Monday, August 31, 2015

1400 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 33

July 2015  Setting the scene for 'my definition' of paradise:
Before one can say 'so long' to long faces, it's necessary to say hello to generosity of spirit, which depends upon cultivating attitudes based in positive focus ...

Several weeks ago,  as Angie and I sit down in one of our favorite haunts to enjoy a girls' night out, my dearest female friend seems on edge in my presence, and as this is most unusual, I ask if anything is on her mind; then, before she can respond, I feel intuition kick in, though common sense suggests listening quietly to her reply is the best way to go ...

I need to say something that's going to disappoint you ...
(No surprise, there)  So with intuition offering me an idea of what's coming, next, I respond with a smile:  Angie, whatever you need to say is going to be okay ... I'm not going to feel disappointed.

How could you know that?
I just do ... So out with it, please ...

After hemming and hawing, my friend needs encouragement to relieve her mind of worry—and once she opens up, I find myself nodding in agreement, suggesting intuition had been on target.  You see, I remember that Angie's son, Wade ( her only child), is renting a house on the Jersey shore for two weeks in August, so rather than driving to the coast to enjoy our vacation, together, in the two bedroom/two bath timeshare on the west coast (as had been our tradition for more than a decade), Angie worries over how I'll react upon about learning that she and Mark have decided to fly east to vacation with Wade and their grandkids.

Once my friend's decision is aired, I know my response will relieve Angie's mind, so my hand reaches across the table to take hers while offering this smiling reply:
Angie, weeks ago, you'd mentioned Wade renting a house on the shore, and knowing how much your grand daughters are missed, I figured you and Mark would choose to vacation east rather than west, so though I'd felt a sense of loss to see our traditional time, together, change, my sadness rebalanced with gladness for your gain—most especially because my granddaughter lives less than ten minutes away.  And, I have something to add that will wisk every drop of sadness away—Timing is on our side!

At this, Angie looks puzzled, so I go on:  This year, Steven and Celina are eager to join us in the condo, so I'd needed to say the same to you that you'd dreaded saying to me, and as timing has aligned your stars with mine, we both have reason to rejoice as one cherished tradition ends while, hopefully, another heartfelt tradition begins, and with love working its magic, all around, we can freely embrace this change, which offers our smiles reason to beam, simultaneously, suggesting that both timing and readiness are holding hands, which is not always true.

Needless to say, I didn't actually say all of that to Angie.  Once she knew that timing and readiness for change had granted her heart and mine the freedom to leap upon the same wavelength, self imposed, undeserved guilt stopped running interference with gladness as our revelations doubled our shared sense of delight.  And with that, we took turns relating our plans.

You see, our friendship of thirty-five years has shaped a history in which we've celebrated till dawn, rallied each other toward success or carried each other off battlefields, but one thing we've never done is to let the other down, and as fate has offered us, both, a coveted change at the very same time, I watch Angie's fear of disappointing me evaporate with such spontaneity that her ebullience matches mine as wine glasses klink while we toast to our lasting friendship, which always searches earnestly to simplify emotional complexity, which proves difficult to comprehend, at first.  And having added that detail, concerning lasting friendship simplifying emotional complexity, you can see why my treasured friend and I had more to celebrate than the fact that fate had timed these changes in our favor, simultaneously.

During these two weeks of family togetherness in paradise, all ten of us enjoyed down time in which new clan members were welcomed into our hearts as palm trees swaying in the breeze and cool blue waters mellow out the intense nature of every day life while we relax round a gorgeous pool or frolic at the fair or build sand castles on the beach, and the fact that our peaceful sense of togetherness is heartfelt, all around, inspires smiles to beam as naturally as each bright ray of sunlight causes us to caution each other to slather our bodies with sunscreen while sipping margaritas and umbrella'd PiƱa Coladas (once again, spell check has checked out on me!) through straws.

If you ask how all ten of us are able to swing two weeks in paradise without robbing a bank, I'll fill you in on the details of our magical plan ...

As you may remember, Barry recently purchased a spacious new home for himself, Marie and 'their' two boys, Tony (5) and Ray (4).  Though owning only (?) twelve days at our ocean view timeshare, we extended our time in paradise by accepting our eldest son's invitation to enjoy their guest suite for two days before and two days after our stay in the two bedroom, two bath condo.

During our initial weekend with Barry's family, David and his 'little brother' Brant (Big Sisters, Big Brothers ... for five years, which have flown by!) bunked on air mattress or sleeping bag in order to join in the fun.  On Sunday, Barry flipped chocolate chip pancakes for everyone, in keeping with our well-loved family tradition when, during his boyhood, I'd flipped flapjacks at the griddle, surrounded by seven growing lads, forever hungry and clowning around, three being my sons while four friends (each of whom had deemed himself to be the fourth brother) slept over every weekend (one was Angie's son, Wade), because 'the more the merrier' had been our rule of thumb—as long as the entire peanut gallery adhered to The Line Of Control, suggesting that this team of energetic young men (who'd spanned seven years apart in age) had learned to respect me as their fun-loving coach.  As to Will, his weekends had been spent engaged in emergency surgeries, basketball, football, softball, vollyball, in fact, as long as a ball was in the air, he seemed content, and with seven rambunctious mini males underfoot, that was always the case ... As for me, I'd forgotten that a leap in the air could have ended in a pirouette instead of a slam dunk, so all seemed well for many a year ... At any rate, back at Barry's griddle ...

It was soon time to clear the table of breakfast in order to ready ourselves to welcome Celina and Ravi, whom Marie, Tony and Ray have yet to meet, and so these three are on pins and needles to set off for the airport to pick up the pair, who have wisely chosen to fly.  Why?  Because an hour in the plane with a nine month old baby makes more sense than a six hour drive across the desert with Steven, who'd loaded their SUV with all of Ravi's paraphernalia (great spelling bee word!).  At any rate, the entire 'mishpaha' will be under Barry's roof by late Sunday afternoon ... Uh—wait—with the inclusion of Brant, who calls me Mom, ten plus one equals eleven ... and so here are photos of Tony and Ray, meeting their little cousin, Ravi, for the very first time, at Barry's new home, before Steven arrives with all kinds of stuff packed into his SUV, which holds everything except the kitchen sink ...



