Fellow citizens, after deep reflection and consideration, but without consulting with any of my supporters, I have come to the conclusion that I will not be running for President of the United States this election cycle. I reach this decision with a heavy heart, but feel that it is the best course of action at this time.
I was going to mount a campaign with the slogan "Make America Sane Again", which preliminary market studies showed to have a certain appeal to the American public. A second slogan would have been "Dave Olson for President: At least he's on his meds."
I know this will be received by many of you with great disappointment. And I understand, but still, the toll this would have taken on my family and me was just too great.
I do believe that my experience with being bipolar would have made me well suited for the Presidency. For example, my own experience is that taking Lamictal is an effective remedy for the highs and lows that are too often experienced. This is exactly what the stock market needs. Wild swings up and down are not beneficial to the nation's economy. I have a solution. Lamictal. Or lithium, if need be.
Some feel our nation is headed towards a depression. There you have it, another issue with which I am uniquely equipped and experienced to handle.
I have also learned fiscal responsibility. Although when it comes to the federal budget and allocating trillions of dollars of resources it might be necessary to go off my meds for a spell. Bipolar people in a manic phase are quite adept at the task of spending vast amounts of money. Debt is also something we have personal experience with. Bipolar people are like that. My solution for the national debt is that we will accept an unlimited amount of promotional credit cards and continually transfer funds back and forth to maintain zero interest on the balance. This would save us lots of money.
I would have led us back to a time when we were a kinder, gentler, nation. Our theme song would have been "Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine." Part of this emphasis would require all drivers to wave at each other, like they do in the farming communities of the midwest.
I believe that we need to respond to the humanitarian crisis of immigrants at our southern border. And yet, I also believe that we need a means of restricting entrance to the country to those who really want to be here and need to be here because of dire necessity. A simple solution can be found in my Norwegian American background (and by the way, I will be doing a genetic test to prove that I am of Norwegian descent). What we would have done is to welcome these immigrants and asylum seekers and provide them with lutefisk to eat for their first year in the country. This would have reduced the amount of people seeking entrance to the country to those who truly need to come here.
One of the questions asked during campaigns is the phone call at 3 am question. Who do you want taking that call? Hey, I'm up at 3 am anyway. No big deal.
I am somewhat disappointed to come to this conclusion. Being bipolar I could have brought both the melancholy of Abraham Lincoln and vast ambition of FDR back to the White House.
Some of you are rolling your eyes and saying "Dave, you're just not smart enough to be President." True. But this is my belief. (And for the first time in this piece of satire, I'm being dead serious.) The job of the President is to surround himself or herself with people far smarter than they, to the end that they are the dumbest person in the room. Their job as President is not to be the smartest, but to pray instead for wisdom. And this is my prayer, that as we as a nation enter the next election cycle we will seek out and find a candidate that may not be the most experienced, nor the most intelligent, nor the most charismatic, and certainly not the richest, but rather simply wise.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Monday, December 24, 2018
Gratitude
Life is good. I like writing that. Gratitude. In AA we promote an "attitude of gratitude". Resentments are the fodder for drinking, and gratitude is the foundation of sobriety. I have much to be grateful for these days.
Karla and I are doing well. To say the last few years have been times of upheaval is an understatement. Both of us have experienced significant vocational changes. Alcoholism and treatment. Disability. Uncertainty. Yeah, try buying a home and then almost immediately crashing and burning. The future often seemed uncertain. But I'm working doing the two things I love, and Karla is dedicating herself to the fine art of being an Oma (as well as caring for Kersten's grandma.
Two things about our children. First, each of them makes us proud to be parents. They are pursuing their dreams and succeeding. And secondly, what a joy it is that we have a wonderful relationship with all of them. With all the discord in families, we are grateful for the loving relationships we have enjoyed.
Today, I am also overwhelmed with the generosity of my congregation and the direction things are going. It's a small band of believers. Small. About 20 to 25 in worship on a Sunday. We have been fortunate to have a little money in the bank because the cost of my serving half time has been a stretch. I think the budget is about $65,000 a year for this congregation. Now just run the numbers on that for a moment. We have to average about $3,000 per year from each person attending worship. We've comforted ourselves that we have the reserves to weather some budgetary shortfalls.
And then the last two weeks. Major year end gifts have left us not only in the black for the year, but have doubled our reserves. Doubled. I can't tell you how many times the council has wondered if we would be able to survive, but we have taken it one day at a time. And then, two weeks. Two offerings that exceeded all expectations. Our members believe in the future of our ministry and have invested themselves heavily to make that possible. What a joy it is to serve among such committed people.
We have a home. This means two things for me.
