeling heat now for the first time in that long. I am taking tango lessons again and re-learning how to walk in my body, to be flexible, to glide, to feel sexy again. I am drawing better and better, and learning about how a picture can be a thousand words. Still, those words...they keep on pulling me until I decide.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The great thing I know now, that I did not know before this brain adventure, is that there is no way to predict the outcome of my decision. I could do everything right and be exactly where I stand today. I could "catch the thread of luminescence" as Oriah Mountain Dreamer calls "The Call" and have a glorious adventure. I only have to decide whether I am curious about what might happen if...</span></b>
<br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iuZTk1hdpMs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-39355862336810102352012-07-08T16:12:00.000-06:002012-07-08T19:39:11.185-06:00Time Management<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7880866883788258" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Besides the challenge of coming up with the word that describes a person who has moved in from somewhere else, with a conversation like this, </span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “There are so many trans...”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“....ients? Transients?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Uhm. Sort of...no not transience. Not transcendental. Hmm. Like, like...an implant from another place.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Transplants?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes! So many transplants now! Yes.”</span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Besides the word challenge, there is the time management challenge...</span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">____________________________________________________</span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15.454545021057129px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqilXZkqw2xFi4Pb8mAurILPPkHSIioUrIjBPF0bWvueYGe9CxP1TYdj8k-jvylwkOCiZeAtT4r_9N-tjG9saLpECaMLBxbbWSqQhG6uQbM9fvsLLTXRzuyY8AMZeyEVi2_nxvwwVcd0/s1600/2012-06-04+23.59.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijqilXZkqw2xFi4Pb8mAurILPPkHSIioUrIjBPF0bWvueYGe9CxP1TYdj8k-jvylwkOCiZeAtT4r_9N-tjG9saLpECaMLBxbbWSqQhG6uQbM9fvsLLTXRzuyY8AMZeyEVi2_nxvwwVcd0/s320/2012-06-04+23.59.27.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fool Sketch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I have had several moments of weeping, growling, cursing and praying or is it really arguing with God about sending support for dealing with time management this weekend. As the weekend starts to unravel on Friday afternoon with too much exhaustion to follow through on Friday night’s plans and taking care of a sick child and visiting with my temporarily-at-home husband, already I should have been adjusting to get ahead with Saturday morning’s plan. Har. When I started out exhausted, it didn’t mean that I would actually go to bed earlier. To me it meant I would reduce my potential experiences on Friday night from three to two.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I won’t even go back and explain why I was tired. It was embarrassing. I was aghast at my ability to completely space out my commitments. It isn’t important. It’s the way these days. It’s just the way.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My choice for dealing with exhaustion was, instead of going out to an art gallery opening for just an hour to see an old friend’s new business, I would stay home and make dinner, that I hadn’t planned on making, for two people (my daughter and husband) who were supposed to be somewhere else. I decided I would hang out with them for precious-to-my-heart’s moments of conversation and laughter. I would not trouble them with my need to take off chipped nail polish because I can barely stand to smell that nail polish remover myself. I would put off dealing with the laundry to the next afternoon when I got back from the outing I had planned for Saturday morning. I would stay with them as long as I could because their presence is always a gift and special when unplanned.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So Saturday morning arrived and the chipped nail polish screamed at me after I’d walked the dog, made the coffee, and done everything else to get ready to stick to my original plan on 5 ½ hours’ sleep. What about fifteen minutes before I had to leave? I could surely remove chipped nail polish in fifteen minutes. Har. Obviously I haven’t painted my fingernails with color for many years. Fifteen minutes covered a single thumbnail. Once one thumbnail is colorless the rest of the nails’ volume increased. Finally, already running 20 minutes later than I’d planned, I gave up with one hand nearly done, if very red now, and the other looking more chipped than ever.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Fuck it. I’m an artist with funky undone nails. Yeah baby.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wish I was that tough. Instead, I’m standing over the sink weeping over the fact that I can’t get this small task right. My husband rubs my back and tells me not to worry about it, but to get out there into the world. How hard is it to leave my home for a few hours in the morning? Every morning I would weep, if I could get away with it, but there are the dog, kids, family and friends that expect that getting out of the house is not really a big deal. I always have run a tiny bit late, but now, it is exponential. I have no sense of how many tasks I can handle in any given period of time, and, lately, I seem to always commit myself to too many.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was so much fun when I finally arrived to get to know two women better than I knew them when I used to know them. That’s how it is with time. We walked around the place we would have walked around thirty years ago, had we walked around together at that time at all, but the fact that we all knew the place and culture so well, and had so many folds of our lives touching, it was as if we had, of course, done this before. (Thank you Alice and Stephany, for your patience with me, and for a lovely morning looking at art. It was truly inspirational.)</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>By noon, I could not absorb any more visual information, nor carry on a conversation with the words I meant. For instance, in a moment of intended helpfulness, I replaced “pool cue” in the conversation for “fishing rod” for no more reason I suppose than its long narrow shape, and the possibility of it being in a garage. Because…that’s how my brain works now. I pleaded the fifth of brain surgery recovery, and left like a good girl. Driving back home I remembered something I’d forgotten.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I had promised to talk to a friend this weekend, after missing several chances in the last week. She’s on East coast time, and so the trick is to talk in the morning, but have my mornings been open this weekend? Of course, not. Did I realize they would be filled? Sort of, kind of. I knew I was going out with my new-old friends. I pulled over and texted a message that I’d be home and ready to talk. Was I? Of course not.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I got home, several hours walking, talking and looking at art, not to mention driving there and back LATER, had me exhausted. I climbed in bed next to my ever-reading husband and fell asleep for 10 minutes! Then he coughed. I woke. Then he left the room, I slept for another 10 minutes. Then my medication alarm went off. No sleep. I rose, I wandered. Completely out of touch with the memory that I’d promised to call my friend. I checked in with my daughter, who’d decided to stay another night, and thought I better come up with some dinner. I headed out to the store. I remembered I already had food. I came home. I sat down and sketched a few moments and finally remembered. I sent a text message, to my friend apologizing that I hadn’t called, predicting Sunday morning would be better.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I made food. Ah yes! I hadn’t eaten anything all day! It was like that. It is like that. Between taking medications and eating, remembering just those two simple things, it is a veritable hammer-head situation. (As I’m writing this, I realize my alarm has gone off at least once, maybe two times today and I haven’t taken my medication yet.) I watched a children’s cartoon as I ate my omelet at 3:30 pm and felt better.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What to do? It is just stunning these moments of blankness that take over finally. What can I get done? This is the question that floats through my brain like a mist that hasn’t formed yet into a good, soaking rain.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It’s been 24 hours since then. I still haven’t spoken to my friend on the East Coast because I had forgotten there would be the time suck of getting my husband fed for his driving day back to the work site, and getting my daughter fed, and ready to go to her dad’s and driving her there and back. I forgot about the time it would take to walk the dog now that it is a reasonable 65 degrees instead of 105 degrees. I forgot that I didn’t have aluminum foil, which is something I needed to make the thing I wanted to make, and so also there was the trip to the store and back, and then oh yes, oh yes, it is my step-mother’s 65th birthday, and I needed to get fresh cut flowers because that is what she likes best. At the store I momentarily forgot why I was there, but luckily I remembered that and a few other things.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Yes, I would weep over the sink everyday over these overlapping things that do not stay in my mind (I’ve already forgotten about taking my medications again), even when I have alarms and calendars, lists and post-it notes. I’m going to go and take my medication now, Time. Thanks for reminding me.</span></b>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-18205108407195528142012-06-28T12:57:00.000-06:002012-06-28T13:07:00.478-06:00Word. Words?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLTMgfqdaMPk4rWUFlgEr7TjWwYvUpz4zJFdNzSBo59gxeQtemIPRJtJ1632cpAE_GaXjLpGztxMeqK3Zx6p2E4gPrsDh1gIbZGYX4HB66JIsdk6hlSaQcZMk_H8U5d_p5YD0OvbQOB4/s1600/2012-05-15+22.56.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLTMgfqdaMPk4rWUFlgEr7TjWwYvUpz4zJFdNzSBo59gxeQtemIPRJtJ1632cpAE_GaXjLpGztxMeqK3Zx6p2E4gPrsDh1gIbZGYX4HB66JIsdk6hlSaQcZMk_H8U5d_p5YD0OvbQOB4/s320/2012-05-15+22.56.11.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cave</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.4135858921799809" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The most difficult thing is to communicate, to explain anything as I am recovering from the removal of my benign meningioma (the brain tumor that was diagnosed in October of 2011). While I may seem to be myself, I really do not feel myself yet...over four months out from surgery. I enjoy being alive and I am experiencing a creative surge that my productivity can barely keep up with, and most of all I am grateful surgery went well and I can still be available to my kids and my husband in the most important and general ways. Yet, there are disconnections and missteps and losses that pop up into my day-to-day existence that cause me to ponder how to really get to recovery that feels 100% beyond the general and that is specifically me, the person I know myself to be.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PzTsRWR-q9EtbpT-DrCeTLqmd6mn202x38cZIZpA7nEToTkr8eUbKw2XROpStwIMb39EMo0Tq5ODwUDDvt6PwlATHViJJpFhsGBZSIpzSj3PWlkZ7lGQfu4qpuXEhU09cnANW-QMbV4/s1600/2012-06-20+18.56.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PzTsRWR-q9EtbpT-DrCeTLqmd6mn202x38cZIZpA7nEToTkr8eUbKw2XROpStwIMb39EMo0Tq5ODwUDDvt6PwlATHViJJpFhsGBZSIpzSj3PWlkZ7lGQfu4qpuXEhU09cnANW-QMbV4/s400/2012-06-20+18.56.20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moonsight</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Writing from the heart is, perhaps, my greatest challenge. I write something over and over again now, that, before this adventure, may have seemed acceptable after one or two tries. My heart feels disconnected from words mostly. I do not know currently if it is because I was blinded to the confusion in my structure and connection before, or whether it is because I will run into a word that I have an idea for but cannot locate in reality, and this is part of recovering. I’m quick to replace those words but often my replacements lead me down another road than I’d intended. This happens in conversation as well, a constant reaching for words that match my ideas and thoughts. I used to have a vocabulary.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Further developing this word replacement in a “benign” way, a way that is constantly entertaining to my kids, my brain seems to work a lot like a smartphone type screen - in that it offers a slew of words that are somewhat similar in spelling and often chooses that word arbitrarily. Spelling or phonetic choice having a higher priority than meaning everytime. I try to catch these words and replace them correctly as soon as I can, but, if you’ve used a smartphone at all, you know that it is a frequent problem to have commented in a way you never intended. Bring that to a conversation. Add another person to the conversation, or a roomful of conversations, or a radio or a television in the background and imagine the brain reaches out and grabs any number of words and spews them into the conversation you’re having with complete disregard to what you’re actually talking about. Yes. I’m a lot of fun. My daughter says with an awesome smile on her face, “Mom, you said that with so much confidence!”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m wondering if I’m writing any of this in a way that you can understand, but I’m going ahead and posting it just to see what the response is because maybe I’m the only one that is frustrated. Because this is the other thing, when I try to read this stuff, it is difficult to decipher. It is difficult to decipher an article, a chapter, anything longer than 144 characters. I feel like I should hold my hand and get serious about sitting for an hour reading, but after 10 minutes, I’m lost sometimes. Not always, but sometimes I am simply unable to read. Sometimes a person hands me a business card or an appointment card and I look at it as if it is a picture, waiting for comprehension.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Ci5FS6PCS_e11X7ZMvraoQ3AlSJIsC2o7IKLMxBDK3ujbl1_cSu986yXcpgPZql-5hjqI8y2Q2za0GGpp0v-81Hycci69728iUp9jbXV5LL9FYy19gUHYm5ilyJQY0TidImwhztAN9I/s1600/2012-06-25+21.48.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Ci5FS6PCS_e11X7ZMvraoQ3AlSJIsC2o7IKLMxBDK3ujbl1_cSu986yXcpgPZql-5hjqI8y2Q2za0GGpp0v-81Hycci69728iUp9jbXV5LL9FYy19gUHYm5ilyJQY0TidImwhztAN9I/s320/2012-06-25+21.48.03.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nature's Balance<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All of this word stuff would be driving me even more crazy except for the fact that I feel free, in a way, of the obligation to know everything for once. I have become aware of the weight of my expectations around words. I would like to skip the know-it-all need sometimes. Sometimes I would like to turn my back on the old way, and accept that I’m now primarily a visual person, someone who communicates with icons and symbols. Sometimes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then I have an idea for a story, or a letter, a good conversation or a speech and I’m revived in the battle to win my brain back. </span></b>