Too cute for words!
Though we've been with Barry's family many times over the past three years
The shared nature of this two week experience eliminates any left-over reserve ...
By the end of the first week, four year old Ray looks up at me with his beautiful brown, long lashed, puppy dog eyes and melts my heart as he cuddles close and asks to call me Gramma ...
By the time we leave paradise—I delight in being Gramma to all three!

Sunday, August 30, 2015

1399 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 32

2015
Common sense suggests that
Emotional complexity is not supposed to be
Simple to understand, which is why it's necessary to
Brainstorm toward clarity before
Explanations make sense, all around

If making sense of emotional complexity proves
Challenging for adults
Imagine the intricate thought processing that
Proves necessary while an adult attempts to create
A semblance of clarity for a child, who
Has yet to comprehend that
Just as with everything of importance ...
Two sides of love exist ...
One creating joyful connection, the other loss and sadness, which
Is why adopting a positively focused attitude, concerning
Reconnection is everything
An example of simplifying emotional complexity for
A child took place, this morning ...
You see, Will and I have spent the last fourteen days in
Paradise with all our kids, and their kids, too ... Which
Explains why less of my time, over these past idyllic two weeks
Was spent writing to you while more time was spent
Enjoying that which I've worked to achieve (by way of
Keeping positive focus intact no matter what hurtle created
A detour, separating me from attaining)
My primary goal in life, and if you asked me to name that goal, I'd reply:

My primary goal is to make better use of my think tank, daily, by honing my brainstorming power of concentration until such time as heartfelt insight into deeper truth (existent within my DNA), emerges, and each time insight into deeper truth enlightens my conscious awareness, a sense of inherent wisdom, passed down through the ages, dawns on me intuitively, simplifing emotional complexity so naturally as to cause a narrow mind set to expand enough to embrace choices, which undeserved guilt had once deemed 'bad', when, in truth, these choices, misperceived as bad during childhood, allow my growing sense of emotional maturity to feel free to nurture personal needs without feeling selfish.  And though identifying and eliminating self imposed guilt had once felt impossible, my brain's innate potential to brainstorm has had sufficient practice at replacing fear of selfishness with an expansive sense of self awareness, which offers each of us endless opportunities to embrace our existential right of self empowerment, as never before.

Each time I trust my processor to work, as though all on its own, to deepen its understanding of emotional complexity in depth, I find my brain capable of communicating with such simplicity as to have won the trust of children as young as four and five years old, whose innocence depends upon adults, who have learned how to balance passion to satisfy personal need with self control.  In fact, here's an example of my having simplified emotional complexity by way of engaging in a 'heart-to-heart' with a four and five year old, whose sadness at my leaving, this morning, spoke of depths of love so profound as to have caused two pairs of great big brown puppy dog eyes to well with emotion while lumps of love, backing up in their throats, rendered them speechless ...

Setting the scene:
Two weeks ago, Will and I chose to pack so much stuff into our car (think George Carlin) that my husband was sure the doors and trunk would bounce open every time he hit the brakes, though by the time I'd finished organizing, that was not the case, and having stuffed our stuff into every nook and cranny until our sophisticated, four door sedan resembled a shinny black sausage, we squeezed into our bucket seats and backed out of our garage, aiming to leave the desert behind at its seltering worst.  Then, today, having packed ourselves into the front bucket seats of our faithful sausage on wheels, again, Will and I can be seen driving home after having enjoyed an idyllic stay in paradise with Barry, Marie, Tony, Ray, and Steven, Celina, Ravi, and David on the coast.

If nothing in life is perfect then why did these two weeks of family togetherness feel idyllic to me?  Because, from beginning to end, one primary goal remained uppermost in my mind, and my personal sense of joy has had reason to soar with fulfillment as I perceived that specific goal moving through its positively focused process of being achieved on a day to day basis, straight through to its heartfelt culmination, today, as everyone chimed in to rejoicefully proclaim these past two weeks to have provided each one with the best family vacation ... Ever!

If you ask how the idyllic aspect of these past fourteen days unfolded, one by one, culminating in the necessity to simplify emotional complexity while hugging two precious tykes, whose long faces and puppy dog eyes expressed how deeply their hearts longed not to say good bye ...
I'd reply ...

Saturday, August 29, 2015

1398 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 31


1966-1972

Doctors in the Vietnam War: The Ultimate Training Ground


6/12/2006
"U.S. Army Captain Foctor Eugene Fishman had been in Vietnam only two months when the Bell UH-1 he was flying in down Highway 1 (friendly territory from Nha Trang to Cam Ranh Bay) took a round in its rotor, forcing the pilot to autorotate the Huey to the ground.

I remember the pilot saying, `Hold on, I’m taking her down,’ said Fishman. It was an unconscious feeling: I didn’t think we were going to die. I knew the Huey could feather it. Dr. Fishman and the others aboard were lucky. Thanks to the pilot, they landed safely and were evacuated out on another chopper.