When we came to Sandpoint nearly twenty years ago I had a goal. I wanted to give my younger two children what I hadn't been able to give my older two, and what I never had myself. A home. A hometown, specifically. Roots. A place to return to. That has happened. Not only were they able to remain in Sandpoint throughout their youth, they have both found employment and remain here. We enjoy interacting with them on a daily/weekly basis. And we are able to be a significant part of our first grandchild's life. Gratitude.
Less important than that, but still significant is our house. Karla and I made the most significant financial decision of our lives when we stretched to buy this house. And the timing couldn't have been worse, or better. Both, actually. We moved in the first of September, and I hit rock bottom the 14th of October. Thankfully I had disability to help pay the mortgage. We had made a significant withdrawal from my pensions to get into this house. It seemed that we gambled a lot, and financial gambles are generally not a good thing for a bipolar person. Bipolar people tend to not have a very good record in such matters. . .
But we bought at the low point in the market. And as it turned out, we needed a place to live as we would have had to move out of the parsonage following my resignation. What's delightful is that our investment has done well. According to some of the value estimators, we now have more equity in the home than we owe. In the end, the most questionable of all the financial decisions we have made will likely be the best decision we have made. Oh, I realize that there will be ups and downs in the real estate market. And that is rather irrelevant because we have no interest in selling. But we have a home and that is important.
It's Christmas. What a wonderful time. We will celebrate with all our family. We still have that privilege. And again, we are grateful. Grateful for the goodness of God that has sustained and blessed us throughout these years.
Peace to all of you this Christmas Eve.
Karla and I are doing well. To say the last few years have been times of upheaval is an understatement. Both of us have experienced significant vocational changes. Alcoholism and treatment. Disability. Uncertainty. Yeah, try buying a home and then almost immediately crashing and burning. The future often seemed uncertain. But I'm working doing the two things I love, and Karla is dedicating herself to the fine art of being an Oma (as well as caring for Kersten's grandma.
Two things about our children. First, each of them makes us proud to be parents. They are pursuing their dreams and succeeding. And secondly, what a joy it is that we have a wonderful relationship with all of them. With all the discord in families, we are grateful for the loving relationships we have enjoyed.
Today, I am also overwhelmed with the generosity of my congregation and the direction things are going. It's a small band of believers. Small. About 20 to 25 in worship on a Sunday. We have been fortunate to have a little money in the bank because the cost of my serving half time has been a stretch. I think the budget is about $65,000 a year for this congregation. Now just run the numbers on that for a moment. We have to average about $3,000 per year from each person attending worship. We've comforted ourselves that we have the reserves to weather some budgetary shortfalls.
And then the last two weeks. Major year end gifts have left us not only in the black for the year, but have doubled our reserves. Doubled. I can't tell you how many times the council has wondered if we would be able to survive, but we have taken it one day at a time. And then, two weeks. Two offerings that exceeded all expectations. Our members believe in the future of our ministry and have invested themselves heavily to make that possible. What a joy it is to serve among such committed people.
We have a home. This means two things for me.
When we came to Sandpoint nearly twenty years ago I had a goal. I wanted to give my younger two children what I hadn't been able to give my older two, and what I never had myself. A home. A hometown, specifically. Roots. A place to return to. That has happened. Not only were they able to remain in Sandpoint throughout their youth, they have both found employment and remain here. We enjoy interacting with them on a daily/weekly basis. And we are able to be a significant part of our first grandchild's life. Gratitude.
Less important than that, but still significant is our house. Karla and I made the most significant financial decision of our lives when we stretched to buy this house. And the timing couldn't have been worse, or better. Both, actually. We moved in the first of September, and I hit rock bottom the 14th of October. Thankfully I had disability to help pay the mortgage. We had made a significant withdrawal from my pensions to get into this house. It seemed that we gambled a lot, and financial gambles are generally not a good thing for a bipolar person. Bipolar people tend to not have a very good record in such matters. . .
But we bought at the low point in the market. And as it turned out, we needed a place to live as we would have had to move out of the parsonage following my resignation. What's delightful is that our investment has done well. According to some of the value estimators, we now have more equity in the home than we owe. In the end, the most questionable of all the financial decisions we have made will likely be the best decision we have made. Oh, I realize that there will be ups and downs in the real estate market. And that is rather irrelevant because we have no interest in selling. But we have a home and that is important.
It's Christmas. What a wonderful time. We will celebrate with all our family. We still have that privilege. And again, we are grateful. Grateful for the goodness of God that has sustained and blessed us throughout these years.
Peace to all of you this Christmas Eve.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Negotiating a Purchase, Bipolar Style
Bipolar. Mania. Symptom: Going on buying sprees or making foolish investments.
