Spring Has Sprung

I haven't written much lately, as you may have noticed. I've been under the weather for the last three weeks and was sleeping as much as possible to try and get well. Monday was the first day I actually felt like myself, and I wasn't completely overcome with exhaustion and sneezing. I'm celebrating my wellness with these pics of Spring in Central Park:

Spring is a tough season. Everything feels like it's at sixes and sevens and this year I've been feeling downright dreamy. Perhaps it's because we really didn't have a winter coupled with the fact that it's going to be 80 degrees tomorrow that is allowing the forces that be to have their way with us. I find that I am overwhelmingly and irrationally upset at the things I know I cannot have. The view from my apartment on Chestnut Street in Binghamton. My grandmother's school ring from 1919, long ago lost. A conversation with a former boyfriend.

I read this a few days ago:

"A Course in Miracles teaches 'Your passage through time and space is not at random. You cannot but be in the right place at the right time.' You are not lost. You are not abandoned. You can abandon yourself and feel abandoned. But you will always find your way-- when you find your way back to simply accepting yourself without judgment and following your natural desires. You have your desires for a reason. " --Tama Kieves

I went to my orthodontist yesterday and he put on thicker wires ("fast wires" as he called them.) They hurt almost instantly. I asked him how much longer he thinks this will take and he said, "We're really at the end here, maybe another month or two." You'll forgive me if I don't believe him. He's said similar things before, and his sense of time is unreliable. Remember, we're now 7 months past the original date that was promised.

I'm really very zen here. I've decided somewhere solid inside of me that they will be off by July. It's a worthy experiment to see if that becomes true. I just can't let this rule me anymore. I've said that before, but for the first time, I think I mean it. Maybe it's the dreamy nature of Spring, but something else has a hold on me.

Dictionary.com's word of the day was "profluence" which means "flowing smoothly or abundantly forth."

Sounds like a good Springtime mantra to me.

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.

Pain vs. Suffering

"Pain is necessary. Suffering is not"--Todd Norian

A few weeks ago I went on a yoga retreat with the wonderful Todd Norian, which was a phenomenal experience. Yoga for seven hours a day, including morning meditation at 6:30 am each day. I saw the sun rise and spread its rosy fingers across the Berkshires sky. I felt better and healthier than I have in years.

I've been holding the above phrase close to me, and in light of recent events, I am holding it even closer. Pain tells the brain that something is wrong, and a change must happen. Pain tells you that you better take your hand out of the fire. Pain tells you that where you are now, is not where you need to be. Pain is reflexive, instinctive, and yes, necessary for survival.

Suffering, on the other hand, is a choice. Suffering is a mindset, a dark cloak that one puts on and wears as a fashion statement. It's also a garment that's hard to take off.

Pain forces you to be in action, suffering keeps you where you are.

It seems like such a simple distinction, a slight shift, but one that has really been of benefit to me. I'm not interested in suffering anymore. I'm interested in fixing things. I'm interested in looking on the bright side. I'm interested in wearing pink. I'm interested in raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. (Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, too.) Quite frankly, I'm interested in smiling.

Fancy that.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Choices

In a rather challenging yoga class on Saturday, my instructor told us to do one last asana of our choice. "Put your legs up the wall, do a bridge or a wheel, do a final headstand," she offered. "There is no good choice or bad choice, it's just a choice."

I love that she said that.

From my last posting, you can see that I have a choice to make, and I have been worried about making a good choice. Returning to my present ortho is a choice, but one that makes my stomach turn. Going to the doctor who thinks expensive surgery is my best bet is also a choice, as is seeing doctor #2. Visiting more doctors for more opinions is also a choice. Any of them could be right, and any of them could be wrong.

The great irony here is that I've been getting lots of compliments lately about how good my teeth look, just as I've lost my faith in orthodontia. I feel like I did in 1993, when, after being sick with the Bejing flu, which caused me to lose 30 pounds in six weeks, I was told how fabulous I looked. It brings up that age old "do the ends justify the means" question.

The only real answer is that something has to change. And only a choice can bring that change into action. It's very Yoda, isn't it? Do, or do not. There is no try.