Terrifying as it must have been, Fishman’s experience was soon alleviated by the sort of humor combat veterans deem necessary. As he later described it: I remember turning to my medic afterwards and saying, `I feel so embarrassed. I pissed in my pants.’ He turned to me and said, `Don’t feel bad, Doc, I shat in mine!’
Fishman, who had never been out of his native Los Angeles before being assigned to Vietnam, was considered one of the old guys when the then 27-year-old physician hit the beach, World War II style, in a Navy landing ship at Cam Ranh Bay in 1966. When we landed, we pitched our tents in the sand, he remembered. Obviously, a buildup was happening. Cam Ranh was turning into a major port.
The next morning Fishman got a hell of an awakening. To shake up the newbees, a GI discharged dynamite in the distance. And, of course, we turned around and did it to someone else the next day, he said, laughing. He was soon off to the arid Top Cham region of Vietnam, where he ran a nonsurgical dispensary unit for GIs at the 101st Airborne Division compound at Phan Rang Air Force Base. They moved in on the 101st, since the Airborne were always out on patrol, according to Fishman. Humor abounded, but Vietnam quickly became…Vietnam.
With a standard-issue sidearm holstered on his hip, Fishman would often go out on Medical Civil Action Program (MEDCAP) operations in the area near Phan Rang to dispense medicines to the indigenous population and to set up public health programs. MEDCAP missions included treating sick village chiefs and providing entire villages with anti-malarial medication, topical creams for a variety of skin conditions and antibiotics.
Pondering those patrols, Fishman later recalled how villagers would often invent reasons to see him, such as pinching their skin until it bruised. Culturally, it was an honor to be treated by the Bac Si Hoa Ky (American doctors), and, so villagers thought, it would have been insulting not to respect their presence with a visit. Fishman marveled at the often-traded story among Vietnam doctors of packing off down a hill, only to turn around to witness villagers trading little blue pills for little yellow ones.
It wasn’t altogether altruistic, Fishman now concedes. We wanted to provide American personnel with a safe-as-could-be environment. To that end, Fishman, now a 60-year-old Los Angeles-area internist, also implemented a system whereby an American GI who contracted venereal disease could identify the prostitute who gave it to him and keep the hooker off the streets until she was cured. Every town in South Vietnam had its strip with the Hollywood Bar, New York Bar, he recalled. When a GI came in with a case of VD, he would be asked who his sexual contact had been. Invariably he would say, `She was about 5 feet tall, had long black hair and slanted eyes, and I met her at the Playboy Bar.’
Of course, that description matched practically every woman in Vietnam, working girl or not. So Doc Fishman saw to it that prostitutes were given photo IDs with their name, a number and the club in which they worked. If a GI then got VD, the notorious White Mice (South Vietnamese police) would pay the girl a visit, get her treated by Vietnamese doctors and require that she stay out of the bars for 10 days.
While it was true that evacuation hospital medical personnel worked from one dustoff to the next, carting traumatized soldiers with head, limb or torso wounds off Hueys and into surgery, Fishman believed most of the doctoring done in Vietnam paralleled the type of work he did and that many Americans have a misconception about physicians who served there. The war wounded went to field hospitals set up for major trauma, he said, but most people don’t understand that most docs were in fairly safe areas treating run-of-the-mill colds, skin infections, diarrhea and self-induced injuries like accidental gunshot wounds.
Perhaps the most difficult pill Fishman himself had to swallow before his tour of duty was up in July 1967 was something that occurred one day after he heard a gunshot in the distance. A Korean artillery unit was stationed on the western perimeter of the base. Somehow the Koreans always knew, even before their American counterparts, when a new shipment of goods had arrived at the PX. They would pile aboard a 3/4-ton or 2-ton truck and race there to load up.
I was going back to my detachment and heard the shot about 200 yards away, said Fishman. A Korean GI had been late for the truck and come running as it pulled out. His buddy gave him the barrel of his carbine to hold onto–intending to haul him aboard. When he grabbed it, the trigger jerked.
The soldier was not killed, but, as Fishman painfully recalled, The bullet went into his right eye and exited his left. When I got there he was conscious and talking, but the orbits had been shot out. He was lying there vomiting up the rice that he had for lunch through what remained of his eye sockets. I lost it too, Fishman admitted.
Later, a Korean doctor came to Fishman’s hooch to present him with a bottle of Korean ginseng liquor in a beautifully lacquered box as thanks. He never could drink it.
Although Gene Fishman was not through with the Army when he left Vietnam in 1967–he was reassigned to the Defense Language Institute in Monterey–his tour of duty affected him deeply, as it did every doctor in-country. Years later, he still had vivid memories of how the people of the anti-war movement had greeted returning Vietnam vets with their spit and curses.
I’d heard about it from my brother’s roommate, who was the liaison officer at Travis Air Force Base, Fishman recalled. He advised me to change out of my fatigues. I did, took the bus to San Francisco and flew home to L.A.
Fishman has visited the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C., several times during conferences he has attended at the Bethesda Naval Hospital, but does not plan to do so again. It’s just too painful. I can’t do it anymore, he said, holding back tears. I know some names on that wall, but it’s not a matter of knowing the names. It’s just so powerful seeing them.
Fishman stated that Vietnam completely changed the rest of my life. Before ‘Nam, I had been offered a fellowship at the National Cancer Institute in hematology/oncology. If I hadn’t gone [to Vietnam], I would have ended up an oncologist–and hated it! When asked if Vietnam had given him his sense of compassion, Fishman was not sure. I guess after Vietnam I knew I had seen enough of death and dying, he suggested.
Doctor James Turpin, who headed two hospitals in the Montagnard villages of Dampao and Rolom, in Vietnam’s Central Highlands, for the San Diego-based humanitarian group Project Concern, had also seen enough death and dying by his first Christmas Eve in-country in 1964. Rumors had been circulated that local VC cadres would have his head and the heads of five of his medical staff by Christmas Day.
It was very tense, recalled Turpin, but we just stood around a mortar pit the Green Berets had left, singing hymns and holding each other. He also thought God might have heard their prayers, because Special Forces Captain Vince Triano, who ran a strike force 25 kilometers from Rolom, having heard that same rumor, came down from his headquarters at Psourr and heavily fortified the village. No one from Project Concern would die that day.
When Turpin first arrived in Vietnam from Project Concern’s mission in Hong Kong, he, like Fishman, was deeply affected. In Vietnam I saw people with nothing, he said. I thought that there was a better way to relate to them than by fighting. Many times the GIs whom we would treat would say to me, `If I could only spend my year here … .’
During his tour of duty, which lasted until 1972, Turpin was made an honorary Montagnard brother. In a ceremony for the occasion, he was required to imbibe the notorious Montagnard liquor called Nam Pe, sipped from a huge jug through a long communal straw, and dress solely in a loincloth. I kept hoping the thing would hold together, he recalled.
Turpin and his staff of Vietnamese nurses and medical assistants led very busy lives for the eight years Project Concern operated in Vietnam. Every day they would don emergency room attire, scrub and start rounds at the 18-bed Lien Hiep Hospital.
You had to be careful where you stepped because of all the roundworms that had been vomited up during the night, Turpin remembered. The Montagnards had thousands of roundworms swallowing their GI [gastrointestinal] tracts. The Montagnards, too, had to take care where they walked. Kids walked around barefoot and often stepped in hookworm-infested dog feces, Turpin said. The worms then bored through to their stomach linings. It was so bad that we even had worms that showed signs of malnutrition.
In the afternoon, Doc Turpin, whom the Montagnards called Bac Si Hakkah (doctor who remembers us), manned an outpatient clinic in which locals were treated for various ailments, including starvation, cholera, typhoid, malaria, tuberculosis, intestinal parasites, iron deficiencies and anemia. The level of hemoglobin in their blood was often so low, he said, that the Montagnard kids had…not even enough to sit in school and think.