OK, so those are the perimeters of the conversation. The situation is that we are getting to the point where it is going to be necessary to purchase a car for my wife. Currently she drives a 2006 Toyota Sienna AWD. It has been a wonderful car for us. Dependable. Gets around in the snow of North Idaho well. And nice. It's Oma's "magic car" with doors that open with a push of a button, etc.
Alas, as it approaches 200,000 miles it is developing some issues. The rear suspension is worn and cannot be realigned meaning that tires will wear significantly and unevenly. They also couldn't get a good alignment on the front, so it pulls to one side. Recently one of the back sliding doors broke. Bottom line, it's time.
The good news is that in short order my father's estate will settle (hopefully) which will allow us to clear up some debts and position ourselves to be able to afford a car payment.
The challenge is that I've always been the car buyer in our family. For a variety of reasons Karla has deferred to me in that area. I do all the preliminary work and shopping. Once I've settled on a vehicle I ask for her consent, which she has normally given. The difficult position that I've put her in on numerous occasions is that my momentum for purchasing a vehicle is pretty strong by the time I ask her permission and to say no would be a little like trying to stop a freight train that is rumbling down the tracks at 70 miles an hour. Add to that the fact that manic tendencies do not always make for good purchases and we've got a new challenge.
So we are trying to learn a new game. Karla has agreed to take a more active role early on in the shopping and selecting of a vehicle. Together we've decided to look at three options: Another Sienna; a Highlander; or a Rav4. All of them are available in All Wheel Drive, and two of which are available in a hybrid, which we'd prefer. A big question is whether we buy new or used.
It's not always straightforward. Used is not always the cheaper route. When we bought our Dodge Caravan a while back, the only late model used vehicles were lease returns which tended to be the highest priced trim packages, meaning that a used vehicle was running about $24,000 while a new vehicle could be purchased with what we needed for $18,500. Also, financing is frequently more advantageous on a new vehicle with the net result that sometimes the payment for a new vehicle is less per month than the payment for a used vehicle. I also have developed a simple formula to determine the relative value.
My formula is to calculate the cost per mile of the vehicle based on a life span of 200,000 miles. So for example, we could probably get a new Sienna for around $40,000 depending on the trim package. That works out to 20 cents a mile over the life of the vehicle. One used vehicle with 70,000 miles I've looked at was originally priced at $27,000. At that price it would cost 21 cents per mile for the remaining 130,000 miles of its lifespan. It's now been reduced to 23,000 which makes the cost per mile around 18 cents. That assumes that the interest rate is the same on the used as it is on the new, though often promotional rates for new cars are well below standard rates for used, sometimes even 0%. For example, a 2018 Rav4 Hybrid can be purchased new for around 30,000 with 0% interest resulting in a per mile cost of 15 cents, while paying interest on a used vehicle I located with low mileage results in a cost of 17 cents.
So it goes. What I find myself needing to do to counteract the impulses associated with being bipolar is to find as many objective standards upon which to base a decision as possible. And hopefully, standards that are objective enough that others who are not bipolar (AKA my wife) will be able to look at them and say "That makes sense."
This is not a bad thing. In hindsight I wish I had always been so diligent in making purchases on major items. It has been in the past, a mixed bag. My manic side kicked in previously in making two major purchases. A house and a CNC Router. Both involved about the same amount of cash upfront, a down payment on the house, and the full price of the CNC. By purchasing the house at a low point in the market we have since realized an appreciation that has left us sitting quite well, with nearly 4 times the down payment now in equity. It didn't work out so well with the CNC. My imagined business plan didn't pan out. Oh, we can do some neat stuff, it just hasn't been worth the investment and its resale value is not great either. Bottom line is that I spent more on the CNC that I've earned using it. Lesson learned.
What I'm finding is that negotiating such treacherous waters requires discipline. And a willingness to 'pass' on some great deals that may not be all that great. And most importantly, seeking to involve others in such decisions and letting the facts rule the day, not my power of persuasion.
We'll see how this all unfolds in the coming months. . .
OK, so those are the perimeters of the conversation. The situation is that we are getting to the point where it is going to be necessary to purchase a car for my wife. Currently she drives a 2006 Toyota Sienna AWD. It has been a wonderful car for us. Dependable. Gets around in the snow of North Idaho well. And nice. It's Oma's "magic car" with doors that open with a push of a button, etc.
Alas, as it approaches 200,000 miles it is developing some issues. The rear suspension is worn and cannot be realigned meaning that tires will wear significantly and unevenly. They also couldn't get a good alignment on the front, so it pulls to one side. Recently one of the back sliding doors broke. Bottom line, it's time.
The good news is that in short order my father's estate will settle (hopefully) which will allow us to clear up some debts and position ourselves to be able to afford a car payment.
