Taking the Flax

A friend (who knows a lot about MS and about nutrition) recently suggested that I begin taking flax oil. She warned that the taste is pretty strong so I might want to mix it with yogurt or something. I started this yesterday and while it is too early to report on results, I can say, wow, she wasn’t kidding about the taste. It overpowers everything. It makes any flavor yogurt Flax Oil flavored. (If you ever see that flavor, I don’t recommend it.)

It is nasty too. I mean, it might actually help lima beans but it ruins everything else. I tried mixing it with Ovaltine but this just in: oil doesn’t mix well with milk. I had a layer of oil suspended above the chocolaty goodness. It was like the Exxon Valdeez had passed through.  A silver lining is that it tastes better than crude oil.  (I think.)

Tonight I am going to try it with a blend of banana, ice cream, and battery acid.

Writer's Block

So, I don’t know what to write here. It isn’t that I don’t have any thoughts on this ordeal; quite the contrary, actually. I think about it all the time. The whole premise of “The Silver Lining” is optimism with maybe a touch of inspiration.

This past week I may have been having an exacerbation. I’m not really sure, and there is no memo announcing it. I’m not always the most objective person when it comes to my health, but Kara has noticed a precipitous increase in fatigue and I have noticed that at some times of the day, any exertion tires me really quickly. More troubling is the “nervy” feeling I have, especially after resting in bed for a spell.

It seems that my voice has gone from “worse than I thought possible” to “way worse than I thought possible.”  Walking is more unsteady at times.

So what may have triggered this? Who knows? I did have a little cold, maybe that’s it. I have not been under inordinate stress. I can’t help but consider maybe it is triggered by an allergic reaction. You know, my first problems happened this week in 2006. Maybe there’s something in the air.

So back to the problem at hand. What do I write about? Silver Linings are tough to come by during the bad stretches and tend to sound dramatic if not sarcastic, like I’m thankful for the sun and that it didn’t explode today. What is inspiring about me chronicling the struggle I had making a tuna sandwich? But I came off conqueror! It was good. No, it’s not that bad. If you watched me make a tuna sandwich about the only thing you might notice was that I am a bit slow and deliberate. The problem is the twenty minutes I’m resting on the couch gearing up to make lunch, the careful way I chew and swallow, and then rest from the exertion.

I guess one great thing is that this latest episode has corresponded nicely with the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. I’ve listened to a lot of basketball this week. It is a good diversion. Maybe in a few days I’ll tell you about Wednesday afternoon when I got a call to give a blessing.  It was clearly the worst day this past week and pretty much at the worst hour.  But it was for a long-time friend that called me despite my limitations and challenges of which he is familiar.

I need to find a way to tell the story without breaking confidences, painting an exaggerated struggle to do the service, or make me sound like I was leading  the Crusades.

You know, I might not write that story.

Broader audience

People often say kind things about my writing and my teaching. I’m sure that this is due, at least in part, to the fact that I am surrounded by kind people. I do not doubt that it is honest feedback, but sometimes I question its bias; especially given my “unique” health predicament. I mean, really, no one is going to say, “Dave, your writing is self-aggrandizing and linguistically sloppy” or “Dave, appreciate the teaching effort but we can’t really hear you.”

Last summer I posted a story on this blog that had nothing to do with my health condition except that it was a delayed response to a question from my sister. (I was with her at the time but I knew I could not answer orally.) It wasn’t my voice so much as I realized then that I would emotionally “capsize” on many levels. It was a memory of a confrontation I had as a teen with my father and I called it 1,000 Sermons.

The written story came out well, accurately capturing a moment of pure parental humility. My brother Dan commented, “Ensign article” which was high praise indeed. The Ensign is HUGE and Dan doesn’t say a lot, but he is rarely wrong. I can’t think of a single instance In the 29+ years that I have known him. So I figured, “Why not?” I cleaned it up a bit and submitted it via E-mail last December.