<br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2012 (c) Amanda Morris Johnson</span></b>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-30968345678483980802012-04-26T10:24:00.000-06:002012-04-26T10:24:57.557-06:00Healing by the Season<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.33011184679344296" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been about ten weeks since they sawed a piece of my skull out and entered my brain with a knife, and recovering has been AMAZING, like an early spring. After stubbornly facing brain surgery even when it was very scary, it has been astounding how fast feeling good, even better, returned, after years of feeling mediocre. I don’t have the endless low-grade headache anymore. I can affirm I’ve already lost ten pounds only because I don’t feel the need to energize myself with food anymore. My hair fell out last fall like leaves off an aspen in October, and it is now growing back like the leaves on an aspen in spring, all at once. I’m the star patient of my doctors, an affirmation that they did the right thing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the same ten weeks spring sprang on us ravenously and rapidly. Such an early spring that nations are sneezing all around the northern hemisphere. We struggle to fully enjoy it when concerns about a dry summer rise, and fires are already cropping up like the best produce offered this year. It seems that this is the perfect metaphor for my healing experience. It is nearly impossible to say, “too much, too soon,” but it looms.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember this particular early crocus from my miraculous recovery: we were all a chatter of excitement about my return from the land of the dead after my surgery, and it was ravishing! Just like before the evidence of any spring blossoms or greening up even at the edge of a sidewalk, the birds knew everything was going to be all right, we also knew that my brain made it through the roughest patch. Lots of chirping. Ah. This was one of the happiest moments of my life so far. It didn’t matter that there was still snow here and there. Even though there were the few things I needed to straighten out along the way all that really mattered was that I could bask in consciousness. I could walk, talk and even write somewhat. The birds returned.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then the amazing buds arrived as I began walking my dog, Lucille, around the trails, and the days became longer, and the sun became warmer. As my body returned to functioning, I was overwhelmed by the beauty around me to the point that I saw shapes, forms, colors as never before and felt the need to begin expressing them as shapes, forms and colors of pastel on paper. The buds blossomed and the drawings blossomed and it was gorgeous inside and outside of my brain. It was one tree after another, one painting after another and the birds upped their ante and sang for connections, and so did I.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was a thrill to feel better, so much so that when invited to do something that I’d been saying, “No, can’t do that now,” for six months, I struggled to hesitate at all and often slipped into saying, “Yes! Yes, please!” It would have been impossible for the crab apple trees to second-guess their beautiful early blossoms. Wouldn’t it? I simply bloomed with, “Yes,” to everything that was offered at first, until the storm arrived and blew the energy of my artwork out the door because there were other things I’d promised. The wind and sleet blew all of the crab apple trees’ blossoms off before the bees and butterflies made it out of hibernation. I felt sorry for the trees, and this caused me some vague self-pity too. I felt concerned that, perhaps, I should have paid attention to the doctors who urged me to take things slowly. Yet, I wanted to live up to what I had committed to somehow. It felt unnatural to say, “No,” anymore, even though I was often embarrassed by the result of “phenomenal me” disintegrating. How to stop bursting back, I wondered?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, it isn’t exactly like I was returned to mediocrity exactly, any more than the trees sucked in their buds for a later date that would have been healthier. It was some other disconnect. For instance, I’m a good cook and so, almost immediately on release from the hospital, I started cooking for my husband and family and was greatly relieved that I could pick this up where I left off, to the point where I backed away from the help offered me by others. Another early blossom? Yes. Oops. I was like a two year old saying, “I do it myself!”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, when my children ask me a question, or I get an idea to write a poem or draw a picture, my attention shifts from cooking COMPLETELY. I burn dinner. I simply forget I am cooking dinner. I can’t say that never happened before brain surgery. I can only say that it was not often, and now it is often. It ain’t incense. I realize late that the lovely assistance of having people help me to cook had nothing to do with my cooking abilities, but with the ability of my brain to focus on more than one thing at a time. I feel silly about asking for help when I am often fine, and unpredictable in my “need” mode, and so it boils down to something else, too.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do I give my attention to? Necessities? Expressions? Requests? Questions? Decisions? Bah! At least, I am sleeping through the night again.</span></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWX7uBUNIUpu9amkBw4AdzGuQ0tpBM3s1PQ66BG_3qPiqXS-7eYwWvqREsbY8UmoPOD9N0li7VFfwOCSnrbA-51UrpjRIdBX7iFP2_yXye4hpgewLGkP1wzy0tsXZ3TRkvqFM7rg8_Ws/s1600/Kim+Bishop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWX7uBUNIUpu9amkBw4AdzGuQ0tpBM3s1PQ66BG_3qPiqXS-7eYwWvqREsbY8UmoPOD9N0li7VFfwOCSnrbA-51UrpjRIdBX7iFP2_yXye4hpgewLGkP1wzy0tsXZ3TRkvqFM7rg8_Ws/s320/Kim+Bishop.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kim the Knowing<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Multi-tasking turns out to be impossible at the moment. This spring has been strange with all the trees blooming at once somehow, and for me explosions of poetry and the ability to read more than a paragraph and DRIVING my car again happened to me all at once. Oh man. Driving. It is so gratifying to be able to go to pick my kids up from school, to go to the grocery store again when I forgot to buy something (so very often). The trees get their leaves, and I get my responsibilities.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My concern rises again: Where are the bees? Normally it is too early to be buzzing around efficiently. They’re just now emerging from their hives a month after all the blossoms. I have seen only one butterfly and the lilacs are in full bloom. The lawns mowed now, but the mountains’ snow is already running down to ponds in a sorry manner so that I see geese and ducks fighting each other for the right to lay their eggs at the few sustainable places. Life cannot happen all at once. I am also the most gigantic spring sneeze I can remember, as I collapse every few days from this, yes, too-much-too-soon scenario.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grasping for relief I ask myself, what could I calm down reasonably? I noticed the birds were calmer during mid-day. Not so much chatter. What were they doing? I found that they were nesting. There were the birds flying by with twigs and grass from last year in their little beaks. No time to talk. I followed their direction. Stop chatting so much! I apologize. I have to stop talking all day and focus on building my creations, and this is a huge leap for me into a new state of being. It means I don’t just lay my eggs (my creations) along the way, leave them there for another chance. Actually I create a safe place for them to develop and stay with them until they hatch. Hawks spending chunks of time surfing on the warm funnels of air that rise from the fields give me perspective to see the big picture and not just temporary glories. Maybe if I focused on creating quietly and in a self-protected zone during the day, then I could actually start cooking dinner at 5 pm. Well, it is a thought at least.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meanwhile the lawn-mowing has brought up a new realization. Summer</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> almost here. There will be days of tending to things and days where nothing will be tended, and my husband will be out of town for work, and it will be hot and slow. There is only so much time for each thing when only one thing can be done at a time. My kids are growing up so fast. Complexities must be abandoned now. I simply must say, “no,” and clip back at the incredible desire to say “yes” to everything with the understanding this will keep the growth fresh for a while longer.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe it was the scare of having an arrow fly through my life, a brain tumor, and the joy that life blooms here now. I know it is possible for me to focus only on my own priorities: my creative projects, my family and my time. Yes, there are going to be fewer blooms, but timed for fruit-bearing pollination hopefully. </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am improving at the artificial life tests thrust at me by the Universe to see if I know what I know. I see the familiar comfort they offer -- those old ways of pleasing others with predictable patterns, so many blushes of color, guaranteed to squeeze out some approval. I see how that serves no purpose in the long-run. This time I bloomed wildly and early, and I know why. I’ve seen what happens when I walk right into what I fear, and it is good. There is no pity in the lessons of early spring, the mistakes and sneezes, the blooming gorgeousness. There is no pity knowing it will pass into a summer that will require attention and focus like no other. To every season, turn, turn, turn….</span></span><br />
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NJVU2Js-Aeo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-85306026810270333712012-04-03T11:53:00.000-06:002012-04-03T12:04:15.696-06:00What’s sitting at the Head of the Table in You?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is week seven of recovering from brain surgery. In the last few weeks I’ve seen the neurologist,
the neurosurgeon, the osteopath and the dentist. I’ve pulled a little dissolving thread from my
head that I didn’t even know was there.
I’ve talked to some folks who’ve been down this road. I’ve been coming
to terms with some different concepts in the last ten days or so about what
denotes “recovered” and what is a work in progress and let go of knowing what's around the corner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HljdKoD3xupvSy_Y-Org6xDFTQ6ESTf2pXW4oLwhJYX8bacFFI6Kf1PD6NS4Tfjkmvh-nRCXRz8BCFhitWMzIgVSmzG33jxCWfGUL7dDZao4MkuNkZtTeM306k0io32kK24sJzRhF5A/s1600/Round+Lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HljdKoD3xupvSy_Y-Org6xDFTQ6ESTf2pXW4oLwhJYX8bacFFI6Kf1PD6NS4Tfjkmvh-nRCXRz8BCFhitWMzIgVSmzG33jxCWfGUL7dDZao4MkuNkZtTeM306k0io32kK24sJzRhF5A/s400/Round+Lights.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road of Pearls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can report that the neurologist and the neurosurgeon are
very pleased with my progress. The wound is pretty much healed now and my hair
has grown back around it to “tuft” level. I’m taking pain relievers only once
or twice a day and just at an over-the-counter dose now. My headaches have lightened
up to a weight that is often lighter than they were for years prior to the
diagnosis and surgery, spiking only with weather changes and allergy season. I
even think I realigned my jaw, with the help of the osteopath, by yawning
incessantly for a few days to the point where the throbbing pain, that sent me
to the dentist in a panic about potential root canals, has diminished.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I have been bothered by is much more subtle than the
physical symptoms that dominated my concerns for months, and has shifted my
ideas about where I might be headed to, to definitely not knowing. These trends emerging within myself are
both amazingly cheerful, and dismally fearful, and seem to lead to new
revelations of self-definition on a daily basis. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been focusing on the ends of the spectrum in my
thoughts about it: expectancy and curiosity, blind spots and mindfulness;
holding on and letting go; order and chaos, and lucidity and imagination. For
instance, when my expectations fade away almost thoughtlessly, my curiosity
rises and becomes the leader. When simply knowing what to do next is absent from
my table, there is my imagination mysteriously sitting near the head with new
ideas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you read “My Stroke of Insight,” or see the TED video by Harvard
Neuroscientist, <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html">Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D.</a>, this can be intellectually understood. In
fact, I thought that at some level there would be a rebalancing of brain use
from the left side to the right side while I healed from surgery. I just didn't know what it would be like. Since my
tumor was caught early, upon a partial aphasia seizure rather than the complete
wipe out that Dr. Taylor suffered with an aneurysm, I thought it would be a
minor thing, and maybe it is a minor thing. I still recognize words and
numbers, faces and signs after all. I know where I am. I know the people around
me, unlike her experience where she could not even recognize her own mother. I
haven’t had any trouble walking, and I’ve even been given the go ahead to drive again because it has been 6 months (October 2, 2011) since I was diagnosed as having
had a partial seizure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, the rebalance act has surprised me in many ways. I
promised to write about nerves and tears and it is more than that. Let's just start there though. When I cry,
I expect tears to come out of both eyes, but I find now that only the right eye
responds to my feelings of joy or sadness. My left eye is completely tearless
and neutral and that causes me to stop and notice it, and when I stop and
notice that my left eye is neutral, often my entire emotional experience
drains out of me. My curiosity is stronger than my emotions or my expectations
suddenly.<br />
<br />
The important absence of a single tear has switched the
power of my own responses in a way I never guessed it would. I don’t feel I’ve
been robbed of my feelings so much as I feel that they are less necessary than
they once were, because now instead of dragging on for hours or days, they come
and go quite quickly, like the weather I always swore they were because I’m no
longer totally invested in them, whether with resistance or permission. As I’ve become used to having no tears in my
left eye, I’ve been more aware the intellectual rejection of my cry has gone
now too because I know without doubt it will pass. Now I cry until I cannot sustain that
feeling. When there is no logical
resistance, or guilty thinking, I go deeper into an awareness of what brought me to tears in
the first place in that moment, right away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is an example of how it works. I’m feeling frustrated
about writing at the moment. It’s taken days and days of thinking to write
about how this rebalance is occurring, and even more challenging is dealing
with metaphors that appear as pictures in my brain but don’t travel over to the
word side of my brain as easily as they have in the past. I find I want to draw
a picture instead of stitching together two ideas with words in hopes that
someone understands what I’m getting at. I’m even having trouble reading more
than a paragraph at a time. I recognize the words, but they're just a jumble and I have to take it slowly to really understand them. Everything about words has slowed down
incredibly in a period of my life when I deeply wanted to be making progress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was looking forward to purchasing a book of poetry by a
wonderful poet in Denmark, Bo Gorzelak Pedersen, (more to be found at <a href="http://www.red-door.org.uk/">Red Door</a>) and there have been delays and I was sad about it (though he promises that the book will happen and to be patient). I was sad and I could only tie it to my
desire to get back into reading and writing by focusing on something new that I
know I will enjoy and I selfishly told him so. Then he posted this poem, and I burst into
right-sided tears upon reading it…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">GHOST<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">By Bo Gorzelak Pedersen</span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Night like an
absence of music,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">just a hole for
your eyes and the creeping ivy gone black.</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Unfamiliar things
and things not forgotten, unforgettable things, <br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">it’s the same skin for it all. Echoes of fading and fading
echoes.</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">No reasons why and no why. No multitudes. Nada.</span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Only what was chewed and spat and left</span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">for the slowest of winds to collect.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">I am trying to read a poem, but it makes no sense.</span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">I can do nothing but shadows.</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="textexposedshow"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Immediately, I noticed the lack of left-sided tears and next the right-sided tears
disappeared, and I was left with a neutral feeling that I must use it as an
example of exactly what’s going on, finally, a way to explain the switch I am
experiencing. Before I would have read it, hailed it as wonderful and felt compelled to go write something. Whether inspired or competitive, his writing has done that to me in the past because I admire its grace and bull's eye. While wishing that I could
have written something like it, knowing it is out of range for me right now,
I now really wanted to make a picture of this GHOST. I may indeed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, I started this blog all over again. After all, as I said, I am able to see
everything that I saw before surgery; it’s just that I can’t express it as I
would like to express it. Everything is too formal, too rhyming, too
disconnected between imagery and words…but here is this poem by Mr. Pedersen…and
it<i> collected the shadows</i> of days when it was connected, when I could enjoy
chasing the discombobulated image rising with words that made sense, and I
could cry with overwhelmed feelings and no neutrality entering the picture for
hours, or days, or months. Like a baby with no tears I recover quickly. This poem captured for me what I cannot seem to
capture right now – <i>echoes of fading and fading echoes</i>. It’s all I can absorb
when it comes to words, no matter how many times I re-read and re-write. A poem like this engulfs me with a feeling of being recognized, known, and I want to hold it and express it like I'd imagine a ghost wants to hold the material world it drifts through. I find that is more likely with an oil pastel than with my keyboard presently, because I'm lately unclear about what I want to write, even right now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s more to say, or write, but I feel like already I’ve
gone on much longer than I would have before.