Ah, the force.

The Dilly

As you've noticed, I have not blogged in some time. A lot has happened and I really did not want to talk about it. But perhaps now is the time.

In December, I went to my ortho to have my braces tightened. I pointed out to him that my back three teeth on the lower left side were all torqued where they had been fine two months earlier. This was largely due to the fact that a bracket on one of the back teeth had broken off over a year ago and despite many requests to have it replaced, he refused. He told me that the torquing was "fine." When I told him that it most certainly was not fine, he put the bracket back on, but only because I protested. This, among other similar incidences of late have made me increasingly more uncomfortable with his care.

I tried to get an answer out of him as to the status of my treatment, and where it was going. I have tried for some time to get this information but as usual he only gave me vague answers, pointing once again to the back molar that we're waiting to turn 90 degrees. Since month 16 (when he noticed that molar, mind you) this is the only concrete information that he's given me about my treatment.

I spent a sleepless and angry weekend after that tightening, upset that I have no idea what's going on. I made an appointment on Monday to speak to my doctor--simply talk, without any distractions to find out what's going on. In the privacy of his back room, which I haven't seen in two and a half years since this all started, I asked him calmly, "I'd really like to know the prognosis from this moment forward, and how long you anticipate that my treatment will take."

Well.

He raised his voice at me, pointing to the fact that he "sees 95 patients a day, and if any of them go beyond their time, it doesn't work for my business model. It only makes sense if you keep to your time or less. You are all paid up and I can't sustain an office with patients that are all paid up. You are useless to me. Do you know what we call patients like you? We call them dead wood."

He went on for some 10 minutes, and despite my exclamations punctuating his more inflammatory statements (I was also told that I'm bad PR for his office as I'll tell all my friends that my doctor can't keep to the time that's promised), he never stopped his tirade and made it clear that this was not a dialogue.

In the moment, I tried to be as placating and reasonable as possible, because I figured that I still needed him to do work. I tried to find real solutions that he shot down everytime. ("No, you can't come more often.") At the end of this discussion, I still had no answers as to where my treatment was, or how much longer it would take.

This started a whole month of angry sleeplessness, waking up panicked at 5am every morning. Panic is not a usual state for me--the last time I had this kind of prolonged panic was in 1995. In addition to the panic, my jaw, teeth and even skull were hurting tremendously. I could no longer trust my doctor, and certainly could not go back to him. I felt betrayed, diminished and, quite frankly, scared.

Two lovely guardian angels came to my rescue. My friend Dana, whose father is a dentist did a huge amount of research to find me an appropriate orthodontist who I could trust in the city to get a second opinion, and a wonderful coworker who also wore braces as an adult a few years ago. When I told her what had happened with my doctor, her eyes went black with rage. She referred her orthodontist--and I must say she has gorgeous teeth.

I saw both these orthodontists on Thursday, which exhausted me. At 8am in the morning I met with a very posh Park Avenue orthodontist who had a very sleek and high tech office. Lovely people. I told him what had happened with my present orthodontist (bursting into tears as I told the story) and he apologized "on behalf of the profession" for the way my orthodontist treated me. After a surprisingly thorough examination, he gave me three options: 1) surgery 2) widening space in my mouth and inserting four implants, and 3) torquing my roots so that they are straight instead of pointing backwards. He said that treatment would probably be another two years.

I did not like any of these options.

I went to orthodontist #2 who I liked immediately. Though he gave me a surprisingly short examination he seemed to understand where I'm coming from. He also said that surgery is an option, but "one that I'm sure you don't want to do." I assured him that he was right. He told me that my teeth are far from perfect, but that we can make them livable--and that it would take about a year. At this rate, I just want to chew. I want my teeth to fit right together and to stop making my skull hurt. He seemed genuinely concerned about me, which shockingly, is a very new feeling to me with regard to these braces.

I have found all of this incredibly draining and extremely upsetting. I've cried more this week than I can remember in recent memory.

So, this is where we are. I'm having new diagnostics taken in a few days so that I can figure out what my next step should be.

Let's just say, this piece of dead wood is on fire.