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When It’s Time to Take a Break from Treatment

Posted on Sep 12, 2016 in Blog |

This past week marked my seventh anniversary of seeing Dr. Mozayeni: September 9, 2009 (9/9/09). Some of you may be thinking, “wow, 7 years. That’s a long time to be in treatment. Isn’t she getting better?” Yes, I am. It is important to note here that I was sick for 29 years before getting an accurate diagnosis. Treatment is not going to be a short-term easy fix. I sent him a quick note saying, “My first appointment with you was seven years ago today. Thank you.” He replied, “ Amazing how time flies. Thanks for your trust. We’ve been through a lot. And we have more to do.” I replied, “Honestly, I was thinking of going a six month hiatus, physically and emotionally. Grateful for the safe place to do this work, but I’m tired.” And without missing a beat, he suggested, “ You could come in every three months and focus for now on . . . “ I’m showing you this interaction for a few reasons: 1. It’s important to say THANK YOU to your LLMD. 2. It’s nice to receive a Thank You in return and the validation of the hard work I have put forth as well. 3. It’s important to be HONEST with your LLMD and tell him/her what is going on for you. 4. It’s amazing to have an LLMD who doesn’t skip a beat, who knows treatment fatigue is part of the healing process and suggests some options to you. Sometimes, it is ok to take a break from the forward momentum of active treatment. I have done this at several points in the past 7 years. 1. I published a book, which caused some consternation among some family members. It was a rough patch during which I became almost suicidal. Dr. M managed my emotional status and he backed off my meds a bit. 2. My 16 year-old nephew died by suicide. Suicide wreaks havoc and hell on the entire family, including extended members. It threw me for a loop, most assuredly. It also affected other family members who then dropped into horrible depression. I learned during this time that if...

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Dad’s Autopsy

Posted on Sep 6, 2016 in Blog |

Appropriate, Clear, Normal, Unremarkable, Usual Appear too many times, Used in circumstances I consider unimaginable and unacceptable. Too many measurements and percentages Objective Absent of emotion. “Organs glisten” So does the morning dew, But I cannot associate the two Listed Causes of Death Sepsis and Luminal Thrombus Relieve my guilt, certifying we did all we could But do not soften the searing intensity of my grief It confirms what we thought It denies what we feared It details the physical condition a man left this dimension in to proceed to another. It is void of spirit and emotion. An autopsy provides data for information and analysis. My friend who advised me against reading the document, Reading it himself and Translating only the necessary information, Is as good a friend as he is a physician. He knows I need spirit and emotion to describe my father. He knows there is more to any person’s life (and death) than data. An autopsy does not measure Dad’s: – generosity – compassion – integrity – commitment – thoughtfulness – passion – determination – kindness – service to others – impeccable standards – love for and dedication to his wife, his daughters, his sons-in-law, and most assuredly his grandchildren Nor does the autopsy illustrate or display Dad’s: – southern drawl – panache for telling a good joke – extensive reading interests – political savvy – stellar ethics – adaptive social skills – admonishment of mediocrity – firm, welcoming handshake and the smile and eye contact that followed – deeply rooted spiritual foundation – genuine gentlemanly manner – lavish mentoring The autopsy also doesn’t give me directions to or the combination to Dad’s version of Fibber McGee’s closet. The autopsy does not gauge how: – deeply loved – thoroughly popular – intensely indispensable – widely respected – infinitely admired – sorely missed – highly decorated – straightforwardly appreciated – and yes, again, deeply, deeply loved My Dad Was, Is, and Ever will be. Sharon Rainey September 5, 2016 Share...

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