When it came to surgery, Project Concern’s facilities were primitively equipped. Nonetheless, Turpin and his staff were often able to perform miracles. One that he never forgot was delivering a Koho Montagnard woman’s baby.
It was midnight, Turpin recalled. The baby presented itself upside down. Our generator had little fuel. When it died, we switched to batteries. They lasted 15 minutes. Then we used candles. At 3 a.m. we had a healthy baby and mother, but wax had dripped inside her. I tried to get it out but couldn’t. So we closed her and, luckily, her tissue never reacted to the wax. Turpin was ecstatic that night, for it had been a triumph in more than one way. We lost so many babies brought to us. It was tragic, he said.
As time passed, Turpin was increasingly critical of what he observed in Vietnam. Years later, however, he preferred to call himself pro-nation building as opposed to anti-war. Every time we turned around, the war interfered with our work, Turpin lamented. We were not allowed to go to villages unless a Huey would take us. But we were not high priority. There were so many frustrations. I often thought, `What I could do if there weren’t a war.’ It got increasingly dicey. Though we were in a pacified area, there was increasing potential for harm.
One day in 1972 a Katusha rocket accidentally fell upon the village, killing two nurses–one American and the other Vietnamese. At that point the Project Concern administrators ordered all its personnel out of Vietnam.
Much like his predecessor Dr. Tom Dooley, who had been on a similar mission during the First Indochina War, Turpin wrote two books about his tenure–Vietnam Doctor and A Far Away Country. According to Turpin, Project Concern had carried no banners during the war. But it was still a bit of a surprise to him when, 20 years later in 1992, on the first of his two trips back to Vietnam since the war–with Hanoi continuing to scrutinize requests for travel to the Central Highlands by those who had served there–not only was a visa to return granted him with ease, but mysteriously without the usual fees attached. Permission to travel about at will in the region was approved as well.
It seemed that a Dr. Thien, who during the war had been the VC doctor for the same province, was responsible. One night over dinner at the elegant Dalat Palace Hotel (once one of many retreats for the late emperor, Bao Dai), Thien confided to Turpin that Project Concern had in fact not only trained Vietnamese loyal to the ARVN, but had also unknowingly trained several VC.
I told him, `So we have you to thank [for] keeping us alive,’ said Turpin. He answered, `Oh, we’d have fought to protect you.’ On his trip, Turpin found several of those whose loyalties he had never questioned still employed at Lien Hiep. Today the 70-year-old Bahai physician and resident of Fairview, N.C., provides medical services for inmates at two of the state’s correctional facilities at Marion and Craggy, with 1,000 and 500 prisoners, respectively, under his care. Turpin insists that his staff refer to those he treats as patients, not prisoners, saying, When you salvage people, you salvage yourself.
Doctor Amos Townsend, who is now a retired U.S. Air Force colonel, had occasion to salvage a lot of soldiers and locals during his tour of duty in Vietnam between 1969 and 1971. The Lee, N.H., resident ran medical facilities at Pleiku, at the U.S. Air Force headquarters for II Corps, just outside the Army evacuation hospital, and at Phu Cat Air Base, in Binh Dinh province. His doctoring took place on the ground as well as in the air, since, as a flight surgeon, he was also required to ride shotgun in OV-10 Broncos over the Ho Chi Minh Trail as they attempted to spot VC for the bombers who waited upstairs. He never forgot one such flight.
They put me with a green, hyperactive lieutenant, remembered Townsend. Farther up the trail I heard him chat with bomber pilots. Then he put a rocket into the jungle so they would know where to lay their loads. We circled hard. He put the nose down a bit and then quickly veered off to the right. All of a sudden, a dozen tracers whizzed by to the left. We watched the bombers do their thing. I could see the VC shooting at them. When we landed, I asked him, `What was that stuff off the left wing?’ `What stuff?’ he asked me.
But the bitter memory of another pilot, whose job it was to lay down fire suppression from his McDonnell F-4 Phantom to aid the rescue of downed choppers, remained with Townsend years later. He came to me and said, `Doc, I feel funny about this mission.’ His plane never came back, and I could kick myself for not grounding his butt.
The hazards of duty were unpredictable. They never allowed us to fly over North Vietnam, said Townsend. But if you flew over the Ho Chi Minh Trail, you often didn’t come home. His cousin, CBS-TV cameraman Dana Stone, had been killed in Cambodia along with flamboyant photojournalist Sean Flynn (son of Errol) in 1970, after the two motorbiked off into the Indochina sunset.
Like Fishman’s, Townsend’s routine on the ground was not overly exciting. He and the two general medical officers and two flight surgeons under his command had sick calls, did physical exams [and] headed downtown to the provincial hospitals to `play obstetrician.’ Then [we] would help out at the Buddhist and Catholic orphanages.
When Townsend was not treating orphans and delivering babies, he was combating black plague, leprosy and gastrointestinal problems. As with Turpin, Townsend and his staff may also have inadvertently treated the enemy, since, as has been well documented, it became increasingly difficult to distinguish friendlies from the VC. This deception was especially problematic at Phu Cat, which, Townsend learned, had been infiltrated by the other side. Still, he worked on.
My job was to cure people. I had to do what was medically appropriate. We may have shown a side of ourselves which had a beneficial effect in the long run, he said, echoing Fishman’s sentiments. Look at the tremendous exodus of Indochinese refugees who came to us as total strangers.
And it is with those refugees that Townsend, still bitter about the way the war ended, chose to continue his work. In 1979, two weeks after he retired from the Air Force, both he and his wife volunteered through the International Rescue Committee to go to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) Khao-I-Dang camp along the Cambodian border with Thailand. They remained there to help the refugees for nearly five years. We did it out of a sense of obligation, he explained.
During his time in the camps Townsend’s connection to Indochina and its people deepened. Prior to Vietnam, he had been attached to the Army Chemical Corps at Camp Detrick in Frederick, Md., where he studied biological warfare. We looked for ways to soup up bugs and things more dangerous that protected the other guy [and] would do the same for us. We tested protection equipment. But we didn’t do any harm, he stressed.
In 1981, Townsend was appointed chief medical officer for all UNHCR camps. Shortly after that he was in the Mekong River town of Nongkhai, Thailand, about 30 kilometers downriver from the Laotian capital of Vientiane, on loan to the U.S. State Department. One night Townsend was approached by a former U.S. Army Special Forces lieutenant colonel and a man from British Intelligence, both in their civvies.
They wanted me to do a job that should have been done by the DOD [Department of Defense], CIA or DIA [Defense Intelligence Agency], Townsend recalled. But Uncle Sam didn’t want to play the intel game and get his hands dirty, he said. Ultimately, what Townsend did, at a time when the United States aligned itself with the murderous Khmer Rouge against Vietnam, was travel the banks of the Mekong, attempting to contact Lao escapees as they came across and before the notoriously corrupt Thai police apprehended them. We had been hearing reports from the hill tribes in the camps about how they had been hit with chemicals, he said.
Townsend also packed into Cambodia on an elephant, ironically with a Khmer Rouge escort, as deep in as Battambang to investigate the reports of Yellow Rain, a chemical warfare agent supplied by the Soviets and dropped by the Vietnamese, predominantly on the Hmong hill tribes of Laos. The Hmong, who were tenaciously protected by the mountains, had no love lost for the Vietnamese, and after 1975, the Viets controlled the skies, he said. It’s easy to see how they could have incapacitated, even killed some people who already had two or three indigenous diseases and were already semi-starved. They didn’t even have to aim.
While in the Indochinese jungle he did indeed encounter and examine tribes who had come into contact with mycotoxins commensurate with what could have come from chemical attacks. The logic seemed so reasonable, it infuriated me, said Townsend. I found sick people. However, whether or not their illnesses were due to chemical warfare, I have no way to know.
What he did know, as Vietnam had taught him and as it had taught Fishman and Turpin, was that his medical work in Vietnam had changed his life and brought him unexpected rewards.

