the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Health (Page 4 of 7)

Do You Do Yoga?

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With Sophia’s surgery coming up, I’m trying to not make the mistakes of the past, where I get more anxious than Sophia, and I’m the one who feels like fainting in the hospital.  I don’t think I breathe properly, especially when I’m nervous.  I also have a deviated septum, so I tend to breathe through my mouth, which I’ve read is NOT the best way to breathe.

I remember reading an article about some sort of yoga that deals specifically with breathing.   Do any of you do yoga?  What does it do for you?  I really know very little about yoga, which should be a surprise to you, since there are as many yoga studios as fish taco stands in Redondo Beach.  I’m most interested in the breathing aspect of it, rather than the ability to flex myself like a pretzel.   They do yoga at the gym, but it seems less focused on breathing than exercise.   I’m also a little turned off by the pseudo-religious aspects of places like the Rising Lotus Yoga Studio:

Come join us for an evening of ecstatic chanting. No singing experience needed, only a willingness to open your heart (and your mouth) to the blissflul flow. Kirtan (from the sanskrit word for singing) is easily learned and instantly memorable. The form is simple: a lead group calls out the melodies. The crowd responds. Sanskrit, the language of ancient India, is also the mother tongue of many modern languages. But the true meaning of its sounds are in the effect they create. As everyone’s breathing becomes synchronous, a feeling of unity and timelessness arises. When we sing without restraint our heartfelt expression brings peace and joy and meditation follow effortlessly.

Am I being too judgemental?  If we’re going to be singing songs to relax, why do we have to do it in Sanskrit?  If we’re going to use some obscure language, why not Yiddish? 

And most importantly, through yoga, can I really perfect my tantric lovemaking like Sting?

I’ll probably wimp out about going to yoga, but I’m still curious about YOUR experiences, and what type of yoga you most recommend. 

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Fat People

Lillies of the Valley

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A few days ago, Javacurls left this comment on a post about Sophia:

Oh Neil, I’m so sorry to hear about Sophia. I will keep you both in my prayers.

Sophia: On May 1st, Lily of the Valley flowers are sold on the streets of France & Belgium as part of the May Day celebration.   Friends & family give each other Lily of the Valley flowers as they are believed to bring good luck throughout the year.  So tomorrow I’ll purchase a bunch in your name in hopes that it will bring you lots of luck & hope. Hang in there.

The next day, Javacurls sent Sophia this email:

Hi Sophia,

I hope all the well wishes have brightened your day. Like I promised (per Neil’s comments) here are the Lily of the Valley flowers I’m virtually sending you so they may bring you the good luck that the French & Belgians believe they bring each year.

Take care,
Javacurls

Sophia LOVES flowers.   Sophia’s email back to Javacurls:

Dear Javacurls,
 
This was so fantastic and really cheered me up!  I never see those flowers in the States, and I wasn’t familiar with a flower with this name, but when I was a little girl in Odessa, I remember my mother loving this song about a guy bringing his girlfriend Lily of The Valley flowers, and not red roses or carnations (it’s called LAHN-dishi in Russian) and that the flowers are a greeting from the warm month of May.  So, when I saw your picture, I immediately knew what it was.
 
Thank you so much, and as you can see — I made it into my desktop theme, so I can look at them all the time.
 
Sophia

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Sophia then spent an hour searching for this song on the internet.   Sophia’s email to Javacurls:

Dear Javacurls,
 
See?  …you inspired me, so I went on Google and started searching for Russian Retro songs, and I found that old song my mom loved, when she was young.   I am attaching it for you.   Here’s the mp3.   It must be from the late fifties or early sixties, I think.
 
And just for your wonderful gesture, I translated the entire song (very roughly) for you:

What you brought me today, wasn’t a bouquet of magnificent roses,
Or tulips, or calla lilies.
Very timidly you extended your hand with these very modest flowers,
But they are so charming.
 
