DISCIPLINE AND THE PAST

 

So.  Last month I made a couple of posts about the Monks walking for peace across America.  Seeing them was exhilarating, and they’ve inspired me to be a bit more intentional in my own prayer and meditative practices.  That’s all part of developing more discipline, and part of that was to have resumed regular writing.  I have a couple of academic pieces I need to finish, and thought writing for fun (which I’d loved for over sixty years) would get me back into the habit.  That hasn’t yet happened, though I am still hopeful.

When he was alive, my brother Kenny Burgess once remarked that I “have too much stuff.”  While I didn’t love the comment at the time (who is receptive to even constructive criticism from their little brother?!?!?), there is a lot of validity to it.  But I’m also learning that what sometimes looks like “too much stuff” is just “disorganized stuff,” so a goal before I turn 70 is, after 20+ years, to actually do some nesting in my home.  I don’t just need to clean and organize, I need to adapt this space to me. Instead of my house being a repository for whatever is going on in my life, my intention now is to create a space that honors me and the way in which I choose to live, so that my life is reflected in my living space. I can have a lot of stuff, it just has to be orderly.  For me, imposing order is another aspect of personal discipline:  as the physical space begins to align with who I am, I expect to have more time, energy, and freedom to devote to authentic self-expression as opposed to reacting.

But that’s an ongoing goal.  Part of the imposition of discipline onto my life includes imposing discipline on my physical body.  I’ve started going back to the Y quasi-regularly; it seems every time I start to settle in to a schedule, I go away on a trip.  I’m going to go ahead and work on a schedule, despite the fact that I’m leaving in ten days for about ten days; in the days that remain before the trip there is ample time to figure out which days I’ll swim and which days I’ll lift; whether I’ll do the lifting at home or at the Y, and whether I’ll attempt to add jumping back to my workouts.  There are so many things I want to do:  work on my squats, work on my jumping, work on stroke mechanics – there’s no shortage of activities I can undertake to strengthen my body, even as I complete the academic papers and prepare to present them at conferences.  I just need to get better organized.

ANYway.  Writing every day didn’t happen, but I’m using my Pomodoro time tonite to write about a couple of men who were instrumental in my fitness journey, and in my quest for discipline. Every day as I enter or leave the Harlem YMCA, I see a couple of plaques.  One remembers Luther Scarborough, and reads “Dedicated in Memory Of LUTHER SCARBOROUGH 1930-1993 Lifeguard at the Harlem YMCA Over 25 years.  ‘Discipline was his virtue, Swimming was his discipline.’ Presented by Members and Friends of The Harlem YMCA.”  

The other plaque, with a picture of the honoree, reads “Honoring Charles Isaacs He Was An Ambassador For Health, Fitness Guru, Personal Trainer, Friend And Mentor For Many At The Harlem YMCA For Over 50 Years.  He Gave Of Himself And Asked For Nothing In Return.  He Will Always Be Remembered.”

I just want to pay homage to these two giants, and to share a bit about each of them.

The plaque lists no dates of birth or death for Charlie Isaacs, and he was a white-haired senior when I first set foot in the Harlem Y in the early 1980s.  At that time I was attached at the hip to a fitness instructor named Linda Smith.  Not only did she teach regular and water aerobics, but she was a masseuse who lifted free weights!  In the early 80s, Linda and I were the only two women up in the third floor free weights room, and Charlie was the gentleman who didn’t mind giving us tips on form, as well as on nutrition and hydration.  As I tried to find some clue as to when he actually walked the earth, I ran across a memento of a 1981 reunion of the NYC Department of Corrections.  There was a picture of Charlie!!! He was suited up and the face looked younger than I remembered, but that gorgeous white crown was there.  (That's him on the far right in the picture below)  I don’t know if he retired from DOC or if he left; this event was a Reunion of the DOC Olympic Committee, and they were greeting former members of C-71. In this 1981 gathering, Charlie Isaacs was among three honorees.

 

The person honoring him said: 

“My personal paridym(sic) is one of the most magnificently distinguished personalities and I have been blessed with having his acquaintance.

Mr. Isaacs played a very significant part in my life by simplifying my role in Correction. All I had to do was emulate (to the best of my ability) what this great person was about, not merely as an officer, but also as a human being.

Thusly, by keeping my feet on the ground and my eyes on the sparrow, I managed to complete my correctional career with dignity and a sense of wellbeing.

I am at peace with myself, because by following the clearly visable (sic) guidelines laid by Mr. Isaacs, I know I have performed well.

My only prayer is that somewhere during my career I have contributed a positive impression upon another person somewhat in the manner in which I was influenced by Mr. Charlie Isaacs.

Thanks for everything, Charlie, and God Bless You.

