This I can do .  


Theresa

I35W Bridge re-build, after the collapse.     Photo by David Ralph Johnson

Before I got sick, I was a business analyst (in the IT world) for the Minnesota Department of Human Services. Early on in my career, I was very fortunate to "study" under a gentleman by the name of Joel Schwartz. Joel had been working at DHS long before I ever came into the picture and continues to this day to be quite respected for his skills in system architecture. I use the term "study", because I, along with many others, consider Joel more of a teacher than that of a business associate. Although, in the end, he became one of the closest friends I have ever had - impacting my views on things such as politics, philosophy, spirituality and relationships to name a very few. It's only been within the past couple of years that I have come to realize how his fundamental and intrinsic understanding of Buddhist philosophy is the clarity through which his immense wisdom emanates from. It took me awhile to slow down enough to understand these things. I can not tell you the frustration I felt as a green BA needing to "get the job done" when our daily meetings would begin with statements such as, "there is no self" and other profoundly ontological quips. How these things had anything to do with building software applications was far beyond me.

But I learned.

Speaking from an analytical perspective, one of the foundational truths he taught me when building any new system - or working on any project for that matter - is that you always begin at the end. Totally counter intuitive to how I was used to functioning. Seems only right - you start at the beginning.

Input - Process - Output

But the best way to insure a correct end result (output) in programming, is to figure out the piece right before the last, sequentially, leading backward to the first (input).

Output - Process - Input

I have since realized the value in this wisdom and it's implications on things well beyond the IT world.


Since the news broke Sunday evening, millions of people have been discussing the death of Osama bin Laden. It is horrifically tragic when the life of a human being becomes directed toward the destruction of so many other human beings. Yet this has been true of countless individuals throughout the history of this world, perhaps the most noted in recent times being Adolf Hitler. I have sat at my keyboard motionless since this event took place. Wanting to say something. Most of my time being spent reading other people's responses to the event. As time passed, I then found myself reading responses to those responses. But still the words didn't come - at least not for this blog.

I did, on the other hand, express my views somewhat publicly on my personal facebook page. In a time of unprecedented and universal emotion, I am very proud of the conversations I was a part of - as few as there were, they were good, healthy conversations. It took only two responses before I realized why I could not find the words to write this blog. After stating my opinion as to why I believed the killing of Osama was not something I agreed with or felt should be cause for celebration, the question was asked of me, "Then what is your solution?" As the words appeared on the screen before my eyes, I can honestly tell you that not even breath found it's way into my being. I was paralyzed. All the work I have been doing over the past two years, all the reading, all the soul searching, all the "truths" that once glared so clear seemed to have skipped out the back door while I wasn't looking. And in a moment of panic, I was empty.  



People, me included, want solutions. "How do I keep from getting sick?" "How do we prevent bullying in our schools?" "How do I loose weight?" "How do I control my anger?" "How do I get out of debt?" ... We have problems. We seek solutions. Without getting caught up in semantics here, I feel as though we are a people very concerned with solutions and not all that concerned with answers. In my mind, solutions do one thing - they solve a problem. Maybe. Often times, temporarily. Answers, on the other hand,  lend themselves more towards understanding the nature of why there may be a problem in the first place. Like...what lead to the problem? What sequence of events, played out over time, created an unfavorable outcome? Do you follow me?

Output - Process - Input. I took my fingers off the keyboard and I grabbed a piece of paper and began to write...

What's the Output?

Compassion. True Compassion. We can not hate what we have compassion for. Genuine compassion is based not on our own projections and expectations, but rather on the needs of the other: irrespective of whether another person is a family member or an enemy.

Yes, it's a big subject. Break it down. Go backwards. What comes right before compassion? Think about it.

Empathy. We have compassion when we realize we are all equal in our suffering. When I learn there is much more that makes us the same then different. When there is no more Us and Them. When I see myself in you.

How do I find empathy?

Connection. I can not be connected to something that I keep my distance from. Connection forms when I recognize my interdependence on all people and all things.
 
How do I feel connected?