This article was written by Marc Phillip Yablonka and originally published in the February 2002 issue of Vietnam Magazine.
Summer 1968
Inexplicably, one of Will's close friends (high school, college and med school), trained in pediatrics, receives orders for 'Nam while, much to our amazement, Will, with his surgical training, does not.  Go figure.  Army mentality.  Right?  Our kind hearted pediatrician friend, whose love of children entertains a bent toward the poetic, will have returned a changed man. Though just as kindhearted and compassionate, he'll have turned inward, finding it difficul to relate to those of us whose joviality had not shared experiences, which had, obviously, sobered his reaction to life in ways that his family and we (in our twenties) could not yet perceive, and retrospectively, I'm certain that his anger roiled when comrades in uniform were discompassionately demeaned on the street ... Over the long run, our dear friend's marriage to another dear friend did not survive, and as both remain two of our dearest friends, today, my heart saddens, even now, at their loss, which has felt like a loss to everyone who loves them ... suggesting far reaching effects of war wounds, which run much deeper than that which observers can see on the surface.

Friday, August 28, 2015

1397 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 30

1950

BERRY PLAN

To ensure a supply of trained medical specialists for the military, in 1950 Congress passed public law 779, called the “Doctor Draft Law,” to remove healthcare professionals from the general manpower pool and place them in the Reserve Medical Corps.  From the mid-1950s to the mid-’70s, those who were training to be doctors and were eligible for the Doctor Draft had the option of requesting a deferment of service under the Armed Forces Reserve Medical Officer Commissioning and Residency Consideration Program, also known as the Berry Plan.  If the physician was granted a deferment, he could postpone military service until after specialty training, and if not, he had to enter upon completion of an internship.  Several references are made to the Berry Plan and the Doctor Draft throughout these pages. - Information from JAMA, 1961
 Draft Lottery: Jay, Wisconsin, 1969. Doctor Draft

Draft LotteryWednesday, August 26 @ 21:49:54 EDT writes "I was already in medical school at the time of the draft lottery, having entered in the fall of 1968. There was a special "Doctor Draft" that drafted all doctors after one year of internship into the military as General Medical Officers.  Introduction to war training for four weeks then straight to Vietnam. The law expired June 30, 1969, the day my internship ended, so all in my intern year were drafted unless we had made other plans. Under the Berry plan, we could complete residency first, then enter the army as a specialist, or enter the US Public Health Service, in Indian Health, Prison, or Coast Guard. I entered the Indian Health Service--great experiences that changed my life. My wife and I planned to go to Canada if the IHS had not accepted me."

Summer 1968
Amongst our best buds, who'd attended college and med school, together, as well as choosing each other to be groomsmen at their weddings before serving internships at various hospitals within the same Midwestern metropolis, each will have had his own unique military experience:
Our friend, Mickey (gynecologist) will serve in Texas
Our friend, Steve (internist) will serve in Germany
Our friend, Stuie (cardiologist) will serve in Korea
Our friend, Shuff (gastroenterologist) will serve in Vietnam and return unchanged
Our friend Neal (pediatrician) will serve in Vietnam and never be the same ...
Much to everyone's relief, everyone will return home alive and physically intact

I imagine that, at some point, stream of consciousness will tap into the most interesting aspects of each of their wartime tales as the content of one post influences the next... (For example, the bridal gown I'd borrowed to walk down the aisle in 1966 had been owned and worn by Steve's bride, whom he'd been crazy about, though, sadly, she'd become his ex before his two year tour of duty ended in a broken hearted divorce ... I've always wondered what she chose to do with 'our' tight-waisted, full skirted, ivory gown in which I'd felt like a princess bride ... I mean, thoughts of discarding that lace trimmed gown, which still has sentimental value to me, inspires a wistful reaction to this very day.)