Sincerely,

RANDY PRAY”

The tribute spoke to who Charlie was:  always helping, whether by advising you on your form, your diet, or your reps; by remaining grounded and by modeling a more excellent way of living.  Charlie explained to me that no, I wouldn’t get overly muscled if I lifted weights, and he affirmed the notion of women working on their bodies to become stronger!  At a time when chauvinism and unapologetic sexism were rampant, finding such encouragement in a gym was not just different – for me, it was absolutely life changing.  I could jerk and squat and lift and press to my heart’s content, and it didn’t make me any less of a girl in his eyes!  The impact of his affirming and accepting demeanor in the weight room can not be overstated.  While today women are no longer regarded as oddities in the free weight room, that was not the case 40 years ago, and Charlie’s presence ensured that we were regarded as fellow lifters rather than as spectacles or pieces of meat.

I graduated from Duke University in 1977.  I matriculated in the Class of 78, and at that time one of the requirements for graduation was the ability to swim a lap in Duke's Olympic length pool – crawl down and (elementary) backstroke back.  I believe the pool was a lap pool, and knowledge of its 4 foot maximum depth  likely contributed to my passing the test.  I'd never really gotten over a near-drowning incident when I was a kid (we’d gone to the Community Center for black kids in town. There was a pool with a new slide over the middle of the water.  All the kids were going down the slide, so I went down, too, my 4 or 5-year-old self blissfully unaware of the fact that I couldn’t swim.  I honestly don’t know what happened when I hit the water, because my four male Fearrington cousins, at least one (and maybe both) of my Perry uncles, and God only knows who else were all there to scoop me up and get me to the sides, with the only damage having been a little swallowed water.) This incident left me with a lingering fear of deep water:  I was fine in a pool as long as I was a stroke or two away from a side, but my stomach would flip and I would start to panic if I had to go into deep water with nothing in reach to grab on to.

So I’ve finished college and grad school, have worked a while, and find myself in NYC.  A Green Belt/Brown Stripe, I couldn’t find a Kenpo studio to continue my studies, so I decided to join the Y and improve my swimming.  We were in a group class, and Luther Scarborough was the instructor.  I’m not sure what the drill was; probably swimming the width of the pool.  I started out somewhere around the 5’ depth, and with the water comfortably at chest level, I jumped up, stretched out, and headed for the other side.  Now, the Harlem Y’s pool is only four lanes across, but when you are still trying to put stroking and breathing together, it seems like a lot.  I started out confidently, but I probably swam as crookedly then as I do now.  About a lane and half’s width out, I suddenly realized that the bottom was too far away for me to “just stand up,” and that’s when my stomach started flipping. I have no idea what my head or arms or legs were doing, but I assume they displayed the terror I was feeling in the pit of my stomach because suddenly Luther was reaching out to me with (the vestiges of) a body hook. I say “vestiges of” because a proper body hook can be used by a lifeguard to hook it around a body and retrieve an incapacitated person.  What I saw was Luther pointing a pole at me, and while I realized it was to help me, I was annoyed that he thought I needed help, so I swatted it away. Thankfully I made it to the side, where my actions were an object lesson for the class in what NOT to do when the guard is trying to help you.  It gives me joy knowing that, before it was all said and done, Luther referred to me as a “water rat.”

Luther was also a well-rounded athlete. In addition to swimming, he jogged regularly.  He jogged in Central Park, and in the early 90s, sports gear wasn't as commercialized as it is today.  I don’t know what he was wearing, but I know that Luther was out jogging around Central Park one day and suffered a fatal heart attack. Because he had no ID on him, there was no way to identify his body, so he lay unclaimed in the ME’s office for some time.  Luther had a sister who, when she could not contact him, began calling around to hospitals and the morgue. We are eternally grateful that she located his body the day before it was scheduled for interment in Potter’s Field.

Every day when I climb the steps to the second floor of the Y, I see the plaques dedicated to Luther and Charlie.  As I’m closer to 70 than any other age, it occurs to me that few if any of the 20-somethings, 30-somethings, and maybe even 40-somethings – few of them would have had the privilege and pleasure to have known these gentlemen, and even fewer would have had the privilege of having been trained by them.  So for today, my discipline is to memorialize my experiences with Luther and Charlie, two of the many reasons that have made the Harlem Y a constant in my life for over 40 years.

Peace Blossoming

 I actually started writing this last night, but am now resigning myself to the fact that I may miss a day of posting.  Not really sure where to start this.  In my previous post, I wrote about the monks walking for peace. These are a group of Buddhist monks who are walking from Houston Texas to Washington to DC for the purpose of spreading peace. It was my privilege and pleasure listen to them in Saluda SC; the experience was incredibly impactful.

 Today, I want to start chatting a bit about peace and about peace in the Christian Church.  One of the things I noticed when I saw the monks was a lone “Christian protester.” This protester had signs saying things like “Jesus died for you!”  “God loves you and wants to save you from your sins!” “Repent!” “Believe the Gospel!” and “Obey Jesus!” As I stated yesterday my brief encounter with this individual revealed a person so full of vitriol that it was off putting to me, and indeed my thought is that many of the people who claim to be Christian and who have a variety of agendas actually operate more out of fear than out of a love for the Gospel.   But that’s another story or maybe it’s not.  I don’t know -- I wanna talk about two things here and I don’t know if they’re related.  I guess I’ll find out as I go along.