Suffice it to say that the neurosurgeon said it would take time to
reintegrate my right and left brain, to get the nerves in my face out of a
state of Novocain, to develop tears in my left eye. How much time? Up to two
years. The neurologist told me that in spite of the external signs of healing, the inside of my brain has essentially been hit with a hatchet, and I need to
learn some patience. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RDCdZ7bA4B4PBr5Q5ZyD-hOG5WWqaSaGKdeIpgmOaOjBN2euY5f0Q3vXQc4Eg8O2IXLgx-AD2QHJRLfv-Y1NYB6vp4Y7JwAXaNnGmn-wIXzBXXw9FvgQoBc9HPs3V08FK2hBO7FQEqI/s1600/Meet+the+Dells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RDCdZ7bA4B4PBr5Q5ZyD-hOG5WWqaSaGKdeIpgmOaOjBN2euY5f0Q3vXQc4Eg8O2IXLgx-AD2QHJRLfv-Y1NYB6vp4Y7JwAXaNnGmn-wIXzBXXw9FvgQoBc9HPs3V08FK2hBO7FQEqI/s320/Meet+the+Dells.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two years is the subtle, or not so subtle, indication that
my writing is going to focus on small challenges for a while longer in order to
integrate things that used to seem easy to me – words and images, feelings and
metaphors, whether to use "at" or "for," "when" or "where" and to enjoy the flow of ideas. I’m reading the dictionary and the grammar books. I’m returning to
basics to find the difference between “since” and “sense” and “they’re” and “there”
as my fingers act like the auto-corrections on my smart phone and drop in “like”
when I meant “lost”. The huge projects I’ve worked on in the past simply
overwhelm me. A sentence is a good challenge…to write simply without so
many words (could I have just written – to write simply?). A poem is even better, though it is more challenging, and so I'll be focusing on other <a href="http://kosmicegg.tumblr.com/">Kosmic Egg</a> and <a href="http://kosmiceggtarot.wordpress.com/">Kosmic Egg Tarot</a> sites, and come here less often because right now it feels like a lot.<br />
<br />
Finally, I’ll let
Curiosity remain at the head of my table now and let Expectations drop to the
side, in between Imagination and Patience. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-29222227975156374262012-03-23T11:27:00.002-06:002012-03-23T11:27:55.723-06:00Dealing with Discouragement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7x_Jojtti8w_X7sX7l5_PMd9QAU754Aew4wcgpVb2pYjIA_lFA9nAXbRH4mmRPQcpI2z2XYJyobTVbpNS2iyJjLdxdLZyKW94aX74nq3KArP-YJWmnPxq0t1TqEHA-GjE-FkClY1T7Ls/s1600/2012-03-16+16.48.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7x_Jojtti8w_X7sX7l5_PMd9QAU754Aew4wcgpVb2pYjIA_lFA9nAXbRH4mmRPQcpI2z2XYJyobTVbpNS2iyJjLdxdLZyKW94aX74nq3KArP-YJWmnPxq0t1TqEHA-GjE-FkClY1T7Ls/s320/2012-03-16+16.48.02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Crack at Serious Self-Portrait</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">There is nothing to be overly discouraged
about brain surgery. Honestly, it is a beautiful thing to be able to take care
of a tumor, benign or malignant, in one’s head in 21st century America. There’s
been vast improvement in the last couple of decades. Since I started talking
and writing about the experience I have sensed the need to be open about
everything that has happened, if for no other reason than to point to this
truth. That statistics point to survival of this surgery at 98% should make
this obvious, but the responses ran the gamut from hand-wringing despair to
joyful prayer. It is simply hard to imagine opening up the skull and having a
decent experience without those prayers, but the techniques and technology are
pretty impressive.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is not to say that discouragement doesn’t exist. Anyone who has read this blog for a while knows well that I have had some real downer moments. It wasn’t so much the surgery itself, but my body’s reaction to some of the preparation, and my mind’s genuine impatience and control freakishness with everything. Now that I’m five weeks out and clearly doing well, I can talk about some of the setbacks I’ve had in recovery without jumping up and down hysterically over them.</span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">An obvious one, to me, is that I’m having a time with writing. I know what I want to write, but getting it out coherently is a real challenge. It’s not the big things. I think that the big, overall ideas are coming out okay, but, sentence-by-sentence, I am recently shocked by how difficult some of them are to read. What I’m used to taking for granted, words flowing out of my brain, I now have to take a step back from and wait for some clarity. It is as if everything I’m writing comes out a bit convoluted, and it horrifies me. I’m sorry about that because in social media, blogging, and poetry I’m used to shooting from the hip. When I go back and read some response or even a blog, and realize I used the wrong word, or forgot grammar altogether so that the meaning had drained out of the words I got right, or just used to many redundancies, it is discouraging. The time it took to write seemed so blasted long before, that now I am a bit intimidated to start the projects I have in mind until this settles down. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope it settles down. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Additionally, I’ll tell you, I’m wondering if this has always been the case (convolution in my writing), in fact. Is it possible that it only just now that I’m becoming aware of it because the obstruction has been taken away? That’s possible. That would explain a lot about my career. That makes my hands sweat, just considering it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That may be why I'm so happy to be doing visual art instead, and that's not too bad a trade at the moment.</span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAu80T3FQ3_Kd3CBVkNON-YgsE7AjIqIwcUza4nF41Laeso0NA2JGYWzNElkL5Z35YV7iq3WmCQzV_y0sRwJ9fonw_1weHlE2vzD-2DgWNrJeY_Y-jv45TnHy91eQUK3ZihCzPFKUDpM/s1600/2012-03-19+21.33.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAu80T3FQ3_Kd3CBVkNON-YgsE7AjIqIwcUza4nF41Laeso0NA2JGYWzNElkL5Z35YV7iq3WmCQzV_y0sRwJ9fonw_1weHlE2vzD-2DgWNrJeY_Y-jv45TnHy91eQUK3ZihCzPFKUDpM/s320/2012-03-19+21.33.46.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While Cottonwoods Sleep</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Then there are the issues of swelling around nerves, facial and tongue numbness paired with pain zapping and dry eye (only one dry eye). They don’t really tell you that in any surgery they’re likely to strike some nerves and push them out of balance one way or another. It happens, and mostly it simply takes some time to heal. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">How do nerves heal, you may wonder. Well, I wondered, too, because I figured if I had an idea of how the nerves reset, or heal then I might be able to support the process and feel less worried about it. My research led me in many directions as usual. Perhaps, more importantly, I have cause to simply pay attention to the process unfolding, because some days it really bothers me and some days I forget about it. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, guess, what? I’m writing about nerves and emotional turns, and it’s going to take me at least a week to put it down straight enough to post comfortably. In the meantime, enjoy the burst of spring this weekend, if it is happening near you, and be truly thankful for your face and tears and even runny allergic noses. </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-41511224500240443292012-03-15T13:23:00.001-06:002012-03-15T13:23:44.378-06:00The Long and Winding Road...Leads Me to Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">It has nearly been a full month since I had my skull opened and the little-gray-ball-of-dirty-laundry removed. What a month! It started with what I can only describe as partial delirium. I was so happy to have the thing out of my head, and I suppose the morphine, and anesthesia sort of had me on a different plain of perception for a while. Yet, I was a lot less delirious than I had really expected to be, to be honest. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivV1e8CyGnyABxf9otK_iexD1EuO4x-z8poPOj7KvH_d88_ogcr-58NQHoPwmebpCpO8Zq2ZKJWSs-cFtylaMZYZ4MBdbR4RmqRc-1L6NNkw16Opx1UAGB0B0Rbq7jL-kYki8GqpzSOjg/s1600/2012-03-06+13.25.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivV1e8CyGnyABxf9otK_iexD1EuO4x-z8poPOj7KvH_d88_ogcr-58NQHoPwmebpCpO8Zq2ZKJWSs-cFtylaMZYZ4MBdbR4RmqRc-1L6NNkw16Opx1UAGB0B0Rbq7jL-kYki8GqpzSOjg/s400/2012-03-06+13.25.22.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fionn, the Modern Muse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Soon after surgery I woke up and in my daze recognized and remembered where I was and what had just happened. I saw my ancient Neurologist, Dr. Philip Yarnell, across the room and </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">shouted out a, “Hello, Dr. Yarnell!” to him, and I think that sort of surprised him and he came right over and tested how I was responding to left and right movements like touching my nose with my eyes closed with the fingers he chose, and moving my toes. Afterwards, he said, “Yep, you’re going to be just fine.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><br /><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">At that point I felt no pain but I was terribly thirsty and so I asked for water, but all they could give me was ice cubes to suck on and little sponges to dip into water and suck on. So I did. This was followed by my husband and </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">father bounding into the big room together with smiles on their faces, delighted that I was so chirpy.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Then my Neurosurgeon, Dr. Mark Robinson, walked in to talk to them, and as they talked, I felt some kind of relieving sleepiness. I remember Dr. Robinson pointing at my head, and nodding and I remember them asking some questions and him answering, but I have no real </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">memory of the words, even though I am pretty sure I participated in the conversation as if I were very intelligent indeed. Har.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I was taken care of in Intensive Care for a surprising two days. I say it was surprising only because apparently they expected I’d be going home after two days, and that didn’t </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">quite happen. As good as their intentions were, some things got kind of icky.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzvSM__wv71D4kawDfXiTyzJGgOaYV0i9XWAW9plAD6uDjHf5p4zt7DLYlTmftlTFplxNE8lvOEP2Xo4g1XMXjDQILPd4gR7tjGMkIva0FvRAJmcRR8ZDrhUBGjAukhbohxPDhjPJ0hw/s1600/Devora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzvSM__wv71D4kawDfXiTyzJGgOaYV0i9XWAW9plAD6uDjHf5p4zt7DLYlTmftlTFplxNE8lvOEP2Xo4g1XMXjDQILPd4gR7tjGMkIva0FvRAJmcRR8ZDrhUBGjAukhbohxPDhjPJ0hw/s320/Devora.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devora is Awake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Before I go there, I want to tell you that I did something very important to my recovery unbeknownst to the medical folks. In secret I took a large dose of Arnica the morning before surgery and then when I got to my ICU room I had Michael bring me a second large dose of Arnica. This homeopathic medication has helped me in previous medical crises (oral surgery, and a hysterectomy) to recover super-fast and very well, with little bruising. I encourage you to sincerely consider finding more about it if you’re facing surgery. Unfortunately, you cannot discuss it with a surgeon or the nursing staff because they don’t work with it, and will rule </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">against it. Someday, I hope this will change because I've healed fast enough to get wide eyes from the doctors...</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">In ICU, meanwhile, they were pumping me full of Morphine and all kinds of other medications that my body is not fond of at all. Sadly. By the time it was dark outside, I was vomiting in a little pail the nurse quickly provided for me. As I was recovering she started putting in an intravenous dose of Dilantin. If you don’t remember how badly I reacted to the first time I took Dilantin, let me say that my reaction to this way of taking the medication was near paralysis. I made her take it out after only a 1/4th of the dose was given and I could feel it as it climbed up my arm and into my head, like a march of pick axes within my veins. I screamed. I admit it. I screamed. I shouted at her that this was not the way we were going to do anything. I asked her if she had bothered to give me any antihistamines or Zantac (could this be why I was throwing up, perhaps???). <span style="font-size: large;">What followed is that I had to review with every shift nurse exactly how the medication business was going to work</span>, and I would not let them use the intravenous hoses for anything but water and anti-nausea medications. I stopped taking the morphine and moved to oral Percocet and oxycodone. I didn’t really care if I had a little more pain. I was very self-advocating and protective. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Meanwhile, the left side of my face swelled up like a puffer fish. I got a black eye that I could barely open. Frankly, I think I had a severe allergic reaction to the entire experience. <span style="font-size: large;">I </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: large;">looked no different in those moments than I had when I’d reacted to the cotton harvest on my Pretty Pa’s combine in the Rio Grande Valley some 42 years earlier</span>. I had to build up all the anti-histamines in my system and the hospital pharmacy didn’t actually carry one of the anti-histamines, nor the </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Zantac I’d been taking leading up to the surgery, so my dear husband had to go to the grocery store and purchase what I needed. The hospital didn’t even have the oral Dilantin to fill in the missing 3/4s of a dose of it for several hours.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">After two days they moved me to a regular room and they removed the blessed catheter and I was able to move around my room when I rung up the nurse to remove whatever IV was hooked up, </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">the blood pressure arm squeeze and the ever-marching leg thingies. Ah. That was such a blessing. Finally, a neurosurgeon on call at the hospital came and cut the gauze turban off of me, and told me I could take a shower. Hallelujah! I thought I’d be going home right afterwards, but apparently, not.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">All this time, my husband sat quietly next to me, reading his phone in the dark or daytime. I must have slept now and then, but I don’t remember sleeping lots. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Another two days went by. I watched some television and really couldn’t perceive how so many stupid infomercials could exist. I tried to watch news, but settled on The Weather </span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoYo8WMV0g1yB-pKAnOuUioGUwpkPaySxZJSRIO1hS_me6q9v01KQ6F_XrWNNR8E1f5Zv2-8rQsSFGhvGLAb3qxiFHPchEzvZuGbz2dNfTGR3XvNbJBOdYB3pP8ePx3ETBbWkjuJCTnY/s1600/2012-03-06+12.27.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoYo8WMV0g1yB-pKAnOuUioGUwpkPaySxZJSRIO1hS_me6q9v01KQ6F_XrWNNR8E1f5Zv2-8rQsSFGhvGLAb3qxiFHPchEzvZuGbz2dNfTGR3XvNbJBOdYB3pP8ePx3ETBbWkjuJCTnY/s200/2012-03-06+12.27.53.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oriah Enjoys the Lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Channel. That was the only television that made a lot of sense to me. Passing storms, wind, sunshine and snow.