The challenge is that I've always been the car buyer in our family. For a variety of reasons Karla has deferred to me in that area. I do all the preliminary work and shopping. Once I've settled on a vehicle I ask for her consent, which she has normally given. The difficult position that I've put her in on numerous occasions is that my momentum for purchasing a vehicle is pretty strong by the time I ask her permission and to say no would be a little like trying to stop a freight train that is rumbling down the tracks at 70 miles an hour. Add to that the fact that manic tendencies do not always make for good purchases and we've got a new challenge.
So we are trying to learn a new game. Karla has agreed to take a more active role early on in the shopping and selecting of a vehicle. Together we've decided to look at three options: Another Sienna; a Highlander; or a Rav4. All of them are available in All Wheel Drive, and two of which are available in a hybrid, which we'd prefer. A big question is whether we buy new or used.
It's not always straightforward. Used is not always the cheaper route. When we bought our Dodge Caravan a while back, the only late model used vehicles were lease returns which tended to be the highest priced trim packages, meaning that a used vehicle was running about $24,000 while a new vehicle could be purchased with what we needed for $18,500. Also, financing is frequently more advantageous on a new vehicle with the net result that sometimes the payment for a new vehicle is less per month than the payment for a used vehicle. I also have developed a simple formula to determine the relative value.
My formula is to calculate the cost per mile of the vehicle based on a life span of 200,000 miles. So for example, we could probably get a new Sienna for around $40,000 depending on the trim package. That works out to 20 cents a mile over the life of the vehicle. One used vehicle with 70,000 miles I've looked at was originally priced at $27,000. At that price it would cost 21 cents per mile for the remaining 130,000 miles of its lifespan. It's now been reduced to 23,000 which makes the cost per mile around 18 cents. That assumes that the interest rate is the same on the used as it is on the new, though often promotional rates for new cars are well below standard rates for used, sometimes even 0%. For example, a 2018 Rav4 Hybrid can be purchased new for around 30,000 with 0% interest resulting in a per mile cost of 15 cents, while paying interest on a used vehicle I located with low mileage results in a cost of 17 cents.
So it goes. What I find myself needing to do to counteract the impulses associated with being bipolar is to find as many objective standards upon which to base a decision as possible. And hopefully, standards that are objective enough that others who are not bipolar (AKA my wife) will be able to look at them and say "That makes sense."
This is not a bad thing. In hindsight I wish I had always been so diligent in making purchases on major items. It has been in the past, a mixed bag. My manic side kicked in previously in making two major purchases. A house and a CNC Router. Both involved about the same amount of cash upfront, a down payment on the house, and the full price of the CNC. By purchasing the house at a low point in the market we have since realized an appreciation that has left us sitting quite well, with nearly 4 times the down payment now in equity. It didn't work out so well with the CNC. My imagined business plan didn't pan out. Oh, we can do some neat stuff, it just hasn't been worth the investment and its resale value is not great either. Bottom line is that I spent more on the CNC that I've earned using it. Lesson learned.
What I'm finding is that negotiating such treacherous waters requires discipline. And a willingness to 'pass' on some great deals that may not be all that great. And most importantly, seeking to involve others in such decisions and letting the facts rule the day, not my power of persuasion.
We'll see how this all unfolds in the coming months. . .
Sunday, December 2, 2018
Breaking Free
It's been over 100 days now since I had my last cigarette. I've saved approximately $1,000 during that time. A bit less than that because I'm still vaping as a nicotine replacement therapy to aid in this process. With the vaping you can buy the juice in a variety of strengths. I began at 24 mg. I've managed to reduce that to 12 mgs. It's going well.
Probably the most significant development during this time of breaking free is that I'm developing a self image and identity that I am not a smoker. I am moving from a compulsion to always having tobacco at hand to a revulsion at the thought of ever purchasing again. I am confident in saying that I've purchased my last tobacco.
This is major. It's the mindset that I've achieved with respect to alcohol. That's the reason for my optimism regarding smoking. Not one more. Done. Finished.
There remains the issue of vaping. The advantage of using vaping as a stop smoking aid is that it has proven to be a good substitute. I had reached a roadblock in that I just couldn't get through a work day and the breaks without having a smoke. Vaping got me beyond that. The encouraging thing is that I've been able to reduce the nicotine content of the vaping without issue. You can actually get the vapor juice with nicotine levels of 36, 24, 18, 12, 6, and 0. My strategy has been to settle in at one level until I'm very satisfied, and then to reduce to the next level. In the end, it will get to the point at which I'm not getting any nicotine, and then it will be just a matter of finally saying "hey, I don't need this pacifier anymore. Then I'll be done.
