Healing

The heart is a curious matter. Eight years ago, I spent nearly a week in the hospital because of my heart. They found that one side of my heart was slightly enlarged. When I showed up at emergency, my blood pressure was 243/128 and I was immediately wheeled into a room. They gave me sublingual nitroglycerin and tried several times to find a vein for an IV. They finally found a vein on top of my hand using a syringe needle. Later, my cardiologist told me that it was a miracle I did not have a stroke. I got lucky. And my heart mended. Later, I would find out I also have type 2 diabetes. Yep. I am a ticking time bomb. But I healed and everything is in control. I am like Mt. Vesuvius on ice.  As long as I keep within certain parameters, the bomb inside me ticks slowly. The idea is to get my heart and kidneys as strong as possible so that my other organs will function well.

I had to reboot-- change the way I looked at my life. And learned how to breathe again.

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This summer, Hannah and I are taking a pottery class and oil painting. It's been great fun doing these classes with her. She is a natural artist and is good with her hands. It's been a curious summer for Hannah and me. We've seen a lot together in unexpected ways. Last April, she was supposed to spend a week in London and Paris with Natascha: a sisters bonding trip specifically planned because her missionary was returning in a matter of weeks and they thought that before that happened, they should spend some time together doing something fun. Tascha got very sick the morning they were scheduled to leave. By the time they got to the airport, Tascha got worse. That was a Saturday. Meanwhile, Kurt and I had left the day before to spend a weekend in Orange County to see my mother and sister. The next morning which was Saturday, I got an unexpected call from Hannah telling me that Tascha was sick. She was in tears and did not know what to do. They were supposed to be boarding in 40 minutes and they were not even at the gate. Within just a couple of minutes, I had to make a decision. It was a surprise to me that the solution came clearly and calmly to me because on the onset, I was shocked by the unexpected situation. I was worried sick about Tascha who was also crying, felt bad about the situation, wanted Tascha to be alright and board the plane, sorry about the potential loss of opportunity for their 'bonding trip', etc etc....it was an initial moment of panic. Yet suddenly, a clarity came over me. I asked Tascha if there was a way for her to get back to Provo. (Her friend picked her up...) And then I told Hannah to board the plane while I hurriedly checked online for a flight to London and found one that would leave on the evening of that SAME day, told her to cab it to the hotel and wait for me. I asked her if she was brave enough to do that because she started to cry but I could sense that she was also steeling herself and knew that she could do it. Mixed in all of this within seconds were feelings of disappointment, frustration, abandonment and trepidation. Taking an overseas flight unexpectedly ALONE to a foreign country on sudden notice is not something everyone experiences. And here was Hannah about to do it.

When we hung up, I still had to book my flight. Then Kurt and I hurriedly repacked and within minutes we were on our way to drive four and a half hours back to Nevada. I would have 3 hours to throw a few more things in my suitcase which was, providentially, already packed with essentials. I found my passport, printed my boarding pass and off I went to London that same night.

Hannah and I had a great time in London and Paris. We talked of many things. Discussed many things of the heart. Some were difficult themes. And I learned a lot about her. I also learned a lot about myself. I will never forget this trip because I realized that I still had a fierce heart. I can still do things beyond what I expect of myself. And my daughter helped me realize that.

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A few weeks later, I was invited to speak at a fireside in Logroño, Spain. I was so excited. I hadn't seen the people I had taught in over 30 years. They were teenagers when I knew them. Now they are married, have stayed faithful in the church, even served missions. And now their sons and daughters have served missions or are leaving to serve. I was so excited. I had asked Tascha to come with me since she was on summer break and I was anticipating that Hannah would be spending time with her missionary. But things did not work out that way. Tascha was offered a teaching job she could not refuse and it was a year round school. Going on a trip was now a moot possibility. I asked Hannah if she wanted to go. She refused. She was going through her own heartache. Things did not work out well with her missionary. That was unexpected and painful. So I planned to go to Spain alone.

One week before leaving, Hannah asked me if she could go to Spain with me. That was unexpected. There were a host of challenges between me and Hannah. But again, unexpectedly, we found ourselves together in a plane bound for Logroño, Spain. But there would be challenges. Our flight arrived late in London to make our connecting flight to Madrid and we were stuck in the airport.

The queue in front of us would snake towards the front. Notice the queue in the back facing left.

In the dark skirt is Hannah holding our place in the queue. We had already been in queue for over 2 hours by this time.

What it looks behind our place in the queue.

In the end, there would be no flight to Logroño that day...not for 2 days. So British Airways put us in a nice hotel (Ramada) with 3 meals and 2 sets of transfers from the airport to the hotel. I would totally miss my event. But for some reason, again I had clarity and calmness that allowed me to maximize the opportunities in front of me---the miracles that replaced the anticipated opportunities I thought I was going to have--- I missed my event but in its place, Hannah and I had a chance to be in London together...again. Coincidentally, I still had my oyster card in my purse and all I had to do was put some pounds in it and boom--we were on the underground on our way to Central London. We shopped on Oxford road, had tea at the Orangerie in Kensington Palace...AGAIN. We went to Bayswater to our favorite stores.... had a wonderful time! And then everything went seamlessly wonderful. We spent some time in Logroño, Hannah met all the people I love, we experienced the tren-hotel on an 10 hour overnighter to Vigo in the Galicia province on the western coast of Spain and attended fast and testimony Sunday back in Logroño.