They are Lilies of the Valley,
They are Lilies of the Valley,
As if bright May is sending its regards.
They are Lilies of the Valley,
A white bouquet
 
Even though their outfit isn’t extravagant,
Their aroma is so gentle and tender;
They embody the charm of spring,
Like a song without words,
Like a first love,
Like a first confession of feelings
 
They are Lilies of the Valley,
They are Lilies of the Valley,
As if bright May is sending its regards.
They are Lilies of the Valley,
A white bouquet
 
I don’t believe that time dissipates feelings.
I have another opinion:
I believe that every year
Even when many years pass,
Come Spring, You’ll give me:
 
Lilies of the Valley,
Lilies of the Valley,
As if bright May is sending its regards.
They are Lilies of the Valley,
A white bouquet

Ты сегодня мне принёс
Не букет из пышных роз,
Не тюльпаны и не лилии.
Протянул мне робко ты
Очень скромные цветы,
Но они такие милые.

Припев:
Ландыши, ландыши –
Светлого мая привет.
Ландыши, ландыши –
Белый букет.

Пусть неярок их наряд,
Но так нежен аромат;
В них весны очарование.
Словно песенка без слов,
Словно первая любовь,
Словно первое признание.

Я не верю, что года
Гасят чувства иногда.
У меня другое мнение:
Верю, будешь каждый год,
Пусть хоть много лет пройдёт,
Ты дарить мне в дни весенние.

Yours, Sophia

Where’s ICU?

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Thank you for your emails and comments about Fanya, Sophia’s mother.  She is doing better, and was released from the hospital tonight.  

Fanya’s room was located in the Saperstein Critical Care Tower, which was opened last year after entrepreneur and philanthropist David Saperstein and his wife Suzanne made the largest donation to Cedars-Sinai in the Medical Center’s history.

“The Sapersteins have accepted a crucial role in the reinvention of our campus by providing us with the means to build a state-of-the-art critical care tower,” said [hospital President and CEO Thomas M. Priselac when he received the donation]. “The Suzanne and David Saperstein Critical Care Tower will combine the latest monitoring technology with staffing to provide the most fragile patients with the most sophisticated care available.”

The Saperstein Critical Care Tower is clearly important for Los Angeles.

Annual hospital admissions countywide are up 20 percent in the past 10 years and seven hospitals have closed since 2003, according to a new report funded by The California Endowment.  West L.A. hospitals have been hard pressed to keep pace with demand, particularly institutions like Cedars that draw patients from a wider area. Population growth, on top of an aging demographic more likely to become seriously ill, have only exacerbated the situation, said  Dr. Paul Silka, [medical chief of staff], noting that Cedars often has long waiting lists to schedule elective surgery.

While Cedars-Sinai Medical Center clearly has top-notch doctors and medical equipment, I was not impressed with the human aspect of the patient care.   For example, why did no one come out to tell us how the surgery went?  Why did no one tell us that Fanya was taken back to ICU half an hour earlier?  Why were nurses laughing loudly with each other all night, waking up the patients in INTENSIVE CARE?   Or why was Fanya not fed for fourteen hours?  Even though the doctor gave the order to give her food, the nurse forgot to inform the nutrition department.  It took Sophia three and a half hours of fighting with everyone to get Fanya some food after her angioplasty.  Is this the bad effect of “Grey’s Anatomy,” where the personal lives of the staff are more important than those of the sick people?  Like in many other big-city hospitals, the basic concerns of the patient and his family seem to be of secondary consideration.   

Nothing symbolizes this better than the Saperstein Critical Care Tower itself.  As you can see from the above photo, the $110 million dollar facility may be “state-of-the-art,” but someone forgot to put up a sign telling patients and their families which building it is and WHERE THE ENTRANCE IS LOCATED.

What’s Up, Cedars-Sinai?

It’s been hectic.   My mother came to town.  We prepared for the first seder. I fought a cold.  My mother cooked a wonderful brisket, matzoh ball soup, kugel, etc.  We went over to the home of Fanya and Vartan, Sophia’s mother and step-father.   After the meal, Fanya had pains in her heart.   It was hurting her so much, that we called 911.   An ambulance came and she he was brought to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center’s emergency room.  We sat in the waiting room for hours.  Tomorrow, Fanya is going to get an angioplasty on her heart and liver.   Wish her good luck!