At the same time that our best buds find themselves dispersed all over the world, Will and I can barely breathe as he rips open the official envelop in which 'our' orders will determine much about 'our' future, which remains an unforeseeable adventure into the unknown for this reason:  As life unfolds, preconceived plans undergo surprising adjustments,time and again, and here's why I'll bet that has proved as classically true for you, as well:  Personal experience creates sound reason for closed mind sets to open and expand, and each time a mind-expanding experience culminates in personal growth, we tend to reconsider the limited scope of decisions, which had felt written in stone at an earlier, inexperienced time  ...  Much more about that train of thought, later ...

Upon reflection, it blows my mind to think that Will is seen holding an official document stamped by someone in Washington whom we've never met, which will determine whether my young husband and I will be living, together, in safety, when our baby is born ... or not.  And retrospectively, I've also gained insight into this remarkable fact:  It's not uncommon for a person whom we've never met to influence the adoption of certain personality traits, acquired during childhood, which would not have been yours or mine had that specific person never been born!  Now, put that in your inner peace pipe and smoke it ... Or just wait patiently for that revelation, concerning personality development, to emerge from my depths while my brain, functioning as a well-balanced whole, is engaged in teaching a parenting class when insight into that train of thought will have reason to influence a change in my attitude concerning the inter-connectedness between cause-and-effect and the acquisition of certain traits, which may, over time, prove not to be in your best interest or mine ... once again ... Much more about that train of thought, later ...

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

1396 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 29

Summer 2015
Did you know that, at one time, all docs had to serve in the military?
Beginning in the 1950's, the Korean War created need for congress to pass a law whereby, upon completing medical training in their chosen specialty, young docs were offered this choice:  Serve two years active duty or six years in the reserves, during which time, they could be called to serve on the spare of a moment.  This law has a name:  The Berry Plan.

Summer 1968
Will 'chooses' two years active duty for this reason:  In 1968, active duty proves his only option, because each branch of the military has need to draft every young doc.  So, in truth, Will's only personal decision points to which branch of the armed forces he'll choose as his own, and even then, the final decision will be made by the national government, depending on supply and demand, suggesting that if too many docs opt for Will's first choice, his request to serve in The Air Force may be denied.  Why The Air Force?  In 1969, civilians, taking flight, is still so new to society as a whole as not to be taken for granted ... There's a kind of majesty to flying that appeals to Will, whereas his mindset feels differently when he imagines foot soldiering through the heat of the tropics, surrounded by Vietcong or feeling encased within a submarine or destroyer, clearly targeted as a sitting duck, awaiting falling bombs to explode, during a surprise enemy air strike.

1968 is the year of the Tet Offensive, and surgeons, ministering to the injured, helicoptered off battlefields, are in high demand.  So, when papers, confirming his tour in The Air Force, arrive, Will considers himself fortunate and breathes a sigh of relief ... which proves short lived, because Hawkeye still has no clue where in this cockamamy, war torn world, he'll be serving, several months hence, when our first child is born. 

You see, Will has learned that the whole Berry Plan, allowing him to complete his year of internship and four year surgical residency before serving his country, is not available during this dire time of hand to hand combat, when surgical knowledge proves desperately needed by our armed forces, and as my husband has elected to take a surgical internship (following his fourth year of med school, when, having rotated through each medical specialty, he chose Orthopaedic surgery as his best fit), we're close to certain that he'll be sent to serve his nation, overseas, barracked in one of the medical camps, erected just behind the 'front lines' (if that even exists, because hand to hand combat is taking place every place you look in Vietnam) where the injured are airovacked (sp?) to locations of relative safety.

With bated breath, Will and I await official notice, via the mail, as to whether we'll be sent to an air base, where we'll welcome the birth of our first child feeling safely housed, together, or whether fate will play tug of war with our hearts, suggesting my moving into my parents' home, where our unborn babe and I will slip back into my twin bed while sharing my childhood bedroom with twenty year old Lauren, who, hopefully, will not mind the inclusion of a crib if Will departs for foreign shores, where we imagine him bunking in a tent with danger lurking too close for comfort, 24/7, as had been true during The Korean War for Alan Alda in MASH, sans laugh track and Hot Lips, because, the harsh realities of combat during wartime is seriously terrifying for all concerned ...

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

1395 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 28

1988
So, having accompanied my sister to her book club's annual couples' party, I'm conversing with one of Lauren's friends, who brings up a person we have in common, who happens to be her sister.  And just as we discover this surprising connection, the friend's husband walks up and is introduced to me, whereupon his wife says to him:  You'll never guess how Lauren's sister, Annie, knows Ellie ... To which he replies:  Did you go to school with her?  To which I reply ... Well, we were in the same fifth grade classroom but we didn't actually go to school, together.  Needless to say, he looks confused and so responds with:  I don't get it ... What's the difference?  So, eyes laughing mischievously, here's my reply:  I wasn't Ellie's classmate;  I was her teacher ... So now, his jaw drops, because his mind can't wrap around the fact that I was an adult while he, his wife and younger sister-in-law were still kids!

How fun was that!

Monday, August 24, 2015

1394 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 27

1968
Both families are thrilled when, brought together, we
Announce our good news, which, quite unlike me
Is conveyed without saying a word ...

Rather than bursting out with:  WE'RE PREGLING!
I walk into my parents' living room with a bed pillow
Stuffed under my blouse, simulating a pregnancy far
Beyond the three weeks, which have passed since
The wild thing (Who, me?), dressed
Seductively, had seduced and conceived, successfully