<span style="font-size: large;"> I would then dream of the sets of shows and watch people walk in and out of these sets that were actually their lives, and how the world beyond the sets they believed in was totally different, open to </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: large;">change, neutral. </span>The sets were set, but they were not true reality. They were perceptions that had thin walls, and the potential of being blown away in storms. Beyond </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">the sets was a world or <i><b>a dimension of reality that had not been decided on yet, and I could walk in it.</b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Another set of dreams I had placed me back in 1996, when I was at another turning point. After eleven years in a difficult and abusive marriage, I had determined that I had to begin living my own life and pursuing the things I was truly interested in. I had done three </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">years of weekly therapy and was meditating daily and my creative spirit was expanding in many new directions. <span style="font-size: large;">My dream then was to write very artistic, visual scripts about lives that were not easy, poetry and to create a new Tarot Deck called </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“The Cosmic Egg”.</span> I was ready to consider leaving my first husband (now wasband) and even our house that I had painted wall murals and re-landscaped with a triskelion and a fire pit, a forest of gingkoes and redwoods, California poppies and tea tree bushes. Still the only person who knew that my husband was abusive was my </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">therapist, and so when my therapist became abusive and insisted that I wanted to have an affair with him, my evolution unraveled rather quickly. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Within four months I went from my first steps towards independence backwards into a desire to be approved of by supporting my husband, and even finally fulfilling his wish to have a </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">family. I turned my therapist in to the board, and I gave my husband a cut up condom for his birthday. I went from being a part-time freelancer with time to paint and write, to a full-time publishing consultant with no time to even mother the child I was pregnant with, so that by the end of the year I would </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">have a personal assistant, a housekeeper, a gardener, and a year later a nanny. I insisted giving up the house with my murals painted, and moved into a swanky Spanish Colonial that may have once been a boarding house to Charles Bukowski on the two block street named after my favorite inventor, Nikolai Tesla. I went from </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">$25 dollars in the bank to making $15k a month. Yes, all of this really happened that quickly. <span style="font-size: large;">It was all for approval </span>from my first husband, from my friends at the time, from my parents, and I got it. And, it undid my chosen road very precisely. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4zqMzlh4o8gQ26guMe6kMKsMFiypERBwv5NG4VpS1MsW3G8Ma69FXSTCDDv2jP3GBa8DOc-pk7rY8AlhnpzSnJqLUXMkfVugdISSse1DYakCx3TlBQ29-bO3sYkjE5tIlnOUVvtqfk8/s1600/2012-03-06+09.18.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4zqMzlh4o8gQ26guMe6kMKsMFiypERBwv5NG4VpS1MsW3G8Ma69FXSTCDDv2jP3GBa8DOc-pk7rY8AlhnpzSnJqLUXMkfVugdISSse1DYakCx3TlBQ29-bO3sYkjE5tIlnOUVvtqfk8/s320/2012-03-06+09.18.18.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alma in Her Habitat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Oddly, the dreams I had were very much about saying good-bye to those mistakes peacefully and accepting that my dreams continued painfully,<span style="font-size: large;"> like a forgotten and downgraded pavement next to the approved highway</span>, throughout the last fifteen years. The dreams continued to be alive even if they were fought against as distractions from cleaning the house and </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">taking care of my children and seeking approval from everyone. In one dream I told my husband of 1996 that I loved him, but that it was time to move on. In other dreams I made peace with my children and told them that their </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">independence was crucial to me.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">The doctors sent me home from the hospital on the fifth day, and the dreams continued in my hour and a half naps, and even as I was awake until they felt processed and comprehended. <span style="font-size: large;">I found it hard to concentrate on “reality” to the point where I was occasionally overly grumpy at the disturbance of life to the unconscious realm I had such good connection with for the moment.</span> I hate to admit that I occasionally snapped, and apparently this is common for people recovering from brain surgery. The word patience is hardly enough for making a commitment to decide whether to stay in dreamland or start coming into reality.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Making these dream-level departures from the decisions I made in 1996 has been such a relief, but has also unleashed years of frustration and anger over carrying the weight of a life that led me away from my true self. Yet, in just a month I have some sense that I am reuniting with myself, putting my feet on the abandoned road, after years of pounding my head </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">against the wall of approval...could this be the reason for the tumor? So, as I’ve come out of the haze of medications, and gotten confirmation that the tumor was indeed benign and that it had been caught early enough to have no lasting damage, I have hope unlike any hope I’ve had for fifteen years. Though, </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">certainly, there are temporary setbacks like the pain and lack of rest, and that the left side of my face feels like it is just coming off of Novocaine -- all the time.<span style="font-size: large;"> I feel confident that I’ve turned a corner again</span> and found myself in the realm where the sets of my life haven’t been completely determined and </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">there is the potential to create some new and simple realities that are better aligned with who I am now. Where the road I'm now on can find the door to this set.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I have been practicing artwork again on a daily basis, and thinking about the off-formula stories I’m always intrigued by, but had learned to reject in favor of an approved formula that I've grown to hate. <span style="font-size: large;">I’ve been resting and waking at all hours of the day or night</span>. I’ve been watching how my daughter, Bea, is increasingly aware of the world she is entering as a new </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">adult, and wears her grief over her lost childhood. Then also I’ve been watching how my younger son, Lio, is already aware of some aspects of adulthood that excite him to the point where he’s leaped ahead of the family at age eleven to webbify his life with video streaming, video chats and group games.</span></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0nXd_xB6fbuxufvb20CHjNPtqm8C5d9Ax1m5-x8InTBlpVv0SvauJLAfZKRgFmRNsf-NHfKdu0KRGXX2uPmkUvJDB-3pLrA3ZzMZ7Dz-tIEZpaLgCPmD4Rt0aeseujwgyFpZO3oojvk/s1600/2012-03-10+13.13.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0nXd_xB6fbuxufvb20CHjNPtqm8C5d9Ax1m5-x8InTBlpVv0SvauJLAfZKRgFmRNsf-NHfKdu0KRGXX2uPmkUvJDB-3pLrA3ZzMZ7Dz-tIEZpaLgCPmD4Rt0aeseujwgyFpZO3oojvk/s320/2012-03-10+13.13.47.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Quimby in Pastel Land</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">My wasband has been as supportive as he can be, and taken time with the children that I normally would have had. He is who he is still, and they’ve both had terrible colds that lasted longer than a week and needed some Mommified assistance. So, both </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: large;">children have had extra days here and there</span>, but only one at a time.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Finally, my dear husband has been <span style="font-size: large;">carrying the load</span> of my transportation, childcare and household upkeep for some six months now, and has concurrently become increasingly responsible for projects at work. He’s like a Lancelot, courageously determined to see that things get done because they need to get done, and at the same time exhausted, </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">and falling into the river of forgetfulness because there is just too much on his mind. Now, poor man has collapsed with fatigue and the caught bug of his step-children. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">This leaves me, only me, to be fully conscious and begin taking care of business, too. I’m glad to say that I can to some degree, and that what I can’t </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">do, <span style="font-size: large;">I’m actually fine about not receiving approval</span>. This is a leap for me. I will hang on more determinedly to the emerging unconscious knowledge I’ve always had and hidden from by trying other roads that might be worthy of rewards outside of me. <i><b>This, for me, is real healing because finally I comprehend that the road I'm on now leads me to my own door.</b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Xqu9qhBHWNs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-80125321997998062572012-03-07T10:37:00.000-07:002012-03-07T11:03:19.243-07:00Magnetic Poles Switching Inside<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This experience of discovering the benign meningioma, struggling to get ready for it to go, having it removed and then recovering from its absence has been quite a process. For years leading up to the discovery of this tumor, I really was in quite a struggle to understand how my life had gotten so far off course from my dreams, and I had ascertained lots of bits of information about the past, and ideas of how to get back to what I had a will for really pursuing, but I couldn't quite put it together. As I write this, I can see that perhaps my journey is unique, maybe other people can get a grasp onto things much more easily. On the other hand, I also wonder if other people who run into these sort of monumental physical, emotional and mental challenges might be able to use what I've discovered on their own quests, so I'll share a particularly surprising part of this story...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAofVdk_UT1ubG9TjMcTXY-389-rtjQL-KhbLoCT6AYVSoOXtGcp49Ye84-r18vB9v4UMqALHd1pwmLZPpdWc9Q6rVv7A5TfSlVNbUMiBR2hvv91KmMmSHaL4ksHdUYDo4VBLaxFXD4U/s1600/some+tarot+pics+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAofVdk_UT1ubG9TjMcTXY-389-rtjQL-KhbLoCT6AYVSoOXtGcp49Ye84-r18vB9v4UMqALHd1pwmLZPpdWc9Q6rVv7A5TfSlVNbUMiBR2hvv91KmMmSHaL4ksHdUYDo4VBLaxFXD4U/s320/some+tarot+pics+009.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sun XIX</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A child's mind invents many future potentials, and sifts them as she grows. She sends them out looking for approval, and doesn't realize that approval often comes to the thing she's least interested in. She pursues the least interested future with all her energy because ultimately she desires the approval. <span style="font-size: large;">The potentials she deeply loves, the ones that involve her so completely that time passes without her knowledge,</span> get branded as distractions from the things she ought to do and so they're put on a shelf display in her head as evidence of bad habits.<br />
<br />
At some point in adulthood the shelf falls apart and suddenly those future potentials start a mess in the mind. They play hide in seek with her as it dawns on her that her lack of happiness has something to do with the fact they've gone missing. There are marvelous books by worthy authors that help her find them (CG Jung, Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Julia Cameron, Paul Ferrini, Leo Buscalia, M. Scott Peck MD, off the top of my head). Classes are taken, and yet even when one piece is found and put back on the shelf, others are lost. Therefore, a great swath of time goes to piecework while still giving the most time to those things that get some approval. The battle to actually take some discovery off the shelves of life and to wear them and live in them is already known to gain disapproval, and that is not something she desires.<br />
<br />
Because approval has become so important, she is even likely to surround herself with echoing voices of friendships that agree with the approved choices, and that in turn leaves all of those shelved selves exposed to further disapproval. <b>The internal battlefield between the bits of desired denials and the framework of desired approval leaves her frustrated</b> with even having another potential at times, or frustrated with her approving friends and family because they don't see her true desires as worthwhile, except perhaps as a hobby. When the secretly loved potentials make unplanned exposures, her urge to quickly finish them and get them off her mind can lead to self-exhaustion and frizzle-frazzlement.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Am I making any sense?</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzA7t8IgWXOOkYQbC_jIASg-yGhjIZOcIqS9JxaNm5zDQe9Uzzf10ZtBrxdrWkpMNoorPhAS5It8YvhKSgTiAGkzvr3bJOisfAbzUVB1kGKRWSjrAYYEn37t3omalFyFg6l3A4Qv2i1Q/s1600/crayons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzA7t8IgWXOOkYQbC_jIASg-yGhjIZOcIqS9JxaNm5zDQe9Uzzf10ZtBrxdrWkpMNoorPhAS5It8YvhKSgTiAGkzvr3bJOisfAbzUVB1kGKRWSjrAYYEn37t3omalFyFg6l3A4Qv2i1Q/s320/crayons.jpg" width="313" /></a>Last post, I talked a bit about rebellion, and this story I'm outlining is a further exposure of the wrestling I've been doing for almost all my life. For some reason now that I have a flow of water again around the part of my brain that puts things in order, I am able to see that the approval/disapproval war is an old, old habit. I also have the sense that I may actually be experiencing a reversal of that order. Now, I recognize everything that I'm supposed to do for approval from many who have been a lifetime around me, and I am feeling disgusted by it, by my own former behavior, and finding that I simply cannot condone allowing it to remain in the limelight. It comes up daily, moment to moment. <i><span style="font-size: large;">As if the magnetic poles of the order within me have switched, my strongest desire is to bring out all of those uncommitted desires and let them be experienced for the rest of my life</span></i>, whether or not I'm ultimately understood. In turn the modes of operation that attain some sense of comprehension from much of my family and some of my old friends are being boxed and labeled with things like "<b>taking care of external perfectionism</b>," "<b>the right diet</b>," "<b>beliefs that have nothing to do with me</b>," "<b>rising to expectations</b>," and "<b>buying artificial pleasures</b>."<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, as I dust off desires that have been hidden away everyday, more potentials appear. It is as if I've landed on the island of misfit toys and they're all so happy to have me. These desires are not all quite working yet, and I'm not but partially developed on most of them, so <b>I have the sense of practice and experiment</b>. It isn't that I haven't tried all of them once or even often, but simply that now instead of killing myself to get something done and out of the way, I sense I have the opportunity to see what unfolds over time, and that as part of my healing doing it little by little is essential.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-88549151964471343032012-03-01T09:43:00.002-07:002012-03-01T09:53:31.237-07:00Life's Rebellious Surprises<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