Now for some bitching about the hospital:

Cedars-Sinai is a world-famous hospital.  Its proximity to Beverly Hills has made it famous as the “hospital for the stars.”  This is where Hollywood celebrities have their babies.   Frank Sinatra died at Cedars-Sinai.  Movie producers have their names on hospital wings.  So, why do Sophia’s parents always get poor service at Cedars-Sinai Hospital?  

Because of the language barrier.   

They are an older couple who can only speak Russian.  Now, I’m all for immigrants learning English, but after a certain age, it is just too difficult a task.  Sophia often works in court as an interpreter, where every defendant who needs it is guaranteed BY LAW to have a language interpreter, and from what I understand, it is the same with every hospital patient.   Cedars-Sinai says that they have interpreters on staff.  So, why are so rarely used?

I was sitting in Fanya’s ICU hospital room this morning.  Sophia left to get some paperwork for her mom.  I noticed that the reading on the EKG monitor was at zero.  I told this to the nurse, a grouchy woman who looked like she came from another country herself. 

“Don’t move your right arm!” she told Fanya.  “It makes the monitor shut off.”

“She doesn’t understand what you are saying,” I said.  “She doesn’t speak English.”

“NO ARM UP!” the nurse yelled at Fanya, lying there with tubes stuck inside her arms, as if that was going to solve the problem.

“Don’t you have a Russian interpreter on call or on the phone?” I asked.

“She’s not here now.  Don’t you know Russian?”

“No, and I don’t think it is my job to be translating for the hospital.  When will there be a interpreter?”

“Let me go see.”

She left and I never saw her again.

The entire day has been one mistake after another.   Fanya is a slight woman.  She had lost 25 pounds in the last 6 months.  She was put on a restricted calorie diet!  The staff didn’t bring Fanya any food until 3:30 PM because they “thought” there was an order not to give her food.  Then she never got dinner.  After Sophia spoke to 5 people, they eventually brought her, a diabetic, four juices and Melba toast with cheese, at 10 PM. They gave her pills for diabetes with orange juice!   This is just poor medicine, but had Fanya been able to communicate – she would have been able to point their mistakes out, before they made her drink sugary juice with a pill to lower her blood sugar!  It is scary enough to be in a hospital.  It must be terrifying for a patient to be there and not understand the language of the staff, and Sophia can’t be there 24 hours a day.    Sophia told the nurses they can call her anytime to help with the Russian, but no one ever called.  God help the person who has to go into the hospital without having a family or friends to speak up for her!

When Fanya first came to the hospital, a male nurse was trying to figure out what was wrong with another Russian patient, a disheveled elderly man who was sobbing.   The nurse was poking the man in different places on his shoulder trying to figure out what pained him.

“Baleet?  Baleet?” the male nurse asked, using the only Russian word he knew, meaning “pain.”

Eventually, Sophia asked if she could help.   She spoke to the guy in Russian and learned that he wasn’t in physical pain, but emotional pain.  His grandson had just died, so he drank himself into a stupor, and his family didn’t know what to do with him, so they drove him at the hospital.  With three Russian families in the emergency room, wouldn’t it make sense to have an interpreter readily available?

Cedars-Sinai built a a major new building last year.  It cost millions of dollars.  The medical center has the best equipment, which must cost a fortune.   But would it really cost that much more to have a few more interpreters?   The hospital doesn’t need to have an interpreter for every language on duty 24/7, but Cedars-Sinai is smack in the middle of the major Russian and Persian communities of West Hollywood and Beverly Hills.  Many of these are elderly people who don’t speak the English, and they end up getting less than mediocre medical care in a supposedly top-notch hospital.  There are Spanish interpreters in most city hospitals.  There are Korean-speaking interpreters in mid-city hospitals.   Why is Cedars-Sinai so stingy with their interpreters?  Have a donor put his name on the interpreters’ uniforms if it would help get more money!

