Last weekend I met my parents out in Phoenix.  We were to go to a dear family friends’ memorial service.  Not the happiest of reasons to go, but good to see old friends and where we all used to live.  BabyD and I made the trek across the 6+ hours of arid landscape.  I do love the austere beauty of the desert, so it was nice to reconnect with the sparseness of it all.  Baby was a great travelling companion.  Little, compact, mighty.  Feed the snackazilla and give him a book, the little dude is happy.  I’d be singing to The Beatles, Go-Go’s, or The Shins and look back over my shoulder and he’s bobbing his head right along.  That certainly was one really nice piece of the trip, to be able to hang out solo with Baby.  So rarely are we ever alone together.

The Tuesday prior to our trip, my Dad had his first doctor visit in probably 25 years Welcome to Medicare physical exam.  My Dad didn’t even get to ask the doctor the list of questions that my sweet Mom had made up for him.  His blood pressure was so high the nurse practitioner thought he was about to explode.  He had to go to the hospital right away.  A bit strange to my Dad, for sure, since he’s been feeling that way for such a long time.  While my parents were here for Christmas, we expressed our concern for his inability to climb the stairs in our house without being out of breath.  He is just 65.  My brother and I knew something was up.  You couldn’t go through our childhood with that many sodas (Dr. Pepper at 10-2-4 comes to mind), cookies and Miracle Whip sandwiches.  My Dad is old school, grew up in Texas, and even if he ever had health insurance, he probably wouldn’t have gone to the doctors anyway.  Yes, my parents are two in the 37 million Americans without health insurance because they can’t afford it and never worked for companies very long that had coverage.

To make a long story short, Dad had three stints placed in his heart and one artery is completely collapsed.  While I was assured that this is no big deal, practically out-patient surgery (“even President Clinton had this done and look, he’s fine”), I was still a bit shaken up.  I mean, it’s MY Dad.  We’ve had a bumpy road of father and daughter, not the traditional hero worship/Daddy’s little girl affair.  The past has been forgiven and I’ve let go of it, now we’re at a great place of mutual love and respect for each other.  I want this time to endure and build memories from.

Fast forward to the Village Inn (similar to Denny’s) in Apache Junction, AZ.  Mom, Dad, BabyD and I are having breakfast together.  Seeing Dad eat pancakes, eggs and greasy sausages had my heart sink a little.  Let’s not even talk about the cheeseburger and fries consumed the night before.  Killing time before the memorial service we tour my college campus and my old apartment building.  My dorm isn’t even there anymore (it’s been torn down and replaced with fresh, new residential living) and my apartment building is now gated.  Conversations with my parents about old boyfriends, roommates, and drama have me feeling heavy and that this past life in Arizona is so far removed from who I am today.  This jen has come a long way, baby.

I am touched by the turnout at Steve’s memorial, even with the torrential and odd downpour.  This service is for a man that while I was growing up often scared the shit out of me when he yelled at us kids.  As an adult, he was the guy that would flip you the bird, shove his middle finger in your face and say, “Want to see where the scorpion stung me?”  He was a Vietnam Veteran, a father to a dear and lifelong friend, a husband to one of the nicest ladies, and my Dad’s old golf buddy and farkle adversary.  We shared some great time with him and his family while we were young.  Steve died after a year-long battle with cancer.  I looked over to my Dad during the service who was bouncing Baby on his lap.  I see that he has tears welling up in his eyes.  He says to me before the 21 gun salute, “we’re going out front.”  I get it Dad; things are a bit too intense right now for you.  They are for me too.

So fast forward to this week, I feel like the Universe has really been speaking to me.  I’ve been all emotionally clogged, didn’t write all week, and feeling ponderous.  I know that the blahs have been with me too long and I need to move on.  What do I need to learn, see or hear here?

Well, Sicko was ready for me to pick up at the library to view and Oprah (the one time I turned the TV on during the day) did an episode on Food Inc. and Michael Pollen, the author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, was a guest.  The messages from both the movie and television show that I watched really altered my thinking and made a big impact on me.  The first prevailing message was “pay now or pay later.”  You can spend more grocery money and brain power (i.e., conscious thought or in common sense terms “paying attention”) on the food you put in your body and how you care for your life on the front end or you can pay more money and emotional turmoil on the backend when you’re sick, need medication and treatment, and still have to suffer through the medical and insurance systems.  Nutrition, exercise and mindful thinking or health costs, disease and insurance nightmares later?  Don’t care well for yourself on the front end of your life then you’ll suffer on the backend.  How much more plainly should I put it?  Wherever you go, there you are, right?

The second prevailing message is we are a “Me” nation, not a “We” nation.  We’re vastly concerned about how much national health care is going to cost us individually.  We need to be praising the possibility of our parents and children being well cared for.  We need to be affirming our health and the goodness that it is to take care of others (those we know and those we don’t).  Instead, we’re putting our energy on fussing and fighting about it.  That disturbs and saddens me.  We have the opportunity to raise the bar on our humanity. I pray that we make the leap of faith and institute a national healthcare program. If we did then we would save lots of families from worrying about how to pay for their new medications (just like my Mom & Dad).  It’s pretty simple for me at this altitude.

I want to help my Dad through this time; let him know that he can make changes that will extend his life.  I want to create more memories with my Mom & Dad and my family.  I refuse to believe the saying that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  It’s never too late to care – as a father, a daughter, friend or a nation.  Because the Beatles always speak the truth to me, I’ll close with a song.  Cheers!

Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on talking till I can’t go on?
While you see it your way,
Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone.
We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Think of what you’re saying.
You can get it wrong and still you think that it’s all right.
Think of what I’m saying,
We can work it out and get it straight, or say good night.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

I want to give thanks to my girlfriends, Bryn & Tiffany, for the additional support and encouragement this past week.  Also thanks to Mama Kat.  While this isn’t a Whrrl story, it did help motivate me to write it out.  Cheers girls!

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