One of the oddest experiences of myself after surgery is the feeling, re-feeling of being a somewhat rebellious teenager. Now, in fact when I was a teenager I sort of rebelled against expectations by succeeding on certain levels. I was “Head Girl” at my high school, East High in Denver, and I had a starring role in the musical, and sang in a National Award Winning Jazz Choir on the official levels, competed on speech trails, and kept up my grades sort of. But I was risque on unofficial levels. Like when I went with my family to Australia, I had a wild two-day affair with an absolute stranger named Les, who was the first young man I knew with an earring, tattoo, leather pants and a motorcycle. I scared my cousin Josh to being unnerved as I went for a ride away with Les, and later made out with him in an arcade, and then had us meet us at a bar in Manley. I bought my first red mini skirt the next day, and later introduced Les to the cousins, but honestly, I would only be in Sydney for one or two more days, and it was already fading even as I got stoned with him and rode over Sydney Harbor bridge on the back of his motorbike...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FN3OvNp2dYTQa4bl_Qh66BNvvtoToarg0vrBO4OhgI2FIl23YXW1yQffg19F6sAzrWkFO0DsHvuRUCyO-cusUhWsssvMF8PRuph1giZRvHCWMLbXylPHsPk2upZSr1vV-zEenkVIQYk/s1600/self.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FN3OvNp2dYTQa4bl_Qh66BNvvtoToarg0vrBO4OhgI2FIl23YXW1yQffg19F6sAzrWkFO0DsHvuRUCyO-cusUhWsssvMF8PRuph1giZRvHCWMLbXylPHsPk2upZSr1vV-zEenkVIQYk/s320/self.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">she was just 17, if you know what I mean...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, at the moment I feel very allied with the girl I was who willingly tried a relationship with the world expressed by Les, that wasn't so darned predictable, or so I thought. Part of this is because I’m having a resurfacing of pain. Somehow Tylenol has not been keeping the pain of my left side at a minimum. I can’t stand the percocet or oxcodone and there was a great resistance by the medical group for me to try anything else...so even though I’ve been taking a maximum dose, the pain has been building me into a pretty grumpy, pissy person who expects some other people in the family to keep up the actions I normally do just exactly like I do them. Making peace with help coming in its own way is a challenge. I have become a finger-pointing, impatient shouter who has had to repeatedly disappear under the covers of the bed and count to ten as I dream about shaving off the rest of my hair and wearing the most grungeful expression I can find.<br />
<br />
I finally started calling all the nurses from under the covers and telling them that they’d have to do more surgery or something because it seemed clear to me that as marvelous as it felt Monday, it was equally horribly just two days later. Something was NOT RIGHT about healing with so much pain, so little sleep and the inability to keep even my glasses on to see because of the trouble they caused.<br />
<br />
The nurse I finally reached guessed right from the start about my grumpiness, and said, ah, yes. She asked about what I was taking and whether I wanted to get back on the narcotics, and I said not a chance unless they had to do surgery again. She agreed that the narcotics seemed to have made me sick even in the hospital. So, she said, “well, you’re two days early but why don’t you try Ibuprofen and see what happens.”<br />
<br />
HALLELUJAH! My swelling brain is always the thing. I’ve had a near lifetime, well since rebellious teenage moments, migraines, and the accoutrement of aspirin and caffeine with Tylenol has always been the answer. Not being able to take the bits and pieces together has been pissing me off because I know what I know about my body and swelling. That’s why I’m avoiding wheat, dairy, nightshades, legumes as it is and that’s why I’m taking a gazillion anti-histamines along with the anti-seizure medication. Still that is not all enough to reduce the brain swelling and so finally a little addition of Ibuprofen, well, ahhhhh, it gave me hope.<br />
<br />
Thus, I took three at first, then back to Tylenol four hours later, then four at bed time, and lo and behold I slept an entire four hours! And, took more Tylenol and felt okay for 2 more hours, and even though my head hurt there was this sense of opening a box of treasures inside, a feeling that I could begin to turn around the pain and become restful and peaceful again. This brought me back from the angry rebellion and into a notion of simple rebellious alliances that had more to do with ideas than with a feeling of trying things that could only last a few days in a hug of hopeless. You see when I had had that affair with Les back in 1981, I knew it was only for a few days. It shocked me when I received letter after letter in the following months from him with half a dozen stamps each. I don’t remember even writing back to him because already I’d sent myself into so many official experiences and projects and friendships locally. The few things I took back into my life from Les were a red mini-skirt, and how to roll my own cigarettes with Drum Tobacco. This appearance looked enough like a rebellion in 1982 to cause others to wonder what I was up to, and I felt ahead of the crowd as I wanted to, but in fact, had sunk back into routine.<br />
<br />
Now that I’m a middle-aged woman with a plan to keep a connection to this brain surgery experience, I’ve concluded I won’t be the one who hides the scar in a new cover-up haircut. Rather I will show off for a while, this experience kind becomes of like a red mini-skirt from years before, and must be expressed by asymmetry and possibly some wild color after I get the staples out and the wound all healed. My willingness is to discuss the ups and downs of the whole affair this time, not just all pleasantries (for I was certainly frightened by the chance that Les could have really taken me down the wrong road, and this was something I put myself out for experiencing until it finally happened with some other lost boys, one after another), and at the same time understand it is actually a temporary upheaval. I will turn a corner at some point down the line and realize that brain surgery was something that happened and made an impact and scared the family even when I wasn’t particularly afraid but mostly was completely devoted to beholding the instance of the moment. Rather than abandoning its story, as I did abandon Les rather cruelly, this time I’m going to express this near rebellion with others who share the feelings, and celebrate the growth and travel through it, the good stuff and yes, the bad stuff even on my own part, too. I’m not willing to hide the distraction of this wondrous time, and I’m no longer willing to ignore the meanings of brief love affairs with life’s surprises.</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-16148973232874701812012-02-27T17:45:00.000-07:002012-02-27T17:45:37.828-07:00Ten Days Later - Survival<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As the evening comes on, I realize it really has been 10 full days since I woke up from brain surgery. So, first let me say, "Yes, I survived!" There is a lot more to say, and I find that specific words can be challenging off and on still, so I'll try to stay simple this entry. All in all my body is pretty healthy as I return to life's everyday experience. I can walk. I can point and write. I can cook and fold. I can see. My appearance is rather rugged at the moment; though even since this photo was taken a few days ago, my hair is already growing in. I am itchy as the drugs fade away.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazN98T4Ucr6IpEZJG3E1a4cvnAwRAOD2Wk1JGWpd3qOqxeegh_a5SJ4O9_hxU0U7YHDYEzAPVpHN2wSVH6KQZKjxL2a9rl2Udu6q7qWvVmplFzMEuM3RPw8lLhreJ4dYNaSb0j0kF9zw/s1600/punk+rocker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazN98T4Ucr6IpEZJG3E1a4cvnAwRAOD2Wk1JGWpd3qOqxeegh_a5SJ4O9_hxU0U7YHDYEzAPVpHN2wSVH6KQZKjxL2a9rl2Udu6q7qWvVmplFzMEuM3RPw8lLhreJ4dYNaSb0j0kF9zw/s320/punk+rocker.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There are some good challenges. For the first time in several years or so I want to exercise seriously, do yoga and move my legs and arms. The desire is incredibly deep and has nothing to do with vanity. In the hospital I started doing ballet bar exercises from my childhood when I was left alone. In the middle of the night I have been doing half hour yoga sessions on my daughter's mat in the middle of the living room. I feel like there is this new flow of energy through my whole body that hasn't really been around for more than a few years. I go for a walk in the morning and find it way too cold, though. So that's a surprise. Here I want to exercise, but having freezing air blow into me is completely shortened to the very minimum I can get away with because I can't seem to defend my body's temperature.<br />
<br />
Temperature is a funny thing, too. Last week I ran a constant low fever of around 99 degrees, and I'm down now to 98 something. However my "normal" body temperature for years has been 96 degrees. This is all numerical and blah, blah, but the weirdest thing is that as soon as I am thinking -- like now -- I break out into a full body sweat. Does this mean my brain is working out? Maybe so. I am having to change my clothes several times a day, and wipe the scar and staples with a cool wash cloth to deal with the fact that thinking is a very hot business right now that seems to effect me top of the head to the bottom of my feet. I really hope that this will pass in a few weeks.<br />
<br />
Thinking is interesting. I don't think with words mostly. Hmmm. It's bizarre. I look out and I have a conceptual understanding of whatever it is, but it takes a bit of time to come to words. Like this. This takes a little bit of extra time to come up with words, though I know I want to recognize these few things and say something that means what my concept is acting out visually. I dreamt of entire life sets for everyone and that has created a whole story in my brain, but I am unable to write it yet. I enjoy the pictures and the meaning of the pictures.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7oIG0Grx6GyafUO_sWQ2yPK47nz71_c4teMKBZF7oTvEO8oNmuJGSGcdx21-PHBe7rNGshCA8_TEfyQqnWXcm_8GuK1PAMQ8HfPafTRoW28V2oRqUl21aGSb6pUA3EW8jifwiCR5tIM/s1600/Pastel+of+Michael+and+Me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7oIG0Grx6GyafUO_sWQ2yPK47nz71_c4teMKBZF7oTvEO8oNmuJGSGcdx21-PHBe7rNGshCA8_TEfyQqnWXcm_8GuK1PAMQ8HfPafTRoW28V2oRqUl21aGSb6pUA3EW8jifwiCR5tIM/s200/Pastel+of+Michael+and+Me.jpg" width="65" /></a>So, of course, I've been drawing. I've commented on some drawings and paintings on Facebook, too. I have appreciation for art. It has occurred to me that my life belongs to the arts so much more than I've allowed almost my entire life until now. For some reason I always thought I'd be more practical and my artwork was not terrific. But, now I kind of like my illustrations and moods and I am inclined to say that there will be more artwork now than there was before. I hope that is true. I really do.<br />
<br />
Finally, I'm thinking about filmmaking and screenwriting yet again. I always think that I'm done with it and the fact that I now have three screenplays in mind after fits and starts for the past several years, I'm basically entertained by it. We'll see if the words will come back and explain these visual films I have in mind that explore the edges of the world we believe in and the possibility that just the other side of the door is a new world edge that we could embrace, or pass through on the way back, and that the way they all fit together is like the most amazing faceted gem in the Universe. We'll see.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So, that's it for now. I'll be getting the staples out of my head on this Friday and will find out what comes next. Thanks for keeping up. I need to go take a shower now and change my clothes.</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-62677835910291212952012-02-16T20:45:00.000-07:002012-02-16T20:45:11.652-07:00Peace, Disneyland and Win-Win Scenarios<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tomorrow I will finally have the benign meningioma, aka little-gray-ball-of-dirty-laundry, in my left temporal lobe area removed. I have been busy all day preparing, and that might seem obvious to some, and mundane to others. This is the thing. How we prepare really matters, I think. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not like I haven't gone to dark places with this episode of the brain tumor. I have. Believe me. I've gone all the way to imagining my death, wondering if there is any reason to stay in this world. One cannot help it maybe when facing the prospect of having one's skull opened up and exposing one's brain to somethings it was never designed for in the first place. I even went to the dark side this week, and then I saw a squirrel gnawing away on a tree branch, and from the looks of the tree branch it looked like it had been doing a lot of gnawing for a while. It's been a bitter cold winter with lots of ice, and if I recall the acorns were not quite as abundant last summer as they've been in other summers because we got our rains late, after the blossoms had come and gone.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I thought about preparing for things, and how squirrels seem to get through these times by hook or crook, gnawing trees if they have to do it. I thought about how worried that would make me, and that led me to think about worry and how destructive it has been in my life at times. It causes me to give up sometimes before I've even begun because I might not have thought of something, planned well enough, or hadn't had the resources to thrive. Sure enough all that worrying kept me so stuck that there are times I've made no progress at all for it. But this time is different. I'm having my skull opened up and my brain exposed and I cannot afford it. I cannot afford to worry about any sort of outcomes other than doing really well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll tell you why. I can only plan for one outcome because that's all the energy I have. I'm now on the full course of anti-seizure medication and after years of getting by on six or fewer hours of sleep a night, I'm now sleeping 13 hours a day! I have my kids, my dog and my dear husband counting on me to pull through. I can only plan for the very best. So, that's what I've been preparing for for days, maybe even weeks, and it may seem like I have a screw loose to those who would rather I take the implications of all of this seriously when I laugh giddily and say I feel like "I'm going to Disneyland!