Vulnerability. Really. In being vulnerable we actually feel more loved, more sure, more connected. Think about it. Vulnerable people are the first ones to say I love you, they're the first ones to get into relationships that may not last...they are willing to risk, because risk is neither good nor bad. It's neutral. When we are weak, we are strong. In forsaking all, we gain everything. It was not until I lay on my death bed that I realized this. And it was at that point that my real life (my life of being real) began.

Alright...keep going. How do I feel safe enough to be vulnerable?

Un-attach. Less stuff, less to loose. Let go of identities, expectations, labels, things, thoughts... I'm not saying give them all up. Un-attach yourself from them. Open yourself to the unfinished statement, "I AM." Period. Don't add anything.

Okay, I could keep going - really, I could just keep going. But I won't, because I think you get the idea. Sifting down through the rubble of our lives we find ourselves in the fine details of what make up our every day experience.

I can not solve the problems of the Middle East. I have no immediate solution for the problem of terrorism. Or bullying in our schools, or violence in our homes, or a broken health care system. I do have a basic, fundamental belief in the sanctity of human life. There is no one solution to any of these problems. But, there are millions and millions of little choices that lie in between, that we can make. That we do have the answer to. That make sense. THIS is how change occurs. One choice at a time.

I won't see the solutions to many of these problems in my lifetime. But I will be part of the answer. I know that violence, met with violence only escalates to more violence. I know that before I can love anyone, I must first love myself. Little by little, grain of sand by grain of sand, choice by choice, generation by generation... we are changed.

Yesterday was IVIg day for me. Not my usual Monday, but because of our trip to Florida, I had to rearrange things a bit. Most of the infusion time I spend sleeping. The IV Benadryl they give me beforehand pretty much knocks me right out. Since this is a six hour ordeal, I don't mind the nap one bit. In fact, I look forward to it!

Somewhere around hour three or four, I was wakened gently by the soft voice of this beautiful little old women. "Would you like a blanket dear? I have this one, or this one. I made them both and I would like to give one to you."
"To me? To keep?" I said.
"Yes, for you to keep. Which one would you like?"
One was quilted with a soft pink floral pattern and the other was a hand knitted afghan. As you can see from the picture - I chose the the afghan! How could I not? For any of you that know me personally, sunflowers are a big part of my wild flower garden. It was perfect!

Being extremely tired from the past weeks, combined with the Benadryl, I again fell fast asleep. If it would not have been for the soft blanket that lay across my lap when I awoke, I would have thought this silver haired lady was an angel in my dreams. But lucky for me, she was an angel in reality.

About thirty minutes before my infusion came to an end, I began to notice my heart skipping a few beats. I have a history of arrhythmia, so at first this did not alarm me much. Until those skipping beats got faster, and faster, and faster, with no reprieve. My heart rate eventually reached about 120-130 beats per minute - and there it stayed for over an hour. Needless to say, this is not something that the Specialty Infusion Clinic can handle. So I was immediately whisked to the ER where I spent the remainder of my day. Heart attack was ruled out first thing. But because of the presence of the anticardiolipin antibody in my blood, deep vein thrombosis, or blood clots, are the biggest concern. One of the tests they do for this condition is a blood test called the D-dimer Test. According to Lab Tests Online, the following is an explanation of a "positive D-dimer":

A positive D-dimer result may indicate the presence of an abnormally high level of fibrin degradation products. It tells the doctor that there may be significant blood clot (thrombus) formation and breakdown in the body, but it does not tell the location or cause. It may be due to, for example, a venous thromboembolism (VTE) or DIC. Typically, the D-dimer level is very elevated in DIC.

Well, mine was elevated. Normal range is about a .5 - mine came back at 1.3. So the next hours included just about every test under the sun for blood clots, including a lung ventilation perfusion scan where I was required to breath in (and be injected with) radio active isotopes! Not really what I had on the agenda for the day! In the end, I am happy to report they could find NO blood clots anywhere in my body. My heart eventually snapped back into normal rhythm, follow-up appointments with new doctor's were made and we were sent home.

If you have ever spent time in the emergency room, you are familiar with the "law" that ER rooms can not be above 58 degrees....well, maybe a little warmer, but it sure feels like 58 degrees. And any room that includes big machinery like x-ray machines or CAT scans falls even below that. It's never a good sign when you get wheeled into a room where the technician is wearing a sweatshirt and down vest!

painting by me!