This whole issue of chemical addiction is an interesting one to experience. One observation that has come to me is that it is the body's ability to adapt to the presence of chemicals in the system that makes breaking free so difficult. The point being that once the body adapts to a certain chemical, be it alcohol, or nicotine, or other drugs, there is a negative reaction that comes from cessation. Withdrawal. For those of you who have never been addicted, just understand this. The problem is the withdrawal. It's not that a smoker can just put down the tobacco and feel as good as a non-smoker. During withdrawal one feels terrible, quite frankly. That's why we continue.
I'm told that smoking is one of the most difficult addictions to break. I believe that. It's been a greater struggle than drinking, by far. In my case all that was required to stop drinking was a recognition that it had truly become a problem. Well that and the recognition that one more day drinking might have been the end of my life. . . With drinking, once I recognized that I'd hit rock bottom I recognized that this was not something I could wait until 'tomorrow' to address. It had to happen now. Smoking is different. Unless one is diagnosed with lung cancer, for example, one always believes that one doesn't have to stop today, you can always do it tomorrow. And even if one has a diagnosis of lung cancer or other such smoking related diseases there is a sense that the damage has already been done. I can have another cigarette. I'll quit tomorrow.
I grew up in the context of the religious pietism of my scandinavian family. Though some of that pietism was subsiding by that time, there still was a sense that smoking, drinking, gambling, (and dancing!) etc., were sinful. To this day, there is an anti-pietist tendency in the church that scoffs at the old notion of the sinfulness of these things.
I'm either becoming a pietist in my old age, or at least recognizing that those old timers understood something significant. After having fought the battle of addiction I'm more convinced than ever of the sinfulness of these addictions. There is a point at which one crosses the line. One can drink alcohol in a healthy manner and I'm not suggesting such consumption is a sin. But for some of us, addiction happens. Why, I'm not sure we know. But it happens. Same with other drugs like nicotine. I've also been addicted to Ativan.
The thing about addiction is that you can talk all you want about loving the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, but it is another god that controls one's behaviors. One's entire life is structured around the addictive behavior. Provisions are made to insure that one never faces withdrawal. No sacrifice is too great. Family, jobs, and even one's own life are all sacrificed at the altar of the addiction. If that's not a definition of a god, I don't know what is.
Part of what I'm saying is that I recognize now the importance of a deep repentance in the process of breaking free. This is not just about coughing less. This is about 'having no other gods before me'.
Probably the most significant development during this time of breaking free is that I'm developing a self image and identity that I am not a smoker. I am moving from a compulsion to always having tobacco at hand to a revulsion at the thought of ever purchasing again. I am confident in saying that I've purchased my last tobacco.
This is major. It's the mindset that I've achieved with respect to alcohol. That's the reason for my optimism regarding smoking. Not one more. Done. Finished.
There remains the issue of vaping. The advantage of using vaping as a stop smoking aid is that it has proven to be a good substitute. I had reached a roadblock in that I just couldn't get through a work day and the breaks without having a smoke. Vaping got me beyond that. The encouraging thing is that I've been able to reduce the nicotine content of the vaping without issue. You can actually get the vapor juice with nicotine levels of 36, 24, 18, 12, 6, and 0. My strategy has been to settle in at one level until I'm very satisfied, and then to reduce to the next level. In the end, it will get to the point at which I'm not getting any nicotine, and then it will be just a matter of finally saying "hey, I don't need this pacifier anymore. Then I'll be done.
This whole issue of chemical addiction is an interesting one to experience. One observation that has come to me is that it is the body's ability to adapt to the presence of chemicals in the system that makes breaking free so difficult. The point being that once the body adapts to a certain chemical, be it alcohol, or nicotine, or other drugs, there is a negative reaction that comes from cessation. Withdrawal. For those of you who have never been addicted, just understand this. The problem is the withdrawal. It's not that a smoker can just put down the tobacco and feel as good as a non-smoker. During withdrawal one feels terrible, quite frankly. That's why we continue.
I'm told that smoking is one of the most difficult addictions to break. I believe that. It's been a greater struggle than drinking, by far. In my case all that was required to stop drinking was a recognition that it had truly become a problem. Well that and the recognition that one more day drinking might have been the end of my life. . . With drinking, once I recognized that I'd hit rock bottom I recognized that this was not something I could wait until 'tomorrow' to address. It had to happen now. Smoking is different. Unless one is diagnosed with lung cancer, for example, one always believes that one doesn't have to stop today, you can always do it tomorrow. And even if one has a diagnosis of lung cancer or other such smoking related diseases there is a sense that the damage has already been done. I can have another cigarette. I'll quit tomorrow.