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In fact, I do feel like I'm going to Disneyland. I've got a good feeling about this surgery. I have studied enough about the brain to know that while my Left Brain is under duress my Right Brain will be given an opportunity to show me another way of seeing things, and that the Right Brain is, well, friendlier, much more like Disneyland in reality than something more serious. I have sent out requests to the ethers. I'd like to communicate with my guides, my angels, my Temple, people who I've missed. I'd like to see what peace feels like for a little bit even. But, even if I just sleep through the whole experience and wake up without a benign meningioma and a funky scar and a really bad haircut, that's okay with me. It's a win-win situation going on here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to take a moment to thank everyone for your support up to this shining moment. I'd like to especially thank my family for their patience with my evolution through the last four and half months. I'm humbled, truly, by everyone's efforts and wisdom and openness to going through this with me. I have a meal train page, if anyone would like to help locally with meals, and I don't know how to get there. I'll try to figure that out next week, because I'll be able to do that. I have one last request: Tomorrow at 9 am - 4 pm MST send tranquil, serene, blue thoughts my way and I'll know what to do with them. THANKS! See you soon!</div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-1893637563341692982012-02-10T15:10:00.002-07:002012-02-10T15:10:42.535-07:00Burnished, Deep Splendor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.38133055437356234" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>What Life Does To Us</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes. I said it.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Life does stuff to us</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I am not of the point of view that we cause ALL our own troubles. I admit we do a good job on ourselves by our choices and habits, but life does a good deal to contribute to the messes we find ourselves in on a larger scale. There are these surprises...earthquakes and accidents...depressions both emotional and financial...unexpected brain tumors. There are genetic tricks that turn into addictions and brilliant savant-ism. There is rape. There are children with cancer. There are starving children. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't bother writing a comment that those children are paying off past life karma because I don't buy it.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> We are already forgiven for all that so let's just say that I do not explain what life does to us as pay back.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It would be easy enough to extrapolate that I must harbor some ill will. You might assume I am resentful. That would be wrong. In fact I am amazed, impressed and marveled by the stuff life does to us.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I am unusually humbled</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by the dings I’ve gotten from a life I hope is only half-way through. There are some doozies, as you will know from this journal of sorts. I view them as the experiences that make me human.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watched with my kids the Kennedy Center Honors awards show last month where they were celebrating some of America’s finest performers in music and drama. I bring this up because here is a group of people I truly admire for making this world more bearable with their contributions (yes, even Neil Diamond). One would think from the glowing love they got that night that they are an unblemished, untouched sort. I was familiar with four out of five of the artists, Neil Diamond for his amazing collection of pop hits, Yo-Yo Ma for his adventures as a Cellist, Sonny Rollins and his saxaphone, and Meryl Streep the endless Oscar Winner. I had never heard of the fifth, Barbara Cook, though it turns out I was familiar with her work on a few of my grandparents’ “Original Broadway Cast” albums.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Not one of them had truly escaped hitting the proverbial wall of life</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, though, and Barbara Cook may have hit it even harder than Sonny Rollins (though he also hit a wall called “da Man” and landed in prison for a time). </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Barbara somehow said the thing that struck me and has stayed with me for several weeks now. She was filmed giving singing lessons to a group of talented up and comers and someone was singing what sounded like a silly, romantic song in her voice, and then Barbara took the same music and made it downright sexy. She told this girl, “This is a song about sex. Remember that and you’ll do all right.” She’s 83 or 84 years old and she said it just that bluntly. Then the next clip she was speaking to the whole class and she said, and this is the thing that stuck, “<i>These songs, this music is about what life does to us...</i>” and she added something like - you have to bring it, all of it to the music, to your expression.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“...this is about what life does to us and you have to bring it...”</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here was a woman, that as a young person literally wrote her own ticket on Broadway with this incredible voice that became the model of <i>Marian the Librarian </i>(my first theatrical role as an earnest and unlived fifth grader), but then drank herself into anonymity. Yes, she had <i>that</i> habit and she paid, but the circumstances that drove her, the genetic make-up, the loss of boundaries all piled up together and that is life. Life did it and she complied...for a while... in a soul-destroying, sopping drunk choice. Then she stopped, and that was her choice, too, and she turned her life around and she went on to win the Kennedy Center's Award in 2011. So. It wasn’t just the words she said in that one sentence that impressed me, but that her devotion to sharing all of the dings, scratches and bruises through music is her gift to humanity, and she does it so intimately that you feel you are with her alone. Like this song, that I think</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> she sings to life itself and of what we do to life</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: </span></b><br />
<b style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ur4ydauvjiE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And, this makes me think of the author, <a href="http://oriahsinvitation.blogspot.com/">Oriah Mountain Dreamer</a>, who also has this same kind of relationship with life,</span><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;"> a love affair that sometimes forces uncomfortable questions</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> that she so generously shares with us even in the midst of a crisis. These two, of many of artists I have met and admired, leave me stunned with a clear idea of who I hope to be in a year or fifty years...something I call “burnished, deep splendor.” <i>The tender yet incredibly resilient quality that acknowledges what life does to us and polishes it until there is a way to see all the way to the core</i> is what I want to be.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-42871346855452905322012-02-06T12:18:00.000-07:002012-02-06T12:18:40.476-07:00Picking Up Where We Left Off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Remembering <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metaphysics_of_presence">presence</a> has been the work lately. It has been absolutely right for me not to focus so much on the benign meningioma in my skull. After seven weeks of working with a wonderful allergist/immunologist, Dr. Michael Volz, we have induced my body to tolerate the anti-seizure drug, Dilantin, so that I may have surgery. Today I had my blood work done to find out if the medication is at "therapeutic" levels that are acceptable to the neurologist and neurosurgeon in charge of my case. I have a good feeling about it, enough so that I'm willing to share that my surgery is scheduled for a few weeks from now.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pbuHjyA0ZBdCgeSKugqdLMhL99lhGa8Rqui2NB6dkHqjMmtXUkVNfjUdvW16hDljXV8JhXc1v1jEeuYiwokZADsvwx-oy5hg_n7bD1bFVQDkFCPbFspsg4mZzYaZxsgCDBEqk31MP68/s1600/5410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pbuHjyA0ZBdCgeSKugqdLMhL99lhGa8Rqui2NB6dkHqjMmtXUkVNfjUdvW16hDljXV8JhXc1v1jEeuYiwokZADsvwx-oy5hg_n7bD1bFVQDkFCPbFspsg4mZzYaZxsgCDBEqk31MP68/s320/5410.jpg" width="320" /></a>What a quest! I have learned so much already. By diverting my attention away from the little-dirty-gray-ball-of-laundry in my skull, I managed to start a few projects that I can imagine picking up again with eager joy as I am recovering from surgery. Yay! This is the smile I was looking for in "<a href="http://kosmicegg.blogspot.com/2011/12/resting-in-ambiguity.html">Resting in Ambiguity</a>" - knowing that there was something in me that was left to express and be in this world. I felt I had to have some sort of baby to birth, even knowing that the baby would have to be myself. I knew that simply looking forward to recovering from having "<a href="http://kosmicegg.blogspot.com/2011/10/titanium-snowflakes.html">Titanium Snowflakes</a>" adhered to my skull was not the fuel of living I count on. Now, I know without a doubt that I have work to do, people to meet and stories to tell, and I'm looking forward to getting there no matter what travails I have to wander through on the way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRm3VaQAg0nMESta_yBlpOUSa-Gr6Sw5aGD5OIziWse23uhmj5Q-fQVEn-RCxTqrjdEagDvwpdX3MvwLeac-VIDC59fnprJMRRB0n2waDfAAmd_VdOneNV1VY7AiyOm-_M_Blhyphenhyphenb4mBg/s1600/4249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRm3VaQAg0nMESta_yBlpOUSa-Gr6Sw5aGD5OIziWse23uhmj5Q-fQVEn-RCxTqrjdEagDvwpdX3MvwLeac-VIDC59fnprJMRRB0n2waDfAAmd_VdOneNV1VY7AiyOm-_M_Blhyphenhyphenb4mBg/s200/4249.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
If you've read any of my <a href="http://kosmicegg.blogspot.com/2010/04/chapter-one-part-one-fallow-fields.html">earlier blogs</a>, from say 2010, you will know that I've struggled to come into my life meaningfully. After years of having the main goal of fixing others around me, and, of course, of course, failing miserably, I had to sit in some "fallow fields" and accept there was nothing to do in that moment. In a sense, my journey with the benign meningioma was already well underway, though I was unaware of it. I had a great deal of fatigue, a constant headache, hearing loss, and a general feeling of malaise and I thought I had spent all of myself already on the failed pursuit of my first marriage, and career misfires. My field was full of rocks and permafrost, and from what I could tell, fully depleted, and all I could do was plant a cover crop of experimental writing that I knew wasn't really going anywhere, just to put some nutrients back in the soil of my life. I have to admit I had doubts that it was working even up unto this fall. Truly it felt like a last ditch effort to save my dreams.<br />
<br />
When I had the clarity that actually there was something physically contributing to my sense of hopelessness, it managed to actually pull in my focus, like a closing aperture, to find what it is that I do love about living. Besides my children, my husband, and my dog, I knew there was something else. I admit it. I love writing. But, what I love about writing the most is not what I thought I loved. I saw a PBS special in December about our Poet Laureate 2010-11, W.S. Merwin, and he nailed it: "Poetry expresses what cannot be told." Now, I do believe this is what has interested me about poetry for so long, but I also have seen it in the best films of our age.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKUUE-OfMkSlmSP0fTtqgisjhapyf6-LwCWwpsCcOzU41mXwt5Z-s9qd7umGEc630J3JBueq4vxpomaWtayJbOAq8lPHASKgrsMzBryNlfwSxwN08B62HYLFPAVV3boCe8Ag5fc_5oI0/s1600/5470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKUUE-OfMkSlmSP0fTtqgisjhapyf6-LwCWwpsCcOzU41mXwt5Z-s9qd7umGEc630J3JBueq4vxpomaWtayJbOAq8lPHASKgrsMzBryNlfwSxwN08B62HYLFPAVV3boCe8Ag5fc_5oI0/s320/5470.jpg" width="137" /></a></div>
<i>The intangible quality of fine art that communicates underneath opaque structures and reaches into our hearts rather than into our minds</i> is what I have always wanted to pursue, and what I have always denied myself by trying to write acceptably, commercially and with the audience in mind. In fact, as a writer I have gone down all the wrong paths for my particular longing. Grin. It's all right. I don't have to wonder anymore whether I could be a social media maven, a content provider extraordinaire or a Rom-Com dudette in Hollywood. I can't seem to pull it off. Those are not in my bag of seeds.<br />
<br />
Here we revisit the notion of trust. Can I trust this knowledge and pursue, finally, what I am truly capable of producing? Ah. You may rely on the fact that the question emerges nearly everyday still, and so it is with effort that I hang onto, "Yes," as the answer. Brain surgery is not cheap, nor is having two kids. I struggle with the notion of letting my husband carry this weight while I seem to be namby-pambying around with "creativity" rather than practical pursuits.<br />
<br />
It so happens with all the effort I put into trusting that "yes," something has happened. I wrote 78 and more poems since September last year. You may see some of them on <a href="http://kosmiceggtarot.wordpress.com/">Kosmic Egg Tarot</a>, and on <a href="http://kosmicegg.tumblr.com/">Kosmicegg</a> and even still I wonder if I can accomplish anything this way. Then as I was devoting my heart to poetry I realized that even that is not enough for me. I've taken up landscape photography, oil pastels, co-writing a novel with my daughter, futurism and more. I used to say "more is more," and frankly it was a rebellion against my father's mantra, "less is more," but in the field of creativity it turns out that the more diversely I let my talents express themselves, the healthier the productivity and consistent the flow of ideas is for me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO371DGK5DX4LuEDKDPeODzA3xjsy_Xd9Wnbrw_Q4QwFywj9LAjZmfxrHDvAzE6antlWczJZ4opxYeDRIbCJpTzI-JsSLlpd235nZxdnqjs7BM9hGAyKv14Ne_OMxkpFBZhXFdsqsnULY/s1600/2012-01-10+17.00.56+sunset+in+January.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="73" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO371DGK5DX4LuEDKDPeODzA3xjsy_Xd9Wnbrw_Q4QwFywj9LAjZmfxrHDvAzE6antlWczJZ4opxYeDRIbCJpTzI-JsSLlpd235nZxdnqjs7BM9hGAyKv14Ne_OMxkpFBZhXFdsqsnULY/s400/2012-01-10+17.00.56+sunset+in+January.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I have a talent for extrapolation that thrills and entertains people and finally looks like it could be a business in futurism for me. This is funny to me since I had such trouble figuring out my own future for a long while, but like me, the world is sort of in a "fallow field" state with glimmers of hope coming and going with each nation's debt crisis. Indeed having a vision for a prosperous future seems to be a battle for more than just me alone. So, as I'm recovering from brain surgery I now have abundant plans and things to work towards. I don't know for sure that it's all going to work, but I do know that I must have this bridge to my future because fording the river Styx is not so wise if one is keen on remembering presence. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-84491762103664397202012-01-20T11:40:00.003-07:002012-02-09T12:36:02.974-07:00Guest Blogger - The Main Treatments for Benign Meningioma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">As discussed on this blog before, brain
tumors – even the benign kind – can be a true nightmare. We decided now would be a good time to
discuss a little more about them, including what kind of treatments those with
benign tumors can get.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">To give you a basic understanding, a
benign brain tumor is a group of cells that do not have normal growth or cell
division as the rest of the brain cells.