I know Cedars-Sinai would rather be known as the “hospital of the stars” and promote all the A-list actors who go there after drug rehab.    I understand that UCLA Medical Center is stealing some of the “celebrity cache” from Cedars since it is located in the less immigrant friendly, more upscale Westside (oh no, Britney had her baby there!).  The truth is Cedars-Sinai is now more of a “city hospital,” which means catering to the immigrant community.  Sure, it must be an annoyance for the busy, overworked staff to deal with foreign-speaking patients (unless, of course, the patient is a member of some Royal family),  but shouldn’t effective communication be an essential part of medical care?

Update:  Fanya is doing better.  More complaining about Cedars.

Mama’s Boy

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Dear Mom,

I think it’s great that you coming to visit on Wednesday.  I know you think you’re coming for Passover, but before we have any seder, we have one with little matter to discuss —

You see, on Friday, I went to my very first therapy session.   The doctor seemed like a nice enough guy, although all his Peruvian and Asian vases gave off a pretentious vibe.  I would have felt more at ease chatting with him if his office was decorated like a Denny’s coffee shop. 

The doctor asked me several questions while reading from a little red book and making notes on his computer.

“Do you ever feel anxious?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Do you wake up in the middle of the night, feeling anxious?”

“No.”

“Do you ever wake up wanting to harm yourself?”

“No.   Uh, unless you’re using that as a euphemism for “playing with yourself?””

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Just joking.”

“Do you feel depressed?”

“Right now?”

“No.  In general.”

“Not really.”

“Do you sometimes not want to get out of bed in the morning?”

“That’s depression?!  I thought that was normal?”

After forty five minutes, he told me that I should see someone else, mostly because he was a psychiatrist who dealt primarily in medications, while what I really needed was THERAPY.  And, yes, he did say “really needed.”  He offered me some Prozac and said I should look for a good cognitive behaviorist therapist.

“So, no Thai massage therapists?” I asked.

“No.”

Therapy = not funny. 

Oh, and what does he think is wrong with me?   Well, he didn’t give me a definitive diagnosis, but he thinks I have a “dependent personality structure,” or as Sophia immediately called it – Mama’s Boy Ailment (M.B.A.)

In other words, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, MOM!

So, Mom, I thought of buying the Streit’s matzo for the seder before you show up, but it just tastes so much better when YOU buy it.   See you soon…

P.S. — 

Sophia’s funny tagline of the day:

“Finally, I got a husband with an M.B.A!”

A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month:  The Racist Cabbie

Who Needs Therapy….

…when you have the internet.   Here’s a very simple screening for personality disorders from NYU Department of Psychiatry.  Just a little fun for you on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.

Apparently, after taking the test, I learned I have an “avoidant personality disorder.” 

I also had a very clever idea.  I think I’ve finally found a way to organize my blogroll — by personality disorders!

Also, please buy one of the t-shirts or coffee mugs I now sell on Cafepress — “I’m Proud to be Avoidant!.”

Now, I’m going back to sleep so I don’t have to deal with anything. 

Saturday Therapy #3

I always seem to get in trouble when I write about issues involving therapy. No one ever complains when I write about religion, but people always do about therapy topics (which tells me what America’s one true religion really is) . I once got angry emails when I wrote that “half of my readers seem to have bipolar disorder.” Today, after writing my second post, I received a not-very-happy email about my insincerity concerning my looking for a therapist.  I’m very glad I received this email.  I certainly don’t like to hurt anybody’s feelings, especially someone who seemed to care for my well-being.  I sometimes forget that you actually care about my life, which should be obvious to me, since I care about your lives all the time.  

The truth: the first post was 50% true. I did contact a therapist who already had her fill of patients with my insurance, and she wasn’t taking any new ones. The second tale was a complete fantasy.

It is also true that I have been “dragging my feet” about therapy. But I am taking it seriously. Maybe too seriously. That’s why I don’t want to do it, and I appreciate everyone’s advice.