I grew up in the context of the religious pietism of my scandinavian family. Though some of that pietism was subsiding by that time, there still was a sense that smoking, drinking, gambling, (and dancing!) etc., were sinful. To this day, there is an anti-pietist tendency in the church that scoffs at the old notion of the sinfulness of these things.
I'm either becoming a pietist in my old age, or at least recognizing that those old timers understood something significant. After having fought the battle of addiction I'm more convinced than ever of the sinfulness of these addictions. There is a point at which one crosses the line. One can drink alcohol in a healthy manner and I'm not suggesting such consumption is a sin. But for some of us, addiction happens. Why, I'm not sure we know. But it happens. Same with other drugs like nicotine. I've also been addicted to Ativan.
The thing about addiction is that you can talk all you want about loving the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, but it is another god that controls one's behaviors. One's entire life is structured around the addictive behavior. Provisions are made to insure that one never faces withdrawal. No sacrifice is too great. Family, jobs, and even one's own life are all sacrificed at the altar of the addiction. If that's not a definition of a god, I don't know what is.
Part of what I'm saying is that I recognize now the importance of a deep repentance in the process of breaking free. This is not just about coughing less. This is about 'having no other gods before me'.
Sunday, November 25, 2018
Toy Trains and healing
It's the second set I've made, the first was for the son of a friend. That first venture into toy making was significant from a therapeutic standpoint. I had just gotten out of chemical dependency treatment, had time on my hands as the church wanted me to take some time off before resuming my duties, and the train set gave me something to do. Choo choo.
Therapeutic it was.
Thinking back, I think one of the most therapeutic things about it is it gave me a vision of life in retirement, and most importantly that I could do meaningful things that were not part of a manic quest to save the world. But as the print from Lutherhaven says, what mattered was that in one small way, I was important in the life of a child.
Grandiose visions. Dreamer of Dreams. One with an insatiable appetite to go where no man has ever gone before (or at least to make the effort! Often I found that my quests to invent the wheel may have been successful, but that others had in fact done it before!) This was the manic side of my life that gave me a purpose and meaning.
Jasper has been good therapy.
That's Jasper signing "I love you." Or if you look closely at the placement of his thumbs "You rock!". I like both. With my work schedule, Jasper is one of my few 'recreational activities' and I'm deeply grateful that each week I get to spend some time with him.
As I look forward to retirement, or at least winding down my professional career and the tempered expectations come from that, it is tempting to think that my greatest contributions to life have already been made. There are no new Luther Parks on the horizon.
But then there is this reminder, a very important reminder. In the years ahead I have the opportunity to make a life transforming difference in the life of Jasper and whatever other grandchildren we might have. One's life is never without a purpose. Not as long as you are capable of loving and caring for those God has placed in your life.
So choo choo. Hard to measure the impact of a toy train versus a senior housing project. One cost 15 million. The other, priceless.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
Catch 22, Chapter 2
Back in 2015 I wrote about the 'Catch 22' of seeking disability benefits:
""You mean there's a catch?"
"Sure there's a catch", Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."
There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. ("Catch-22 (logic), Wikipedia)
I love that. Twisted logic. It's fun until you are faced with it.
As I look at appealing the insurance carrier's denial of my disability benefits I was reminded of the "Catch-22" that is often at play.
If someone has a mental illness that results in a disability then they are entitled to disability benefits. If denied, they have the right to appeal the decision. However, if they are capable of appealing the decision they demonstrate that they are not disabled. Catch-22.
Or to put it differently, appealing the decision of the insurance company to deny disability is an overwhelming task. The more disabled, the more overwhelming the thought of formulating an appeal. Hence, the least likely to be able to appeal the decision are the one's who most need it to be overturned. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
There is another, more troubling Catch 22 -- or perhaps it would be Catch 23. It relates to receiving treatment as a mentally ill person.
This is the thing. Treatment is available to those who need it. All one has to do is ask. However, if one is psychotic and unable to maintain a firm grasp on reality and recognize one's need for mental health care, you won't ask. Hence those who need mental health intervention don't receive it because they are not sane enough to recognize their need for it and request it or consent to it.
The young person I've been concerned about has been in and out of the hospital this last week. The psychotic behaviors continue, in fact appear to be escalating. But the treatment offered was not desired. The only diagnosis so far has been psychosis, which is a symptom, not a disease. One hopes that additional help will be forthcoming, but its effectiveness will depend on the person's willingness to participate and ability to see the need.
The thing about psychosis is it is very real to the person experiencing it. Their reality is reality. Perhaps the only one they know. It's very hard to reason with a person that has lost their grip on reality. And yet you know that anyone who is mentally ill, and subsequently treated to the point of becoming healthy, will be deeply grateful for having received the treatment. Its just that when they need it they can't see it.