Weeks later, upon approaching my principalto let him know
I'm with child and will not renew my contract for next year
He smiles graciously and while wishing me well
Lets me know that he's been
Expecting me to tell him that I'm 'expecting' ever since
My dash for the cot had become a daily ritual, because
I'd had to pass his office on my way to the nurse ...
And though I feel as if no woman's body has ever been honored with
Such miraculous sensations, which accompany the
Formation of a brand new, completely unique individual, who will
One day feel readied to lead those, who have
Lost their way, into the promised land where love, infused
With knowledge, will transform this brave new world into
The haven that our nation hath promised to every wearied
Yet hopeful immigrant, who hath knelt to kiss the words
Imprinted upon the hem of the gown of the
Godess-like creature, who, holding aloft the torch of freedom
Graces the harbor in the great city of New York with
Our promise to embrace and up lift the huddled masses, who
Seeking refuge from oppression ...
Will work their knuckles to the bone in hopes of
Offering their young a better, well-educated life, my
Principal does not seem duly impressed with my news ...
And if you think to ask:  Annie ... How do you know
That the fetus, cradled in your womb, will, one day
Grow capable of leading others, knowledgeably and
Compassionately?   It would be my turn for
A Mona Lisa smile to play about my lips while replying:
I just do.
Then if you implore me to offer more, I'd comply by saying:
A place exists within every human brain that escapes notice until
Reason to reach into unexplored depths of your mind offers up
Such unexpected sensitivity to self awareness as to
Draw forth a wealth knowledge stored within
Your double helix'd DNA, which proves so heartfelt as
Not to be found in books ... and if you've been
Following my blog for any length of time, you know exactly
What I mean ... because each time you've witnessed
The spirit of Socrates swoop down from on high to
Whisper sageful advice into my ear
Insight into deeper truth suggests that
His teachings are speaking to me from within the
Double helix of DNA, where the wisdom of the ages
Passes, naturally, from old soul to new soul in that
Which is commonly called intuitive thought ...
And as soon as you freely choose to set out on
An existential quest to know both sides of
Your whole, more thoroughly, day by day
That's when your mind and mine will travel on
The same wave length, back and forth, through time
In short, twas not 24 year old Annie, per say, who 'knew'
That each precious child, cradled lovingly within
Her womb, would be nurtured to develop
Leadership skills but rather the fact that her
Positively focused, open-minded attitude, concerning
Love and life, had intuitively felt, right from the get-go, that
Raising children would provide her with
The greatest of delights as well as with sleepless nights, because
As idealistic as your friend, Annie, tends to be
Her subconscious decision-making process has been based in
Her own early childhood experiences, some of which
Proved harsher than her conscious mind chose to believe ...
And thus, early on, Annie, as is true of most others, had no
Conscious clue as to when the spirit of Socrates was
Offering her cues (by way of DNA) before
She'd speak or take action ... On the other hand
It had not been intuitive wisdom, tucked into
The principal's double helix that offered
His mind clairvoyance, concerning
Annie's early stage of pregnancy ...
In truth, Annie's principal had
Relied, solely upon logic, based in his past observances
Of newly pregnant teachers making that very same dash for
That very same cot, for years, before he'd ever set eyes on
Me, suggesting that:
There's nothing new under the sun until something classic
Happens to you, and then it's not just new ... It's
Downright flabbergasting and astounding and miraculous, all
Rolled up into a jaw dropping, life changing experience that
Blows your sense of logic to kingdom come ... And
If you've ever fallen head over heels in love
You know exactly what I mean!
Bottom line:  Intuition, concerning wisdom, ripens
Within a mind/heart connection that cannot be
Torn asunder, suggesting that
What is meant to be is meant to be, and
That which is meant to be is determined by
Experimenting with chemistry in a controlled environment
So as to stop the mad scientist from
Blowing up his entire laboratory ... On the other hand
Fear of blowing everything up stops progress, concerning
The creation of change for the better, in it's tracks, bringing
Us back, yet again, to the importance of balance in all things

At the end of the school year, my kids chip in to
Present me with a touching gift, chosen by
A delegated trio of ten year olds, whose
Parents agree to take them shopping, at which time
They allow their offspring to freely choose
Whatever tickles their fancy and
As the nature of the gift they select
(Which maintains its sentimental value to this very day)
Proves quite surprising, my smile warms to
The memory of that which a trio of fifth graders
Had decided upon, specifically, to
Wish the expansion of my family well ...

On the last day of school, I can be seen in
A black and white checkered maternity top
Standing at my desk, upon which is perched
A good sized box, wrapped gaily in paper, imprinted
With pastel baby blocks, and as I carefully remove
The great big, puffy, white festive bow before
Peeling away wrapping paper in readiness to
Open the box, 'my kids', being kids, can't stand
The anticipation sitting down, so, suddenly
Every seat in the classroom is empty of students as
My flock, likened to a rush of baby birds taking wing
Flutter round my desk, where, standing on tip toe
Each one flutters about, feeling so eager to see
What their delegation of three has chosen for
'Pregling' me, that my fledglings can't help but
Chirp out with:  Open it!  Open it!
And upon lifting the lid, my eyes widen with
Momentary surprise until absorption of what
Has been chosen offers my initial reaction
Reason to twinkle with amusement, because
My fifth grade class has presented me with
wooden tray, upon which is placed
A beautiful martini decanter, encircled by
Six long stemmed glasses to match ...
As if to say ...
Children can drive their parents to drink ...
Good luck!

Now ... In keeping with stream of consciousness
Let's flash forward for a moment to 1988:
I'm a mother of three, who has flown from the desert to the Midwest in celebration of an extended family occasion, when, on the evening preceding that event, I'm invited to tag along with my sister, Lauren, who's attending her book club's annual couple's party, where, upon being introduced to one of Lauren's friends and her husband, our conversation begins to resemble a game of twenty questions, leading toward a connection that surprises all three... 

Sunday, August 23, 2015

1393 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 26

Let's back up to Spring of 1968, so
You can see how much I love being pregnant!
The fact is I'm so enthralled with
This state of wonderment that
You'd think no woman had ever
Been 'with child' before me ...
Suggesting that previous to Barry's birth
People had hatched, like chickens, from eggs!

As this miraculous state of wonderment offers
Me no morning sickness, whatsoever
My natural exuberance
(Which comes as no surprise!)
Seems to sprout a pair of wings, which
Slide so freely through two perfectly aligned slits in
My Super Mom cape that I can be seen
Floating above the ground as though
Drugged in a hyper-energized, 24/7 dopamined state with
This exception:  I'm still teaching fifth grade, and at exactly
One PM, each day, my kids are given
A busy-work assignment, which frees my sudden
Drop in ebullience to collapse on the cot in
The nurse's office, where
I fall into a deep sleep for half an hour before
Awakening, fully-pumped with that re-energized
Dopamine reaction, which carries me
Happily through the rest of the day ...
And much to my joy, I find that
One person's release of a dopamine high is
As contagious as catching a cold, because
Each time my spirit feels so tickled as to
Sneeze out a sparkling smile, complete strangers
Can't help but answer my delight with one of their own!