In Logroño, Spain trying to choose from 100 tapas (pinxos) restaurants!

Enjoying the view in Olite in the Navarra country.

Doing a shameless reenactment of the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.

Hannah enjoying the perks of a luxury train-hotel in the dining room car.

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Eight years ago, doctors found that part of my heart was enlarged. It was because it had been working far too hard. When the heart is enlarged, the walls become thin and the heart's pumping ability is compromised. The heart enlarges due to prolonged increase of blood pressure or coronary disease...when arteries get clogged. My heart needed to recover. There were steps I needed to take for that to happen. I needed external remedies--medication to regulate my blood pressure and how my heart pumps. I needed to change my lifestyle...eat better, move more, eliminate stress. Now my heart is strong and pumps well. In fact, I am no longer on medication for hypertension. Though my heart may have some physical limitations, I'd like to think that it has no fear when it comes to giving love. I love fiercely and with everything I've got. Sometimes I think my heart is going to burst from sheer love. But it never does.

Healing involves some work. But after a while, in the process of recuperating, I get very, very anxious to get on with my life. After even just a couple of days in the hospital, all I could think of was exiting through the hospital doors and doing all the things I needed to do to have an even better quality of life. All they needed to do was identify what was wrong and as soon as I knew what was wrong, all I needed to know was what to do so I can live my life without fear. Thankfully, the guidelines were simple. And as soon as I figured that out, I could not wait to be discharged because when you know what to do, you can't wait to get started doing it.  So all I could do while waiting to be discharged was TALK about what I was going to do and THINK and VISUALIZE everything I needed to do. My mind was full of those thoughts. For me, the best time to get started realizing that life was as soon as possible. And when you're excited, you just can't help but TALK about it. It just overflows out of me. If you can't talk about it, you can't visualize and organize. And then when I was discharged, I went for it. I just went ahead and reinvented myself.

And that's healing. And though I thought it was my heart that needed to heal, in reality, it all started in my head. Healing starts out with a decision. A choice. And then the heart just pumps. FEARLESSLY. And then everybody around me can breath better because they know I am going to be alright. For a very long time.

Culture Gap

As a child, whenever there was strife in my home...and boy, there was a lot of that-- I sought refuge in my paternal grandparents' home. I called them Lolo and Lola, the vernacular endearment for Grandpa and Grandma. Lola would make her wonderful 'maruya' or mashed up plantain bananas (saba) in a homemade pancake batter; essentially banana fritters just for me. Just so I could feel better. Sometimes she would regale me with stories of the Bible or of great classics. I first heard about Silas Marner by George Elliot and Evangeline by Henry W. Longfellow. Sometimes she would tell me scary stories when I begged for them. And then sometimes, she would just hum or sing to me while she combed my hair. I loved my Lola. She was a wonderful woman. She was so smart---the only girl of 3 brothers. She was so stubborn that when she was told that she didn't need to go to school, she got really upset and went to school anyway. She was a rarity in her province--a young woman who received a scholarship to a Presbyterian college called Silliman Institute, the oldest college in Dumaguete City. Most of its graduates at the time were men. My grandmother beat the odds. She graduated with a degree in History and began to teach school shortly after. She loved learning and reading. She spoke two dialects: her primary language was Ilonggo. But she also spoke very halting Tagalog. And she spoke English better than Tagalog actually. She also spoke Spanish. She was born in 1900 just two years after the Philippine-American war. She was also the one who let the LDS missionaries in her home that one day in 1964 and shortly after was baptized with my grandfather, Pedro, who was also a very active freemason. My lola was an active member of the Eastern Star as well. She liked to wear hats and dress up. She always wore jewelry. And heels. She was ahead of her time.

I always remember my grandparents. I remember everything they taught me. I remember what it was like to be with them. I still see them frequently in my dreams and feel their presence. Just a few days ago, I felt them close to me.

I've always had a special reverence for my Lolo and Lola. In my culture, we always revere and respect our elders. We kiss our grandparents' hands as a sign of respect. We never call them by their first names. And we always use a special respectful and formal way of addressing them. Our language has special pronouns we use for anyone older than us.

My children are raised here in a culture were the kind of respect and honor given to parents or the elderly are supposed to be earned, not just given willy-nilly. They have the option to talk back. That is not even a thought in my culture...it just simply will not cross anyone's right mind.

It is very difficult for me to bridge that gap because my children do speak their minds and do not use the respectful language that I am used to. I am not saying they are rude but by what I am used to, by my culture, they would be right on the border. It's hard for me mentally and emotionally to sometimes cross that gap because in reality, I am the only one who is required to cross because no one knows there's a gap. And so most of the time, I feel crappy. The reality is starting to hit me because I am getting old and if something happens to me, I don't want to be the burden that the elderly are wont to be in this culture. In my culture, its unthinkable to NOT take care of elderly parents. And I understand that the cultural infrastructure does not allow that to happen. My hope is that I will die a quick death.

Anyway, I think the trick in this culture is to mentally and emotionally disconnect from my children-- to just drive it through my head that they are separate, distinct and no longer need nor want my input in their lives.

I am going to find a nice condo in Spain and live out my life taking care of other people. Parents are disposable here. And that's a sad deal.