I do find the idea of therapy funny. I’m not talking about mental health issues for drug addicts and abused wives. That is not funny. At least most of the time. I’m talking about typical existential issues. They can be funny. So, hopefully, I will continue to make fun of therapy and myself. However, I will be more aware of how important mental health issues are to many of you, particularly to all of my crazy readers that have bipolar disorder.

Baby Steps

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A few of you emailed me recently asking me how my therapy was going.  I was embarrassed to reveal that I was still dragging my feet about the whole thing.  I’m not sure what was holding me back.   Fear?  Anxiety?  Talking about my marriage?  SPENDING MONEY to talk with someone, when I can just talk to you FOR FREE?

Today, I decided it was time to act.  It was time to contact a therapist.   A blogger/friend recommended someone in West LA.  I emailed this therapist.  I told her a bit about my issues, such as my fear of rejection.

Tonight, I received an email back from her, saying she was too busy to see me and was rejecting me as a client.

Now with added clarification:  50% true!

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Be of Good Cheer

Cold Medicine

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My mother flew back to New York today.  Thanks, Mom, nice having you.  We’ll make the Getty Center next time!

But, to be honest, it was nice to have her go.  I looked forward to some quiet time.   Of course, the gods had other plans for my life.  Sophia woke up today with a cold (second time in two months, poor thing!).   She had to work this morning, which only made her worse.  In the afternoon, I was about to go out and buy her some cold medicine when she told me to wait.   Sophia is a born researcher and didn’t just want any old cold medicine.  She researched online to learn what others think is the BEST cold medicine du jour.  So, here’s the lowdown — in 2007, Tylenol Cold and Benedryl are as “out” as Michael Richards once-flourishing television career.  The new headliners are Tavist D and Drixoral. 

OK, good enough.  Off I went to Vons, my local supermarket.    How do people ever choose a cold medicine?  There are literally a 100 different brands in different packaging — 12 hour, 24 hour, caplets, liquids, maximum strength, cold and allergy, cold alone, etc…  Strangely, Vons had every cold medicine under the sun, except for the two brands I wanted. 

I drove over to CVS Pharmacy.  They had an even bigger selection of products, but NOT Tavist D or Drixoral.   It seemed as if these medicines were selling out as fast as that Elmo toy at Christmas.

I went to Walgreen’s.  I could not believe it.  They DIDN’T have it either.  Surely, something was amiss.  I waited in line to “consult” with the pharmacist.  In Walgreen’s commercials, the pharmacist is always a friendly older man who looks like he would come to your house and make you some chicken soup you if he had the chance.   This pharmacist was a mean-looking young Filipino woman.

“I’ve been looking all over for Tavist D or Drixoral, but I can’t seem to find it.” I said.  “Is there a substitute I can use?”

“We do have them.”

“Where?” 

“At the counter.” she snarled.

“Here?”

“No, BEHIND THE FRONT COUNTER!  California law!”

I called Sophia, who made fun of me.  Apparently it was a big news story last year.  Tavist D, Drixoral, and several other cold remedies contain Pseudoephedrine, and drug users were using these pills to get high.  Now pharmacies keep them behind the front counter.

“I don’t remember this news story.” I said to Sophia.

“You were probably too busy blogging at the time.” she answered.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   At Least She Got an Umbrella 
 

A Pro-Snarky Counterpoint to My Last Post

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Philip Mirvis, Cynicism Researcher

As a counterpoint to the last post, I include this, also from this month’s Psychology Today:

“Though cynicism may not be healthy in the long run, it can serve as an emotional coat of armor tht blunts everday indignities.  Philip Mirvis, a cynicism researcher at Boston College, says cynics’ caustic, detached outlook on life, also known as defensive pessimism, helps “protect them from what they imagine to be the slings and arrows of hustlers and higher-ups.”  If they assume from the outset that a client can’t be trusted, or that a new mother-in-law will be a witch, they’ll be well-prepared in the event these fears come true.  Casting a cynical eye on situations you can’t control reduces your emotional attachment to a particular outcome actually lowers your vulnerability to depression.”

“Unfortunately, too much time studying cynicism can also cause male pattern baldness.” says cynicism researcher Philip Mirvis.

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