Different from malignant tumors, benign tumors grow slowly and do not
invade surrounding tissue or other organs.
They are often characterized by their distinct edges as shown in CT or
MRI scans. However, these kinds of
tumors can still pose a danger by pressing on surrounding tissue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">One of the most common types of
treatment for brain tumors is surgery.
This is usually done if the tumor is located where it can be easily
accessed and removed with a lower risk of neurological damage. This option is more likely to happen if there
is only one tumor, its edges are clearly defined, and the general health of the
patient is good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The newest treatment for brain tumor
removal is called the Gamma Knife. The
name is misleading however, as this process does not involve a knife. In the procedure, narrow beams of radiation
are targeted at the tumor cells in the brain and is done without any incisions
or anesthesia. Done in only one sitting,
this is often the treatment recommended for those who have a tumor in a hard to
reach place, multiple tumors, or other factors that make surgery risky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Radiation therapy is the last type of
treatment someone with a benign tumor may experience. In some cases, as in smaller tumors,
radiation may be the only method of treatment needed. Radiation therapy can also be used as a
follow up to brain surgery if some of the tumor still remains even if the cells
are microscopic. Unlike the Gamma Knife,
radiation therapy is often done more than once and usually for weeks at a
time. Because radiation therapy works by
stopping the tumors ability to reproduce, it usually takes a while for the
results to be seen. A CT or MRI scan is
usually ordered about three months after radiation to see how successful it
was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><i>Casey Roberts is a student
and also writes fo</i>r<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_42986360"> </a></span><a href="http://www.radiologyassistant.org/">http://www.radiologyassistant.org/</a> <i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">which helps students find the right radiology degree.</i></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-52233888706815946432011-12-18T13:20:00.000-07:002011-12-20T09:39:54.527-07:00Resting in Ambiguity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because I’ve found the struggle interesting, I suppose I’ve
not envisioned the outcome I want. Now, I feel neutral in the struggle finally,
that the gains and losses have evened out. Today I told a friend in my
community that now it looks like brain surgery won’t happen until February…or
so. She laughed and said, “Oh. Forget about it.” This stuck with me and it
occurred to me that there was great wisdom in those words. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How much does any one of us really know about the future?
The fact that you can make plans in your calendar stretching out infinitum
doesn’t mean that any of it will ever happen. Ouch. I know. What happens if the
future becomes encased in a fog? It
doesn’t mean that nothing is going to happen. It simply means there are no
predictions, no scheduling, and no planning. Even the events you know are out
there become vague, memory-rooted markers that have no pull anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it is the fact that I can’t drive, that I can’t seem
to make a plan for the future without it being wiped off the white-board
calendar by another surprise in this situation. I am simply tired of the
disappointment. I have to laugh that the thing I want to know is when I’ll have
brain surgery. Who thinks something like that? Here’s my confession…I can’t
imagine my future anymore and I can’t imagine how this situation gets resolved.
I give up on specifics. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to forget about the specifics. I am now fully
invested in vague. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, there will be a solution to the benign meningioma. What
is the solution? I don’t know anymore. I have vague ideas. The ideas may or may not work in the way I
think they will, and so I am free now to completely let go of struggling with
the details to get to my destination out there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For another metaphor, imagine you are going on a vacation
and you have to learn how to not only operate a plane, but also all the luggage
systems and run the stewarding. Wouldn’t you rather simply focus on arriving at
your destination and what fun you’ll have when you get there?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taking me out of the alarming field of making the medical
plan work, or the alternative plan work is a little bit…relaxing. It is what it
is. That’s what I say about everything else, and it turns out, “It is what it
is,” perfectly applies to this. I do not need to understand the why, when,
where or how, and I know the what –vaguely – the solution will happen. I accept
that the strong stream of prayers and light coming my way has made an
impression that there must be something in me worth saving. The intentions for
full recovery are in motion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What does that leave?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This makes me think of my daughter’s smile. When I was
pregnant I read all the books, researched methods, chose the most independent
route I could find. In other words, I distracted myself because I had no idea
what it would be like to be a mother of a child. I had no idea what this child
would be like (I didn’t find out gender via technology). Yet, being pregnant, I trusted absolutely
that I would love my baby. I did what I could to express that, of course, I
petted the baby’s head, or maybe it was her bottom, through my belly’s wall,
and I tried to keep food down. I played music, took long walks and she gestated
in spite of some surprises along the way, some changed minds about methods, some
moves (two), and a new job. Somehow it all came out okay when she emerged. No
matter what detail I struggled with (nursing, diaper changing, burping, working),
there were only a few things I cared about – that I love her the best way I
could by learning about her, by being curious, and that I not betray her trust,
and that when I smiled at her, she smiled back at me. When that smile finally
appeared; oh boy, I spent a lot of hours smiling. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, that’s what I’m aiming for metaphorically, I’m aiming
for an inner smile that trusts that the world is my oyster. I want to be loyal
to my life, to my purpose, to my mission. I want to be curious and learn more
about my purpose here on earth. In short, I want to learn somehow in the next
few months to absorb what has escaped me before…how to love myself, accept
myself, shit, burps and all. I want to embrace a sense of wonder as I emerge from
recovery and begin to smile in love with life. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/RGZ1IYRirtQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-11888784376661418282011-12-17T08:00:00.000-07:002011-12-17T08:00:06.308-07:00Finding a State of Grace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
My understanding
about this tumor, this benign meningioma, has been forced to expand because of all of the delays in
getting it out. At the beginning it seemed so simple. Have surgery and recover.
Now, adrift in waiting and wonder, I feel compelled to lighten up and get over
the fact that someday I’ll have brain surgery. Yet, it hasn’t been that easy to
forget about it because it changes my life day-to-day. Since my modus operando
is often thinking and figuring, and I know like I know that all of this
thinking and figuring actually keeps me in a state of non-action, I also called
on my friend <a href="http://rosefitzgerald.com/">Rose</a> last week to be my sounding board. Rose is all about
grounding in the body’s knowledge and I have always experienced exquisite peace
when I’m around her, even when I was very frustrated otherwise. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Rose suggested
that I find a yoga class, specifically restorative yoga, and thankfully the
word “relax” didn’t escape into her cell phone. We had a great conversation for
several hours in which I told her about Native American legend that I’ve read
in various books and websites. Swan is the story of being in a state of grace,
and that exactly is very interesting to me. Swan flies by accident into the
Dreamtime. No matter how hard she tries to escape, she always ends up back in
the very same pond looking up at the Sacred Mountain. She thinks and she thinks
about how to escape, and every day she tries to stay awake and aware so that
she can find her way out in flight but her efforts are to no avail. She always finds herself landing in the little pond.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
One day she notices a
frightening black hole swirling above Sacred Mountain. She worries about it but
realizes if she cannot fly away from the pond then there is nothing she can do
about it. She accepts it is what it is and returns her thoughts to escape. Later that day Dragonfly emerges from
the black hole and Swan asks him how he flew through it and what it means.
Dragonfly tells her that it is a punishment to those who work against or worse yet ignore Great
Spirit but it is also the entry to meet Great Spirit directly if they surrender
to Great Spirit’s plan completely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Swan gets very
excited and tells Dragonfly she is ready and willing to surrender to Great
Spirit’s plan for her completely, and Dragonfly tells her to fly towards the
black hole then and see what happens. He makes no promise to her that she can
succeed. Swan flies into the black swirling hole and re-emerges as the
beautiful white bird that we know. Dragonfly asks her what has happened to her
to make her so stunning. Swan smiles and reports that she indeed met Great
Spirit and that she was transformed by her surrender to the state of grace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Trust,
it seems to me is the state of grace, and that’s been a challenge for me with
this reaction to the anti-seizure medication. I’ve been completely resisting
the whispers in my head that tell me to take care of my body as well as I have
been known to do in the past. I wonder if it takes a deluge of failure to get us to give up the idea that we can control everything in our lives? I'd like to get past this "efforting" and fly into a state of grace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
It seems obvious
to me that surrendering to this whisper is exactly what I’m asked to do at this
juncture. Surrendering is not about inaction, but rather about being willing to
face fear, even simple anxiety, with a sense of trust in whatever happens. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
One of the things that I learned from Argentine
Tango is that I often struggle unconsciously against losing control. When I<i>
finally</i> was able to follow a lead through the tango I truly felt like a swan,
beautiful and graceful. And, that is the response I got from my dance partners,
one of whom actually said, I kid you not, “Oh, dancing with you is like driving
a convertible Mustang up Highway 1.” Blush. I know that I have been struggling
with this experience for two months because I haven’t been able to get into my
body and stop anticipating the next step with my mind. Rose suggested that I
try restorative yoga to get in touch with surrendering at least to a few
moments of being in the body. Indeed, I do believe this may be the key.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Yesterday, I started on 1/1000<sup>th</sup> of a dose of the anti-seizure medication,
Dilantin, and so far so good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Little by little I am feeling better about my slow
pace around this pond. I realize that in
31 days when I am up to the full dose of this medication, I will have the
chance to earn and learn trust in this process.
I’m also restarting a diet I know makes me feel better even though it is
challenging. I’ve found a yoga class and
my husband is a willing partner in getting me there and joining in. I am turning
myself over to a Creator greater than myself to create a future that I can be
aligned with and in which I will thrive.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/GdlC-eEk3Lk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
I like the Swan
story a lot, but I also know that truly I am a sea turtle through and through. I
take a long time between knowing something and finally acting on my
knowledge. This apparent health crisis has caused some to feel
uncomfortable with my pace, but I know like I know that this is the most
natural way for me to recover, and heal fully. Integrating the best intelligence of
alternative and traditional paths, I feel that truly this experience will
be transformative. The appearance of resistance is not resistance to new
information, but rather it is resistance to artificial pacing and the drama
about getting this over finally. Whether I resist unconsciously or consciously,
in the end I will go at my own pace in this journey. In fact, if I remember anything I’ve learned
in my life is that there is no “getting over with,” but only a long and
extended adventure through many related experiences that lead to more.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qC5mHQMn79Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-10215645831482025282011-12-16T20:28:00.002-07:002011-12-16T20:28:48.133-07:00Lies I Tell Myself about How My Brain Got a Tumor and Went Haywire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
My dear Facebook guide of how
words work, <a href="http://oriahsinvitation.blogspot.com/">Oriah Mountain Dreamer</a>, inspired me to approach this brain tumor
thing from a new angle last week. She suggested that rather than trying to
figure out the truth about how this brain tumor happened to me, I simply go for
a lie. That is that sometimes when we just make stuff up, as in fiction, the
truth comes to the surface more easily. I can never stop with one, so as the
week did progress, many lies surfaced, and I think what follows are my top ten:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
</div>
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am really a seventh dimension being trapped in
a third dimension body and placed this tumor as a reminder, a book mark for
time, in case I got distracted, to return to my true mission for visiting
planet earth. As I came closer to the time for carrying this plan out the tumor
expands just enough to utterly change my life. I accept that change is the one
thing I can count on not to change.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">A very small Christmas Elf wandered into my ear
one year, and while trapped there inspired me to be a Yuletide Addict. Now that
I’m on the 12-step program of recovery, the Elf is wreaking havoc because it
knows I’ll never go back. I am appreciative that I am no longer addicted to
events, appearances and circumstances, and can enjoy good things without
blowing them out of proportion.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I was threatened by a couple of boys
holding a gun to my head at age ten, the idea of fear and danger planted an
actual seed in my brain. This led me to make choices that were dangerous and
caused fear so that I could store them in the left temporal lobe for future
exploration so that I might dispel fear and danger completely. Now, the file is
full and it is time to deal with it and face my fears head on.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Having my head pounded against the floor caused
a mass of cells to become confused and start growing there instead of someplace
else. When confusion passed safely the cells announced themselves so that they
and my past trauma could be removed. Boundaries are my friends and I am worthy
of love and forgiveness for all of the blind turns I took.</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I inherited this tumor from my grandmother when
she died because the pressure it creates in my left temporal lobe forces me to
expand my vocabulary. Her vocabulary and love of books was her greatest gift to
me. The only problem is that she also lost her mind towards the end of her
life. Luckily medicine has advanced. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
remember I’m grateful.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Cells in my body detected a nanobot, planted
there by a CIA-like agency, and decided to surround it, causing an auto-immune
over-reaction to just about everything else just to keep it under control. Thus
my body foiled the plans of said government agency to turn me into a tea party
advocate. However, now that the plan has been taken up by others, the agency is
trying to destroy the nanobot’s evidence and that has caused the swelling and
recent over-reaction to that which is supposed to be “therapeutic”. I must
trust my body.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The tumor is a frustrated demon that has been
unable to stimulate my mathematics comprehension and to undermine my creativity
and is now having a temper tantrum as it has become obvious that this idea is
an utter failure. I must remain calm and not allow my shortcomings to
continually undermine and frustrate me.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Disrupting all forms of self-discipline this
tumor is the result of a past-life as a Voodoo Doctor’s zombie-making in
ancient Africa. Forcing me to experience zombification in short bursts. Karma
is hell. I must stay awake and increase my self-discipline.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">All of my accomplishments are the result of
having extra pressure on my brain from the tumor, and all of my failures are
punishable by the expansion of the tumor. I just happened to reach a tipping
point where the balance went over to failure. I must find my value, and my
values in this world.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The tumor is my connection to my twin spirit
living in a parallel universe. Something has happened to my twin and now the
connection is broken and the tumor is self-destructing. I must learn to live
independently and become self-reliant.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<i> Some
lies are more entertaining than others, some lies are truth masquerading. Each
one is the premise line of a story through which truth could potentially rise. These particular lies represent in metaphors of a number of things that I’ve been consciously
working on through my life. Rich with
subtle diversity, I am stunned by the relationship they have to how I truly
feel. The big issues of existence,
addiction, fear, trauma, inheritance, over-reaction, dis/order,
self-discipline, self-worth, and alienation/self-reliance are all here, I
see. Blush. I’m very blessed to have now such a
map.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-22522535911168481602011-12-12T14:17:00.000-07:002011-12-12T14:42:35.462-07:00A Roll Call of Answers, but Which One Fits?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The week unfolded carefully and slowly, as if it<i> knew</i> I could
only handle one answer at a time.<br />
<br />
I spoke to the neurosurgeon’s sweet nurse
first. After I filled her in on the immunologist/allergist plan of “desensitizing”
me to Dilantin, I asked her if they had “cyberknife” technology available to
them. It turned out that they do in fact, but they call it “gamma knife” – just
different schools and manufacturers, but essentially the same thing. I asked
then why they hadn’t offered that option to me, especially after I had had so
many reactions to medications, and had had to cancel surgery because of those
reactions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deep sigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She told me that
because of the size and location of my benign meningioma, I am definitely not
a candidate at this stage of the game to have stereostatic radiology. It is
because the brain tissue around the tumor is so very valuable and the size of
my tumor would require a larger beam to take care of it, that they dare not use
it. Jeopardizing healthy brain cells is not an option, and so I am really at
peace with this knowledge even though it would have been nice to be able to
treat the tumor to an exit from my body without opening my skull up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Almost immediately after that call, I got a call from my
<a href="http://www.bouldermedicalcenter.com/providers/wynettj.php">Primary Care Physician</a> who has been quite good about staying on top of all of
this process, I have to say. And, she echoed what I had just heard, “I looked
at your MRI this morning, Amanda, and at three centimeters and being right in
the area of the left temporal lobe, I have to say that it is highly unlikely
that you’re a candidate for Cyberknife treatment.” Sigh. I was prepared for
that answer at least, and when she asked if I still wanted to get yet another
opinion, I said that I thought there were enough doctors’ appointments going on
that I didn’t need to waste my time that way. She agreed because of the good reputation of the neurosurgeon that I'm using for this experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hitting a dead end medically is not a terrible thing when
you have the information you need. It is only when one cannot understand why
the path is not open that makes it disheartening. I struck the whole option off
of my list for now. It is possible that there is a reason I followed the path
to its end, and so I share this information in the hopes that it may serve
someone else as a good answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I forgot to mention in the last post that I had also
discovered that our insurance plan will cover appointments with Osteopaths!