Today I got the rejection E-mail. Sadly, I am quite familiar with them. I will say that it was the nicest one I’ve received. But wait? Dan said “Ensign article” and he is always right. Are you sure? Then a few minutes later I got another E-mail, this time from a secretary at the publication. In it she apologized for sending me the wrong E-mail; they DID want to publish 1,000 Sermons.

Utter shock. I mean, I should have known that he’d be right again but still. Really? I’m still kind of in disbelief. At this time I don’t know much more than that: they want to publish it and I will be hearing from them. Will it really happen? Will it be in The Ensign or another publication? When? Will it be heavily edited? I don't know but I do know that I am extraordinarily humbled at the prospect of playing a part in sharing a morsel of my father’s wisdom with a broader audience.

At the risk of sounding like I won an award or something, I want to thank Sara for the invitation to share, Rachel for the blog creation idea, Dan, for the prediction, and everyone for your constant encouragement. Mostly thanks to Dad without whose example, there would be no story.

p.s. When I told Kara she was congratulatory but underscoring my sometimes capricious self-confidence she said, “You knew you could do it, well, kind of.”

Teaching (and learning)

I taught again today. I considered beginning the class with something like, “Welcome to another episode of The Hoarse Whisperer” but I thought better of it. I can’t afford to use up my voice on jokes, as tempting as it is. Besides, I try hard to downplay my limitations, in deference to the lesson material. (Also, play-on-words jokes don’t go over so well when, well, you struggle to talk. People are expecting something more valuable or meaningful than self-deprecating humor.)

I feel that it went better this time than last. I admit that I expended an inordinate amount of worry this past month. Kara feels that the worry makes all my symptoms worse. There may be a correlation between anxiety and symptoms, I’m not sure, but there is definitely a link going the opposite direction. (i.e., When I feel a wave of fatigue or it gets really hard to talk I worry about how I can teach.) Kara says, “Why are you worried? I can hear you fine.” I appreciate the encouragement but when she says this, it’s one-on-one, she is five feet away, and I have said maybe 20 words.

But today it was fine. I mean, I’m not the next American Idol or anything, and it was very hard, but I had a little clip-on mike and I made it through. I was audible enough. (Simon would have grilled me but Paula would have had kind words.)

I realized this week that I will never get a memo saying, “Yeah, about Sunday, you’re not going to be able to do it.” All I can do is prepare to teach, replacing thoughts of fear with thoughts of faith, and just do my best.

Besides, it’s just a class. And it’s not like it’s a tough crowd; they are all my friends and will do whatever they can to make the class a success.

Name Them One by One

I miss singing. My voice trouble just doesn't allow it.  I have learned that even though I cannot sing, the desire to sing has not yet been muted. It is frustrating. Every once in a while I try anyway and the result is pitiful. I especially miss singing the good hymns at church.

Today we had a “broadcast” Stake Conference. The intermediary hymn was “Praise to the Man.” I love that one. I tried to hum along softly but even that got too hard. I then just mouthed the words but when we got into the later verses, I wasn’t so sure of the lyrics. Oh wait, they have the words on the big screen, right? News flash: you don’t see that well either. I started feeling sad; I just wanted to sing!! Is this not the weirdest “challenge” you’ve ever heard? I have no precedent. I never even considered that the nerves controlling vocal cord tautness could malfunction resulting in loss of tone and strength. I just always figured that I’d be able to do something as easy as sing.

Fortunately I didn’t let the self-pity train leave the station. I know that it doesn’t help anything or anyone to focus on the limitations. OK, can’t sing and eyesight isn’t great. What do I want? A medal? A violin solo?

I needed to shift my focus at once. Sure, there’s a black cloud, a weird black cloud, but what is the silver lining? I then considered that my hearing is fine and I could enjoy listening to the hymn. Not everyone has that blessing. Further, I was standing next to my son and I could hear him singing beautifully. There are a lot of blessings in that sentence. I can stand. I have a son. My son can stand. He is next to me. He can sing. He can sing well. He is singing. My son is singing a hymn with the congregation. He is singing very well.

I was up to ten and I’d scarcely started. Counting your blessings really works.