Miami Medicine

My family planned a vacation to go down to Miami for the long President's Day weekend, and it was one fantastic time. My niece and nephew were incredible company on the flight down. It was 80 degrees when we deplaned. We were greeted with warm, chocolate chip cookies when we checked into our hotel. We zipped into our bathing suits and swam in the heated pool until the sun went down, all of us happy as clams.

I was so surprised by how content I was, and how perfect it all felt. I told my mom that I've been really depressed--though trying really hard not to be--and it's the simple pleasures that change everything. Toes in the sand. My sister-in-law's cooking. My littlest niece saying my name for the first time. The giddiness I felt on the first day lasted for our entire trip, no matter what we did.

Today, I read this Note from the Universe:

It may seem a bit backwards for some, but the first step one might take towards rearranging the present circumstances of their life is to stop dwelling upon the present circumstances of their life.

Or to put it more succinctly, just choose to be happy. I've been trying to choose to be happy for a long time, and it was so maddeningly elusive. For whatever reason, it was found in North Miami Beach. I gathered it up, packed it in my suitcase and took it back with me up to Brooklyn.

On the way back from LaGuardia Airport, we were stuck in tremendous amounts of traffic, and though we were sitting still on the highway, our cab driver was playing great Haitian music which once again transported us back to a sunnier place, and I dare say even made even the traffic enjoyable. When I got out of the cab, I thanked him for the music. He popped the CD out of the player and said, "Keep it! I can get a new one, but you will not find this here. This is not from Port-au-Prince--this music is from the country. They call this Campas."

I was so incredibly touched. The happy I packed in my suitcase got even bigger. And as I sit here writing, I'm still grooving to L'Orchestre Tropicana D'Haiti. As they say in Haitian Creole, Mesi mil fwa, my friend!

Happy Birthday

It was my birthday this past weekend and there was much revelry and celebration. There was a dinner party. There was champagne. There was Bo Ssam and the most delightful dumplings. There was a fantastic five layer ombre cake made by the equally fantastic Alicia. And as I sampled all of the delicacies, it was inevitable that I would pop off one of the brackets that was just put on a week and a half earlier.

The loss of the bracket made the whole armature of my mouth sag, and it started to make me lisp. The braces were dragging on the corners of my mouth when I talked or smiled, and though I wanted to forget about it, I reminded myself that I am not dead wood, and anything alive gets the damn bracket fixed.

I went to my ortho today and I have to admit that I was nervous about it. Would he refuse to replace it as he had done in the past? Would I have to fight him on it, as I had done in the past? Every time I asked myself these questions, something in me was calmed, and a very secure sense of "it's all going to be fine" came over me. This does not happen often, but I've learned to recognize and trust this feeling when appears. I told myself that if he gave me any grief, I would just have to say, very simply, "I need you to take care of me."

Inside the doctor's office, he replaced the bracket. He was receptive and kind. He explained what he was doing with some of the other appliances in my mouth. I left his office feeling good. Giddy in fact.

It's a 10-15 minute walk to the subway from the doctor's office, and a few steps from the subway entrance, I noticed that the bracket felt lower than my tooth. "That's funny," I thought. So I pushed my tongue against it to find that the bracket has already popped off once again. Needless to say, I yelled more than a few expletives as I turned on my heel to hightail it back to the ortho's office.

Once there, he was still nice, still calm, still receptive. He attended to the tooth in a way he hadn't before, added everything back, and I was on my way. And though I didn't have to articulate the words, the situation did it for me: "I need you to take care of me. And I will keep coming back until you do."

And so, somehow we've turned a corner. This makes me feel strangely hopeful where I have not these past six weeks. Truly it's all going to be fine. And that is the best birthday present of all.

Tilting The Prism

I know I haven't written in a while, but I've been processing a lot. In fact, I'm damn tired of talking about my teeth. But to sum up, Doctor #2 took diagnostics and x-rays, and found bone loss and possible periodontal disease. The man who said he could treat me and make it livable, changed his tune, offered to charge me close to $9,000 to treat me for six months and advised me to go back to my regular orthodontist so that he could "finish the job." He, in fact, called my ortho to "tell him what to do." The fact that this sounds like dialogue from a Godfather movie is not lost on me.

I went back to my regular ortho two weeks ago and in fact he was calmer, slower and answered my questions. I didn't like his answers some of the time, but he did answer. He replaced three brackets that were missing, and though I still feel disappointed in him, this seems to be the path that I'm following right now.

I'm thinking a lot about the phrase "dead wood." It's not something that you hear in New York City. We don't worry about things like firewood, and how alive it might be. I've been pushing that word away from me out of indignation. Out of the fact that the word is truly adding insult to injury. And yet if I am to be fair, he's not so wrong. I have been acting like dead wood. I've been sequestering myself. I've been suffering. I've been quiet. I've been single.

But now, I'm taking the prism and tilting it in my hand. Could it be that he did me a favor by pointing this out? After some processing, the whole "dead wood" thing might have served a purpose to shake me out of complacency. Every time I think about the phrase it's replaced by a stronger, impassioned determination to prove how un-dead-wood-like I am.

My friend Cory sent me this poem, and what a gift it is. This has also tiled the prism, and shed light where light was not before.

WAITING

by John Burroughs (1837-1921)

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,

Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;

I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,

For, lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,

For what avails this eager pace?

I stand amid the eternal ways,

And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day;

The friends I seek are seeking me;

No wind can drive my bark astray,

Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?

I wait with joy the coming years;

My heart shall reap where it hath sown,

And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own and draw

The brook that springs in yonder height;

So flows the good with equal law

Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky;

The tidal wave unto the sea;

Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,

Can keep my own away from me.