I needed that blanket yesterday. More than I can even tell you. The comfort it gave me fell way beyond the warmth of it's fibers. I kept it with me the entire ER visit, through every test and even under the x-ray. I kept thinking about the hands that knit it. About the face that shown like an angel above my bed. I let it comfort me like my own grandmother - whom I thought of in my most difficult moments throughout the day. She made afghans, too.

There are so many good things in this life. So many good people. Some of them are still here with us and some are but memories. Some lay across our laps like blankets, or children, or pets and some just make up the fabric of our hearts. I find that when I am feeling alone, it's not the absence of these things in my life, it is the absence of my ability to be conscious of them.


This day, I have a lovely sunflower afghan to help me remember!

"Flowers" by Dr. Robert O. Fisch

The past couple of days have been quite a struggle for me, in a number of regards. On a physical level, I can't quite seem to shake the aftereffects of my infusion on Monday. Either that, or I'm just experiencing some sort of flare. Regardless, I've acquired quite a headache and "thinking" in general is taking more of an effort than I like. What makes this most frustrating for me is the fact that I have so many thoughts running through my head that I want desperately to piece together in some sort of message to you. This desire is so persistent, that I can not ignore it. So if this message seems disjointed or chaotic, please know the difficulty at which it comes.

On an emotional level, the past days I have been overwhelmed with highs and lows.The tragedy that ravaged the people of Japan is a horror I never thought I would see in my lifetime. Comprehending it seems impossible. So silenced was I by the magnitude of this event, I neglected to even reach out to those I knew of that had family living in the country. In fact, those I neglected are a part of my very own family. If not for the compassionate reminder of my sister-in-law, I may still be paralyzed with inaction to this day.

On Monday, after my infusion, my husband and I had the absolute privilege of attending a performance at the Ordway. I generally go straight home and to bed after IVIg because of the side effects. But this night was different. We had been invited by our daughter Casey to see a production entitled Light from the Yellow Star, Remain Humane Even in Inhumane Circumstances. The music was that of Boris Pigovat, entitled Music of Sorrow and Love and was performed by the University of St. Thomas Wind Ensemble. Also featured was the Saint Paul City Ballet and the art and commentary of Dr. Robert O. Fisch, Holocaust survivor. But what made this event most special to us was the featured soloist, my step-daughter Casey.

The evening was comprised of the writings and artwork of Dr. Robert O. Fisch, intertwined with poignantly beautiful music and the intense emotion of the St. Paul Ballet. Throughout each piece Casey's soprano voice swept throughout the theater, caressing the ears of the listener, not unlike that of Sarah Brightman in Andrew Lloyd Webber's Requiem. It was a moment I will never forget.

Casey Johnson with the UST Symphonic Wind Ensemble

The narrative, given by Dr. Fisch, was extremely moving. Despite his story of terrible suffering, his message exudes hope and optimism about life. Choosing compassion over bitterness, Dr. Fisch describes his life of service towards others, especially children. His stories and artwork both follow his progression from darkness into light. Transforming his suffering into hope.


Already, still in the midst of unfathomable tragedy, signs of compassion and hope can be seen on the faces of the Japanese people. How this is possible remains the secrete of the human spirit. Transforming our greatest sufferings into opportunities to love, are the miracles of choice. And when this happens, walls fall down, cultural lines are erased and countries are without borders.


As I sat there in the Ordway listening to Casey's voice my heart understood something. Even as the music she sang had no words, only as her hauntingly beautiful "Ahhhhs" filled the air,  was it then that I realized the importance of our voices in the midst of suffering. Even if they are but a whisper or a moan. What a loss it would be to this world if Dr.Fisch had chosen to be paralyzed by his experience. If he had been silenced by his suffering. I can not begin to compare my suffering over the past two years with the pain of the people of Japan or the Holocaust. But what I can do is learn from their courage. No matter how small our words may seem, when they are spoken from the depth of our experience they hold incredible healing, not only for ourselves, but for those that hear them.

When I think of why I write this blog to you, it's that very hope. That in our conversations with each other the lines that divide our sufferings can be erased and the common thread of compassion can weave the tapestry that is this life. Beautiful, colorful and real.

Peace.