Oxygen

I see humor in most of life.  It is a very rare day I don’t at least once burble up laughter, often overflowing till my eyes are wet.  I laugh at myself, things I think of while driving, the world, other people’s antics, the dogs, whatever strikes my very healthy funny bone.  I laugh alone, with friends and family, with coworkers, and with people I barely know. 

I share my sense of humor with my mother and brother.  My mother lives with me and many days we both end up laughing so hard our guts hurt at some train of commentary we’ve gotten going.  My brother and I regularly engage in repartee, really whenever we communicate.  He married well, so family meals are spiced with laughter as we all joust with comebacks.

Recently someone asked me if my persistent joking was a way of avoiding aspects of life.  I’d never thought about it.  It is just a part of me, like breathing.  So of course the last couple months I’ve thought about it, and the answer is no.

I am often serious.  Allowing humor to slip into a serious topic makes it no less serious.  Rather as embellishing a bridge with lovely architectural details does not diminish the function of the bridge.  The people who I laugh with most often, those who share my sense of humor, are the people I’m most likely to be serious with. 

My brother, with whom I can barely converse between jokes, was the person who I texted from the emergency room at night; the person I first told it looked like leukemia; the person who answered “Understood” when I texted if the prognosis were not good I was not going to do treatment; the person who accepted the task of informing our parents; the person who drove into Boston the next morning; the person who committed to staying all day with me then bringing me home; the person who signed the paperwork as my health care proxy knowing my preferences.  By morning additional test results dramatically improved my prognosis.  I should lead a normal life with medications.  So interspersed with practical thoughts and planning for my convalescence my brother was the person with whom I shared the gift of laughter.

Humor keeps life in perspective.  I pity those with no humor, and with that I include people whose idea of a joke is an ill-disguised insult.  I pity those who cannot laugh fully as I pity those who cannot appreciate beauty or love.  Laughter is joy.  It is equivalent to gazing at a beautiful sunrise, hugging a loved one, diving into clear water.  Laughter opens the heart, the mind, and the body.  Laughter is oxygen.    

©Maria Amodei

Reset

First, I'm fine.  I'm going to live just as long as I was ever going to live, no doubt slated to die getting flattened by some brutish ewe powered by a pushy young dog.

Let's start with the morals of the story:

1 - Family and friends are the best thing in your life, really the very best.  Remember that and behave accordingly

2 - Got something you really want to do?  Do it, now or as soon as you reasonably can.

3 - Science is accurate and a real asset to mankind and to you personally.  Yes bits of things are off along the way as we work through the scientific method, but overall science has helped us enormously (including vaccines and understanding of anthropogenic climate change).

4 - Not everything is a tick borne disease.  Listen to the doctors.

5 - Keep your sense of humor.  It will be your life jacket and what's the point of living without it.

I have leukemia.  I learned this roughly 24 hours ago.  I'd gone to my doctor yesterday assuming I had a tick borne disease.  Headaches, run down.  They sent me off for blood work.  I was grumpy because I really just wanted doxycycline so I would start feeling good for the Nevermoor trial this weekend.  That evening, after pounding in some new 6 foot ground rods, I got a call from my doctor.  My white count was ridiculously high and I was to go to the emergency room right away.   She had called them to let them know I was coming.  Well I needed to finish taking care of sheep and feeding my dogs.  And I was filthy.  So I wrapped up my chores, took a shower, and headed in around 9.  I talked to a couple friends about taking care of my sheep in case I had to stay.  I was cranky, still stuck in my stubborn head on the tick borne options.  My primary care doctor called two more times after checking and finding I had not arrived at the ER, just to make sure I got in there.

At the emergency room they drew more blood.  Yee hah my white count was even higher! (5-10 is normal, I was in the 160-178 ballpark).  I told the ER doctor I was perhaps simply an over achiever.  They told me the types of cells seen and the white count pointed to leukemia.  I needed to be transferred to a large teaching hospital so lots of tests could be run.  I floated the idea of going home, and driving into Boston the next morning.  No dice.  They were going to stuff me in an ambulance as soon as they found a bed whether I liked it or not.  The ER doc was fun to talk to, grew up on a big dairy farm in VT.  Understood my worries about getting my stock cared for.  I had 30+ ewes and 50+ lambs that needed to be moved the next morning or there would be no food for them.  They are at a remote graze behind net.  The move required knowledge of the land, net, and a dog.  He made a comment that it was tough that this was happening, particularly to someone nice like me.  I was incapable of my usual sarcastic remark, but did say that probably 10 years ago I realized I'd not held back in life.  I've done what I wanted.  Though I did not want to die, I have lived.