In the case of this individual that I'm concerned about, the primary criteria for involuntary treatment is that they must exhibit behaviors that put themselves or others at risk. Simply being in another reality is not to be homicidal or suicidal. They may have lost all contact with reality but-- they appear harmless, so the disease goes on untreated.
We've got a long way to go with mental health care. One size doesn't fit all. It is good to respect the rights of the mentally ill. Yet it is necessary to get them the treatment they need. Psychotic people are not competent to make that decision on their own.
Their wellbeing might be dependent on the courts recognizing this.
In the meantime we hope and pray.
""You mean there's a catch?"
"Sure there's a catch", Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."
There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. ("Catch-22 (logic), Wikipedia)
I love that. Twisted logic. It's fun until you are faced with it.
As I look at appealing the insurance carrier's denial of my disability benefits I was reminded of the "Catch-22" that is often at play.
If someone has a mental illness that results in a disability then they are entitled to disability benefits. If denied, they have the right to appeal the decision. However, if they are capable of appealing the decision they demonstrate that they are not disabled. Catch-22.
Or to put it differently, appealing the decision of the insurance company to deny disability is an overwhelming task. The more disabled, the more overwhelming the thought of formulating an appeal. Hence, the least likely to be able to appeal the decision are the one's who most need it to be overturned. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
There is another, more troubling Catch 22 -- or perhaps it would be Catch 23. It relates to receiving treatment as a mentally ill person.
This is the thing. Treatment is available to those who need it. All one has to do is ask. However, if one is psychotic and unable to maintain a firm grasp on reality and recognize one's need for mental health care, you won't ask. Hence those who need mental health intervention don't receive it because they are not sane enough to recognize their need for it and request it or consent to it.
The young person I've been concerned about has been in and out of the hospital this last week. The psychotic behaviors continue, in fact appear to be escalating. But the treatment offered was not desired. The only diagnosis so far has been psychosis, which is a symptom, not a disease. One hopes that additional help will be forthcoming, but its effectiveness will depend on the person's willingness to participate and ability to see the need.
The thing about psychosis is it is very real to the person experiencing it. Their reality is reality. Perhaps the only one they know. It's very hard to reason with a person that has lost their grip on reality. And yet you know that anyone who is mentally ill, and subsequently treated to the point of becoming healthy, will be deeply grateful for having received the treatment. Its just that when they need it they can't see it.
In the case of this individual that I'm concerned about, the primary criteria for involuntary treatment is that they must exhibit behaviors that put themselves or others at risk. Simply being in another reality is not to be homicidal or suicidal. They may have lost all contact with reality but-- they appear harmless, so the disease goes on untreated.
We've got a long way to go with mental health care. One size doesn't fit all. It is good to respect the rights of the mentally ill. Yet it is necessary to get them the treatment they need. Psychotic people are not competent to make that decision on their own.
Their wellbeing might be dependent on the courts recognizing this.
In the meantime we hope and pray.
Sunday, November 4, 2018
A Lament
Why, Oh Lord? Why?
When one's life is already mostly lived a diagnosis of mental illness is not welcome, but at the same time, not so overwhelming.
But for one whose life is still yet to come such a diagnosis is a burden that will be carried so long. Why, Oh Lord?
Yet, there is also hope that rather than muddling through life without the help available, such a young person, armed with a diagnosis and empowered with a proper treatment plan will be able to reclaim the potential of their life. The chemical malfunctions of psychiatric disorders can be addressed, and alleviated. And yet, such a diagnosis early in life carries with it the burden of a lifetime adjustment, not to mention the expense of a lifetime on medications.
The tragedy of such an early diagnosis is that at a stage in life when identity is being formed, a diagnosis will take center stage. Bipolar, OCD, Schizophrenic, paranoid, depressed, whatever-- these are not the pillars around which one wants to establish their identity. It's different when one has already established that identity and is firmly grounded. Such a diagnosis later in life is difficult, but it is easier to maintain an identity independent of the disease. When one is young and just coming to terms with the 'who' of who they are, such a label carries a louder voice.
It presents other challenges. That quest to find a lifetime partner just became even more challenging. "Hi, I'm Jane, an Aquarius, I love the beach, and dogs, and have a passion for music and dance. I'm also a paranoid schizophrenic. Would you like to hang out and have a cup of coffee?" In selecting a mate, some will not have a problem with one who is mentally ill. But if we are honest, many will have a problem with that. It's like drug addiction. Many marriages have survived chemical dependency and the subsequent treatment but, given the choice, would you prefer to be with one who will face those challenges or one who is healthy?