With the advancement of my pregnancy, the school year winds down
And as is true with everyone who wins my love
My heart aches with loss when summer's approach offers
Me reason to separate from a classroom, bouncing with
The natural exuberance of children, who
Have been 'my kids' for the past nine months, coincidentally
The length of a pregnancy ... And while my mind is currently
Engaged in reminiscing over yesteryear
You'd be right to believe that
My heart longs to know whether life offered each of
'My twenty-five kids' the same tender affection that
We'd felt for each other more than four decades ago ...

Saturday, August 22, 2015

1392 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 25

1968
If memory serves me, my experience with the basal body thermometer, which registers a slight elevation in temperature, indicating ovulation taking place, has already been penned, suggesting you know that each slight rise in body temperature alerts me to 24 hours of fertility, and thus can you understand why, at least once each month, the leopard lays in wait for the hunter's return from his hospital shift, so she can entice Dr. Will into her lair as soon as he walks through the apartment's front door to find a dark haired, green eyed vixen (???) ready to pounce, hungrily, upon her prey, who, though being sleep deprived, rises, admirably, to the occasion ... However, over the next three months, guess who has need to visit the red tent, thrice, suggesting that not until our fourth attempt does woman's intuition have sound reason to whisper 'success' into my husband's satisfied but skeptical ear.

Though I don't recall what assures my sixth sense of pregnancy with such immediacy, I do remember rising the morning after seducing an exceptionally exhausted intern to count 280 days ahead of my last stay in the red tent, and with no doubt, whatsoever, my mind marks February 3, 1969 as the birthdate of our first born child ...

Since my surety of having conceived is expressed to Will within twenty-four hours of deeming myself 'with child', my husband's laughter, concerning the absurdity of my prematurity, doth not offend my ear, because I know that 'she who laughs last, laughs best'.  And as no drugstore tests will be available for many years to come, the waiting game begins.

When three weeks pass with no need for the red tent, Will takes my urine sample to the hospital, suggesting my not being the one to wear a Mona Lisa smile before expressing our success.  In fact, it's Will, who, having completed his 36 hour shift at the hospital, is seen bounding up three flights of stairs, so eager is he to share the news that his friend in the lab has confirmed that which my heart has 'known' to be true since the moment of conception when egg and sperm had wed.

How could you have possibly known with such assurity? asks doctor of wife?
I just did, is my reply.  Something felt different during the night.  Guess I'm qlike a basal body thermometer ... highly sensitive to the slightest change.

Though I long to celebrate the coming of a miracle child with the world at large, Will cautions me to muster the patience to wait till the first 'ify' trimester has passed, and I comply until we attend a party that weekend, where all of our college/med school best buds gather round to offer me a deluge of best wishes, which gives me reason to believe that Will's sound advice to muster patience refers only to me, because he'd been unable to suppress his excitement for even one day, suggesting that everyone in the medical community knows our happy news before I felt free to jump for joy with both sides of our family ... except for my mom, whom I'd taken into my confidence, as young women tend to do.

February 3, 1969
Let's fast forward for a moment, eight months plus one week, so we can peek into the delivery room, a few minutes after noon, when a smiling nurse places my sweet, first born son into his mother's open, loving arms, and while cradling Barry close to my heart, my eyes, which have been smiling down at our miracle child, glance up, laughingly, at Will, who is actually clapping and jumping up and down for joy ... so much did Captain Sports hope for a boy ... And though medical staff joins in laughing to see a captain, dressed in the staid khaki uniform of the U.S. Air Force, feeling so gleeful as to jump and clap like a ten year old kid, you and I know that my reason for laughing is two fold:  I, too, love to see my husband bust loose of his serious bent, and my prediction, concerning Barry's birthdate, has come true, so she who laughs last, laughs  best!

Thursday, August 20, 2015

1391 INTRO TO MY INEXPERIENCED ADVENTURES INTO PARENTING Part 25

1968
As Will's graduation from med school nears
His mom surprises me with a surprise shopping spree to
Buy a dress as 'befitting a doctor's wife', and
When she takes me to a certain shop where
Dresses and gowns are carried into
Our fitting room rather than being displayed on
Racks for everyone to see, I feel so much like
A fairy tale princess that I can barely breathe

Once the 'right' dress has been slipped over my head
gaze at my reflection in the mirror and
Actually gasp with pleasure (because, as you may
Remember, my wedding dress was borrowed, suggesting
That such a fuss about my attire has not been made since
My mom and I'd chosen a gown for my senior prom); then
Upon glancing at the price tag, my sparkle sags, because
This beautiful coat and dress ensemble, woven of
Gossamer threads, is far too costly to ever be mine; however
Will's mom sees today's purchase differently, and after
Explaining, definitively, that this special occasion calls for
Splurging, she removes the tag from my hand while
Telling her favorite sales lady that
We've made our choice, so please wrap it up, and
Guess what?
That beautiful ensemble, which still fits as perfectly as
The day it floated home with me, can be seen
in the back of my closet, where historical finery that
I can't part with, exists to this very today
And each time I happen upon that ensemble or
The gowns in which I danced at my sons' Bar Mitzvot 
Or the Scarlett O'Hara gown, worn while escorting
Steven down the aisle when my son wedded Celina ...
My lips wear a dopamine smile as had been true
On each of those memorable occasions when
I, dressed in all my finery, watched my loved ones
Accept their well earned rewards, and since
Four grueling years of medical studies had won
Dr. Will a surgical internship that offered this
Nose-to-the-grindstone-kind-of-man
A salary, small as it had proved to be, while
I'd enjoyed another year of being paid to inspire
Ten year olds to find learning FUN
Will and I both felt ready and thus
Eager to make a baby of our own ... except for this glitch:
Our plan to do what comes naturally
Did not go as planned, suggesting it necessary to
Tweak our plan in such a way as to
Entice Mother Nature to get on board without further delay!