Waiting for a bed I began to search for stats and info on leukemia, using the information I'd gotten from my tests.  That was dismal.  Really dismal at my age.  I love data, but this had no chance of inspiring my nerdy delight.  Acute leukemia was what it was looking like, making it unlikely I would survive 5 years.  I texted my brother.  I hated to do that but I needed the contact.  I'm quite sure from then he also got no sleep.  I put him in charge of talking to my parents.  I told him if this were something that did not have a good prognosis I was not going to suffer through treatment.  I've seen the misery of treatment and it's not worth it unless there's a reasonable chance of remission.

I was shipped to Brigham and Women's in Boston, where a myriad of doctors poked, prodded, another round of blood work.  Then an oncologist showed up at my bedside in the ER there.  I almost asked where his black robe and scythe were.  While my virtually non existent sense of propriety was not there to stop me, I did not trust myself to speak beyond answering questions at this point.  Indications so far were still acute leukemia.  They found me a bed on an oncology floor, another blow.

As I was wheeled off to my room that first oncologist intercepted me.  He wanted to get me the news as quickly as possible.  Looking further at my results it was looking like chronic leukemia, a manageable problem.  Hallelujah!  (And when did I ever think I'd be delighted to be diagnosed with chronic leukemia?)

Up in my room, now morning, I heard back from my friend Liz who could drive a long ways to Dunstable, meet with the landowner Tim Joyce (another friend) at the remote graze.  I put them together on a text and knew my ewes and lambs would be taken care of, an enormous relief.  I met my oncologist going forward during rounds.  My sleep deprived brother arrived in Boston after picking up my car from the ER at the local hospital.  He spent the day.  We cannot talk to one another without humor.  I was so thankful both for the laughter and his presence.

I needed a bone marrow biopsy to confirm the findings and determine the correct meds going forward.  Bone marrow biopsies are no picnic, and adding my inflamed bones and the marrow so thick with all these miserable little half baked white blood cells and it was pretty special.  They assured me any necessary repeats would be easier.  They showed me the  bone core and some marrow on the slide, satisfying my geek side.  At first the PA was horrified but no one who keeps livestock would be offended by having a slide of bloody body bits pushed in front of them to see.  Indeed we'd all be fascinated.  Then I turned around and saw the medieval tools they'd used.  An 18 gauge needle is microscopic in comparison.  Damn good thing I did not see the equipment first.

Now to the science.  Using the information from the biopsy they will be able to determine enough genetic information about my leukemia to get the exact correct drug, with a good probability of getting the drug and dosage right on the first go.  I will need follow ups.  As long as I take my pills daily I can live my life with this leukemia.  There is a small chance it will even go away.  Believe in science folks, it works.  A researcher is getting some of the marrow and some of my blood.  He's working on a blood test to do the same as the current bone marrow biopsy.  This will be particularly important in 3rd world countries.

There is a very small chance that the bone marrow will tell a different story and I have acute leukemia.  But the Dr. feels solid in his diagnosis and he certainly has the experience.  Not worth worry.

I'M ALIVE!!!!  And this explains a number of problems I've had over the past months so I'm looking forward to feeling more energetic, less clumsy, generally more like my obnoxious self.

Turn East

As earth spins from day to night

the western sky flares alight.

A funeral pyre for each day past,

for moments lived, but time won’t last.

Turn east into the coming night

where hills reflect the rosy light.

Tomorrow’s promise lies in the black,

and yesterday will not be back.

© 2019 Maria Amodei

Winter Walk

The cold sun drew each line crisply, 

dead grass in waves on the ground,

skeleton forest at the field edge,

the stark patterns of winter.

Day’s blue had leached from the sky,

summer’s color long gone from the earth.

With dusk the lines dissolved.

The world a sea of tiny dots,

while color spread on the western sky still crisp with light.

Perhaps my feet would sink through the grass,

the melting world wash over me,

the ground an illusion, magic.

Yet each step found firm footing,

carried me back, carried me home.

Home, warm and bright, ordinary.

©2019 Maria Amodei

Russian Dolls

I passed an old woman

who walked along the road.

Back bent and shoulders stooped,

steps straight and head bowed.

I wondered where she went.

No sidewalk and no ride,

she walked doggedly on,

cars travelled by her side.

Then I saw the outline,

a young woman, steps light,

followed by a child,

the core, full of life.