Back to the matter of identity. Establishing an identity, one's personhood, is such an integral part of adolescence and young adulthood.. Now there is the disease that is part of that. But there is more. Medication and its affects. Is the person I am today really me? To what extent are my experiences now attributed to a medication as opposed to my true self?
Is a thought I have my own? Or is it a symptom of a disease? Or is it skewed by medication? Have the medications resulted in my now reconnecting with my true being? Or have they created an alternative reality with which I now must live? Who am I? Can I even claim my own thoughts?
Thief! Demon! Who gave you the right to take up residence in my soul? Was it God? Or heredity? Or simply being the wrong place at the wrong time? What opportunity did you seize Satan? Be gone. And whatever happened to the exorcists that we desperately need in the face of these demons?
And vocation. Choices are now limited. OCD in small doses makes for good doctors and nurses. But when the paralysis rooted in fear prevents one from acting, not so much.
Life goes on. There is a lot of life left to live. And with diligence, treatment can be successful. Opportunities may open up again. It is not over. Don't punctuate the end of the sentence just yet. Let the diagnosis be at best, a comma. Not a period.
Why are they doing this to me, Oh God. Why are you allowing this to happen? Do you even exist?
A roomate, diagnosed with schizophrenia, once observed that there are a high proportion of schizophrenics that are atheist. It's hard to believe in a God who simply flunked chemistry.
Or we can believe and bring our lament to the Lord. We can plead our case before the almighty and hope for grace in the time of our need. And strain to see light at the end of the tunnel.
Such is the plight of the mentally ill, especially those who are so young. God be with them.
When one's life is already mostly lived a diagnosis of mental illness is not welcome, but at the same time, not so overwhelming.
But for one whose life is still yet to come such a diagnosis is a burden that will be carried so long. Why, Oh Lord?
Yet, there is also hope that rather than muddling through life without the help available, such a young person, armed with a diagnosis and empowered with a proper treatment plan will be able to reclaim the potential of their life. The chemical malfunctions of psychiatric disorders can be addressed, and alleviated. And yet, such a diagnosis early in life carries with it the burden of a lifetime adjustment, not to mention the expense of a lifetime on medications.
The tragedy of such an early diagnosis is that at a stage in life when identity is being formed, a diagnosis will take center stage. Bipolar, OCD, Schizophrenic, paranoid, depressed, whatever-- these are not the pillars around which one wants to establish their identity. It's different when one has already established that identity and is firmly grounded. Such a diagnosis later in life is difficult, but it is easier to maintain an identity independent of the disease. When one is young and just coming to terms with the 'who' of who they are, such a label carries a louder voice.
It presents other challenges. That quest to find a lifetime partner just became even more challenging. "Hi, I'm Jane, an Aquarius, I love the beach, and dogs, and have a passion for music and dance. I'm also a paranoid schizophrenic. Would you like to hang out and have a cup of coffee?" In selecting a mate, some will not have a problem with one who is mentally ill. But if we are honest, many will have a problem with that. It's like drug addiction. Many marriages have survived chemical dependency and the subsequent treatment but, given the choice, would you prefer to be with one who will face those challenges or one who is healthy?
Back to the matter of identity. Establishing an identity, one's personhood, is such an integral part of adolescence and young adulthood.. Now there is the disease that is part of that. But there is more. Medication and its affects. Is the person I am today really me? To what extent are my experiences now attributed to a medication as opposed to my true self?
Is a thought I have my own? Or is it a symptom of a disease? Or is it skewed by medication? Have the medications resulted in my now reconnecting with my true being? Or have they created an alternative reality with which I now must live? Who am I? Can I even claim my own thoughts?
Thief! Demon! Who gave you the right to take up residence in my soul? Was it God? Or heredity? Or simply being the wrong place at the wrong time? What opportunity did you seize Satan? Be gone. And whatever happened to the exorcists that we desperately need in the face of these demons?
And vocation. Choices are now limited. OCD in small doses makes for good doctors and nurses. But when the paralysis rooted in fear prevents one from acting, not so much.
Life goes on. There is a lot of life left to live. And with diligence, treatment can be successful. Opportunities may open up again. It is not over. Don't punctuate the end of the sentence just yet. Let the diagnosis be at best, a comma. Not a period.
Why are they doing this to me, Oh God. Why are you allowing this to happen? Do you even exist?
A roomate, diagnosed with schizophrenia, once observed that there are a high proportion of schizophrenics that are atheist. It's hard to believe in a God who simply flunked chemistry.
Or we can believe and bring our lament to the Lord. We can plead our case before the almighty and hope for grace in the time of our need. And strain to see light at the end of the tunnel.
Such is the plight of the mentally ill, especially those who are so young. God be with them.
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