Yay. This is a healing modality that has served me very well in the past. Like
a chiropractors, osteopaths are specifically concerned with spinal alignment and
the cranial-sacral flow. Unlike a chiropractors, they have medical degrees, can prescribe
medication and are somewhat, grudgingly acceptable to the mainstream medical
profession. I had set to work to find an
Osteopath who was in the network of providers for my health insurance. No one
was listed so I called the insurance company and they told me that since there
wasn’t a listing I could pick whomever I wanted to work with, and they would
simply have to fill out some paperwork to become a provider for them. More
paper trails to follow and work to do, but in the end I found a very good
option and made an appointment for Thursday morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday morning my husband and I drove the kids into
school, and made our way over to the <a href="http://www.boulderdo.com/">Osteopath.</a> He dropped me off, and I went
into a cozy natural wood-filled office. Wood benches, wood counters, wood
tables and chairs. Lots of wood. Did I mention wood? This will mean something
in a moment. My new Osteopath also is an acupuncturist, and so we had a long
talk about the work previous acupuncturists have been focused on in my health
scenario…namely my gallbladder meridian. It turns out that my
gray-ball-of-dirty-laundry tumor is located near the end of my gallbladder
meridian. It is a “wood” channel of acupuncture work. Did I mention wood? Plus,
I happen to be a Wood Dragon in Chinese astrology. I always find all of these threads
of commonality very interesting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He did an osteopathic adjustment of my head
and sacrum and I admit that I felt lighter than I’d felt for a long, long time,
at least immediately following the adjustment. As the day wore on I felt the
adjustment acutely and I’m sure I’ve sunk back out of alignment, but this is
normal for a bit until the body becomes accustomed to being in “neutral” again.
He also gave me recommendations for another neurologist who will be my back up
plan should this drag on past whatever the immunologist can do for me, a
naturopath (which isn’t covered by insurance) and an ecological doctor (who I
could consult if the immunologist/allergist’s plan fails).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One thing that has happened on this journey is that I have
received dozens of recommendations and suggestions from all directions. I feel
badly not following every single one of them, but this is the truth of the
situation: there are only 24 hours in a day, and my energy for this lasts about
four of them and then there are other things to do in a day. I have to pick and
choose very mindfully where I spend the resources of time, energy and
money. I also am not allowed to drive,
so that all of my pursuits have to be reachable during times when I can get
help. I can’t run up and down the front range of Colorado at will to seek help.
However, I have kept all the names, and modalities recorded, and should I need
to, I will give them a shot, but even starting over with a new neurologist at
this stage of the game seems pointless, until I give the immunologist’s plan a
shot. One thing at a time is all I can do, and though it seems very slow to my
friends and family; perhaps, it is the most thorough and least panicky plan I
can pursue. Think of me as a turtle. I am slow and steady, and I will win this
race somehow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I heard back from the immunologist’s nurse after a day
of phone tag, on Friday, and I have an appointment to meet with him on Tuesday
morning to choose one out of TWO plans for getting me ready for surgery. Yay! I
love to have options in a controlled setting. So, I’ll update you about those
after that appointment. Maybe we’ll get
this show back on the road again soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, all week I was pursuing a deeper understanding of
myself in this situation. The revelations that those precious discussions uncovered
were astounding and very emotional for me. They deserve their own post and so…to be
continued…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4825001747145882253.post-25500959985472070142011-12-11T11:18:00.001-07:002011-12-12T14:39:23.369-07:00Many Paths, One I Am<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I feel pretty normal, I am always conscious now of
the gray-dirty-ball-of-laundry benign meningioma in my skull. This past week I felt
eager to find other pathways to getting this thing taken care of in spite of my
reaction to anti-seizure medication. It was time for putting out the calls to
all the doctors to see if they were actually still thinking of me, if I was
still a patient on their dockets. This is sort of funny to me because only the
week before I had been getting tired of doctors, but when you have something
like this being forgotten is no fun either. What I’ve learned, finally, is that
when you call a busy doctor it takes until the end of the day to hear from them
even if you call them right as their office opens. Sadly they may not have even
researched an answer to your question, left carefully and meticulously with
their receptionists or nurses. It seems they like to hear the question from you
directly. Then you may not get an answer again for a few days, at the end of the
day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In addition to the doctors, I did some on-line research for
alternatives to surgery for brain tumors and got myself very excited about “stereostatic
radiology”. It turns out there has been a ton of progress on radiation for
certain kinds of tumors, including benign meningiomas. Doctors of radiology now
have the ability to target a tumor; which is simply a mass of cells growing
where they oughtn’t to grow, in a way that is harmful often, but not always. Stereostatic radiology is so specific that it
often doesn’t touch healthy cells, and that is very good for brain tumors
because one doesn’t want to lose any healthy brain cells. They target the tumor
from multiple directions with very narrow beams of radiation, guided by an MRI
of the patient’s head, prostate, lung, etc. Over one or up to many sessions of
a half hour the tumor cells die and shrink away. No drugs necessary. Not much
to recover from. You can immediately guess the appeal this technique had for
me! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started right away the process of sending my MRI, CT scan
and EEG over to a place in Boulder that uses “<a href="http://www.rockymountainck.com/?gclid=CNunmsPR-qwCFQg1hwodp3kOTQ">Cyberknife</a>” technology for a
consult. The process of getting these records sent around is not simple. First
you call your primary care doctor and find out what they actually have, and the
process for getting those released. That entails a conversation with a nurse as
to what you’re thinking, and then they in turn tell your doctor, who then has
to get through a day of appointments before calling you back. Your doctor may
be in a group that has a medical release process, and so you start that
on-line, or you have to go into the office to sign papers. This is all to say,
it is not like you can just call your doctor and tell them what to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, I put in a call to the immunologist/allergist who
I saw right after Thanksgiving to find out if he’d found any research to
support his plan to “desensitize” me to an anti-seizure medication. The process
is like “immunizing” you to a reaction to a drug. If you’ve ever had an animal
allergy and wanted to have that animal in your house, you might have gotten
allergy shots to desensitize your body to their dander. The same idea happens
with a drug. They give you a very, very small dose of bothersome drug and build
up to the minimum dose very, very slowly over the course of 12 hours, 24 hours
or several weeks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had scared myself to death right after I saw the
immunologist/allergist by looking this process up with regards to Dilantin. I
discovered that all the symptoms of my reaction to these anti-seizure
medications together indicated a killer called “Stevens-Johnson Syndrome.” In
other words, I could have died! This is to say to anyone who has a reaction to
a medication take it very seriously even if the symptoms seem not so bad. It astonishes
me that the neurologist didn’t ask me to come in a see him in his office until
I had a third reaction, but that is another story. I called the
immunologist/allergist right away in a panic, and his nurse called me back and
assured me that this is precisely the reason why they would do the “desensitization”
to the medications and that I would be monitored very closely to be certain of
me safety. Deep breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I sent an email to the neurologist, who I had been
scheduled to see on Thursday last, to see if he really wanted to see me
considering I was not on any of the medications he’d prescribed. Surprisingly, he wrote me back immediately.
The reason I use the email is because I find phone talking very irritating for
the most part because my hearing seems to be affected by the tumor, and, also,
because he has an email address. Grin, he’s gotten a lot of emails from me in
the last two months. He prints them all and puts them in my file. This seems
very civilized to me. I like this neurologist personally, in case any of you
are wondering why I haven’t fired him. He is well-respected by his neurosurgeon
colleagues. When I look at him, I think Simon & Garfunkel songs. He wears a
bolo with his purple scrubs and he looks like he’s interesting. He shares his
office, filled with Native American symbolism, paintings of Hermes, and
Egyptian Gods, with a homeopath, his wife, and his children seem to also be
involved in the well-being industry, and so I keep thinking that there is more
to him than the evidence of my experience. Back to the answer to my question, he wrote
back and said that he wanted to see me when I was taking medication so
gleefully I took him out of my Google calendar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I thought, while I am at it, I’ll put in a call to the
<a href="http://www.intermountainneurosurgery.org/">neurosurgeon</a> to update him on what is going on. I was a little curious why he
hadn’t brought up the option of stereostatic radiology. Of course, I waited for
a return call.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, while I was waiting, I decided to approach the whole
thing from my own perspective that everything in life is a spiritual question.
I have outgrown the ideas of affirmations or “The Secret,” having had some of
my affirmative years explode on me and I was, frankly, unprepared for consequences. What I am
after is a deeper dive into unfolding the gifts of every situation and
uncovering the challenges. Obviously, my body gives me a good run for my money.
I sought out the help of some women who I respect very much on the path of
healing the body-mind-spirit connection, the author, <a href="http://oriahsinvitation.blogspot.com/">Oriah Mountain Dreamer</a>,
and a dear friend, <a href="http://rosefitzgerald.com/">Rose Fitzgerald</a>, both living far away, and then one of
the therapists I’ve liked in Boulder. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My question to them was essentially, how I to identify the
purpose that will ultimately motivate me through this experience to live fully recovered. I
acknowledged that I seem to be most driven by living for others – my children,
my husband, even my dog – but that I have trouble taking care of my own needs,
putting myself first even with this brain tumor. I will overextend myself to
help a stranger, but I won’t necessarily stick to a regimen or practice that
supports me. Also, in recent years I have drawn a blank on dreaming my life forward.
That has been evident in this blog as I struggled to find my career again. I
have the sense that rediscovering my purpose, my destiny, is essential to my
healing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short, I was a very busy woman at the beginning of the
week, and on top of that I made a new friend, made some Christmas cookies and
brownies for an old friend who has been very supportive through all of this,
walked my dog. I even attended some Middle School <a href="http://oe.bvsd.org:8080/BVSD/">open houses</a> with my son, who
will be leaving elementary school in the dust of memories in May. It was a very
busy week and I am SO very grateful that I was not on medication. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be continued…<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>Amanda Morris Johnson (aka Amanda Morris Conti)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10676855546094011265noreply@blogger.com0