Ghosts of her past glowing,

Russian dolls each within,

Defining the woman

she has always been.

©2018 Maria Amodei

Embers

Her eyes are eager

and step still quick,

though time has claimed her swiftness

and dimmed her senses.

She folds to your work

effortlessly

like the creases of old gloves,

with holes and cold hands.

Neither can condone

that years of work

have both honed and worn away

the teamwork shared.

Those eyes are embers

of a grand past.

You see a faded photo

that your mind completes.

©Maria Amodei 2018

Hurry Up

This morning it was drizzling as I took care of the meat chickens.  These birds are locked in a small pen with a roof at night to keep them safe from a hungry owl.  There is a stretch of fence between the night pen and their favorite bush to hang out under during the day.  This has not been a problem, they know that to travel back and forth between the shelter of the pen and the shade of the bush they need to walk about 20 feet in the wrong direction first to get around this fence.  As I finished taking care of them this morning the drizzle abruptly became a downpour.  About half of the birds were under the bush and half still under the roof of the night pen.  The bush was hardly protection from the driving rain so those birds immediately raced to the shelter of the night pen, but not around the fence to get in the door.  They ran straight to where they could see the other birds, then worried back and forth along the fence trying to get through.  These are the same birds that would have easily run around the fence in the evening when I put them in for the night.  The urgency of the driving rain created pressure which greatly reduced their ability to make a good decision.

I’m not saying my waddling meat chicks are particularly clever, but neither are they stupid.  I’ve reconfigured the fence and pens several times as they’ve grown, and they’ve had no trouble finding their way around.  The point here is that the pressure of the downpour rendered them almost incapable of performing a task they’d performed multiple times before.

The parallels to this and working sheep should be obvious.  It is the source of the “walking sheep are winning sheep” saying at dog trials.  Rushing stock, too much pressure or aggression from the dog or handler, these conspire to make the stock frantic and behave in unpredictable ways that do not help you get your work done.  Some bad draws start out bad, some are made bad by the dog on the field.  Some dogs are downpours.

This concept is equally important in training and handling your dog.  As your dog pressures the sheep, you pressure your dog.

The most common problem I see is that a trainer feels they have adequately taught the dog a specific skill and/or command, and then apply pressure for noncompliance.  The dog may only partially understand the requirement, perhaps only in certain circumstances, or may feel unable to perform the task in that environment.  The trainer applies pressure and the dog’s performance does not improve, and perhaps deteriorates.  The dog may be labeled as hard headed or sulky or stupid.  Really the problem is the dog’s ability and understanding were not quite ready for what was asked, and applying the pressure only reduced the dog’s ability to comply.  I am quite guilty of this at times, which is why I try to keep a rule that if we are failing repeatedly and I’m getting frustrated just end the session.  This is to give ME a break to think it out and consider a better method.

Think of it this way.  You are completing a math problem.  You have been able to solve similar problems before, but it requires focus and calm.  I loom over you relentlessly telling you to hurry up, pointing out possible errors before you can work it through yourself.  Are you going to complete the task faster, slower, or not at all?

None of this means don’t apply pressure.  Apply pressure, then release when you get what you need.  If you are not getting what you need quickly, never or seldom releasing the pressure, then make the job easier.  Change the exercise.  Maybe even just remove the pressure and see if the dog can do the work on its own.  Just pause and take a deep breath.  Or, quit the session and think about a better way, always a good option.

Some dogs handle pressure well, some do not.  Something we should pay attention to in breeding.  There is inherent pressure on the trial field.  Not only are the field and sheep new, their handler is tense, acting differently.  The dogs can tell the difference even with outwardly calm handlers.  With dogs that have trouble dealing with the rapid-fire commands and yelled demands that so often go with a trial run you can practice this skill.  Train as you normally do, then suddenly start barking out commands one after another like you might on the trial field, making sure the dog complies because it is training, then go back to reasonable handling.  Just do it for a few moments, then maybe a few more.  Maybe freak out and scream “LIE DOWN” (again making sure the dog complies because this is training).  Then go back to your reasonable self.  Get the dog used to your Mr. Hyde in small doses.

A good long-term way to deal with putting too much pressure on a dog at trials is visualization.  Don’t visualize everything going well.  The dogs and sheep do not share your visualization so no amount of imagining perfection on their part is going to help you.  Instead visualize all the things that are likely to go wrong on the trial field, with you handling them calmly and appropriately.  Hear your voice stay steady, your whistles clear, feel your mind settled as you handle what the stock and dog present.