Strange and lonely times

It’s been a strange couple of weeks. I’ve been living on the moon; at least that’s what it felt like. Silent, moving imperceptibly through deep space, with planet earth a distant shrouded globe. (OK, so I’m exaggerating a little.)

We’ve both been facing physical issues, Hal recovering from hernia surgery and putting cold packs on his rebellious neck. Me spinning through our two-room apartment while standing still. We were quite a pair.

With little desire to chat with other people, we kept to our apartment. Isolation is the word. You’d think without the distraction of people or meetings I’d have lots of time to pray or write, which are supposed to be my priorities. And I did—have the time. But I failed at using it in any kind of creative endeavor. I read some good books (and some not-so-good ones), watched some entertaining movies, took naps, and tried to reason myself out of feeling guilty for all of the above.

We broke our people-fast yesterday. It was necessary as I had a face-to-face doctor's appointment in Portland that I really wanted to keep. I needed Hal to drive as one of my irrational phobias is a sense of panic at the thought of driving in a big city (similar to ophidiophobia—fear of snakes; I don’t think the Greeks had a name for fear of city traffic). Thanks to God, Hal woke up feeling good and able to drive.

I really wanted to keep this appointment because I really wanted to meet my doctor.

I became Dr. Preston’s patient in 2020 at the beginning of the pandemic, and we’ve been meeting every few months ever since—all by Zoom.

Dr. Preston threw me a rope of hope back during our first Zoom meeting. It followed four years of trying to figure out what was wrong with me, taking a battery of high-powered tests, meeting with six specialists, and finally having my primary care physician tell me, “Sorry. We don’t know what’s wrong with you. There’s nothing more we can do.”

A recommendation led me to Dr. Juliette Preston, a neurologist at a research hospital and head of their Headache Clinic. In that first meeting, having read the results of all the tests and hearing me talk about it, she diagnosed my condition as vestibular migraines. Just having a name for the Thing was huge. Having a doctor who believed me was even more huge. We’ve been meeting since, experimenting with vitamin therapy and medications, both of which are giving scant results so far, but hope is strong.

I was not disappointed by our face-to-face visit. This doctor is a warm, caring person, and being in the same room made it real. She is also a brilliant research physician, part of a team searching for answers. Hal and I returned home renewed in spirit and decided to eat in the communal dining room where we had a good conversation with a couple who had just moved into the retirement community.

It feels like our time of isolation might be over.

I have a meeting this morning and while I don’t particularly enjoy committee meetings, I like the people in the group, so I’m actually looking forward to it. And tomorrow a friend and I are going on a mini-vacation, a few nights in a motel facing the Columbia River. We plan to do nothing but nest, look out the window, go out to eat, and probably have some good conversation. It’s refreshing to have something to look forward to.

Reflecting back, I can see that times of solitude are sometimes necessary. And sometimes we find ourselves experiencing an isolation that’s not necessary or good. (We were edging toward that place last week.) But whatever the case, relationships are always necessary. As Barbra Streisand sang, we’re “people who need people.”

I need periods of quiet every day. That’s my personality and it’s necessary for me to be creative in prayer or writing. But if I’m not in active face-to-face relationships, isolation is sterile. Uncreative. I need the rhythm of quiet and engagement.

I think of people, many of them here in the retirement center, who are isolated through no choice of their own, people with health issues, or people who shy away from social engagements. Sometimes and in some seasons, I’m tempted to close myself in my apartment. But I have a choice.

How can I encourage my sisters and brothers without being a pest? How can I be a better friend?

I need to keep reflecting, which I’ll do in quiet. And then do something, which will be out in the neighborhood.