Recently a prominent African American pastor was seen in public with his wife wearing a dress that evoked incredible public commentary.  First of all the woman in question has a very attractive figure; second, the dress seemed to give the illusion of nudity -- even the design on the dress drew your eye to the wearer’s private areas.   But as her husband, the pastor, said in a public response to all the outcry “this is my wife, I bought the dress and I had her wear it.”  Now I publicly am a bit more conservative in my dress so even if I were to have worn a dress to a formal event, it’s not a choice I would have made but I also would never have publicly condemned a clergyperson for their or their spouse’s sartorial selections; in the overall scheme of things,  the way a woman a married woman dresses when she is in the company of her husband  -- I don’t understand how that’s anybody’s business but theirs.  I personally don’t care what the lady wears.  I didn’t buy her clothes, I’m not gonna wear her clothes, I don’t care how she looks in her clothes, end of discussion.  That’s me.  But it was interesting to see how many people felt the need to comment on it another. 

Another recent situation (this is the third week of January 2026) -- another situation that has been in the news recently is this comedian Druski who made a skit ridiculing mega churches.   I don’t know that I’ve seen the skit in its entirety, though I have seen snippets on social media.  One of the things I saw was Druski suspended above the congregation.   I assumed that this was sort of parody of at least one pastor who in the last couple of years entered his sanctuary on a zip line.  At another point in the skit Druski, as he’s suspended above the congregation, is seen wearing red bottomed shoes, and he says something silly along the lines of “I wear Christian Dior and I wear Christian Louboutin because I’m a Christian, and I wear red bottomed shoes because I walk in the blood of Jesus!!”  It was kind of a tortured analogy but I thought it was silly enough to be funny.   It was a comedian doing his thing, taking a poke at mega church culture along with the excesses and the tenuous theological literacy that we sometimes see in popular religious culture.  Again, I thought it was funny and would not have given it a second thought except for the fact that it has been the source of nearly endless discussion online.  People are clutching pearls and saying that “Oh my God he’s attacking the church!”  “Oh he’s gone too far!” and so on, and other people, like myself, laughing at what they thought was typical comedic output.

This past Sunday, January 18 2026, the Sunday before Martin Luther King Day, a group of protesters in Minneapolis entered a church and disrupt the “worship” service.

The reason this group stated they were disrupting the “worship service” was because the pastor of the congregation is reportedly an ICE agent. ICE is the arm of the government that has been responsible, through legally and morally questionable authority and tactics, for rounding up and deporting people in this country who may not have the necessary legal authority to be here.  ICE and its proponents state that they are securing our borders and rounding up “illegal immigrants,” but a review of their actions suggests this is not the case.  Sadly they have effectively become a racialized goon squad. I personally regarded disruption of the supposed worship service as a righteous act. I thought this because I believe that many people who are calling themselves Christians are acting in ways that do not honor the teachings of Jesus Christ. Specifically I believe that those who embrace the MAGA agenda cannot be Christians. I say this because from where I sit the MAGA agenda appears rooted in an America First ideology and/ or a white supremacist ideology.   Both of those are contrary to what I understand to be the teachings of Jesus. Consequently, I believe that active participation in the MAGA movement and or ICE operations and being a follower of Jesus are mutually exclusive states.  Therefore, I think that anyone serving as an ICE agent and standing in front of a congregation to “pastor” it is defrauding the congregation.   I think that they are not a real Christian pastor, but rather are agents of satan, and for that reason not only do I see no harm in disrupting that farce, but I believe that disruption to be the only righteous course of action.  From where I sit, the MAGA agenda crucifies Christ over again; I see no vestiges of Christianity in the MAGA agenda, and the fact that so many people embrace it in the name of Christianity is but another demonic deception.  While people may have looked a little askance at me for holding that position from 2016-2020, given recent events and the actions of the 47^th president of the United States, I didn’t think my position was particularly controversial.  It is worth acknowledging my own sort of vanity; if I’m being honest, then once I arrive at a decision, whether it is purely intellectual or whether it is emotional, once I have embraced a decision, I own it and I’m good with it. 

 So I didn’t think my position was particularly controversial.  So I’m a bit shocked to see scores of church people protesting the disruption of a worship service.  I haven’t seen anyone protesting the fact that yanking people away from their families is unchristian.  I haven’t seen anyone protesting the fact that when we are unkind to the stranger within our gates that we are behaving directly contrary to what Christ instructed us to do.  I’ve seen no one up in arms over the fact that when we fail to take care of the widows and orphans or when we cut benefits for those who are needy among us that such actions are in direct contrast to the teachings of Christ.   I don’t see any clutching of pearls or any outpouring of outrage that these sorts of actions by the MAGA base are anti-Christian, but to protest the presence of this unchristian, MAGA pollution in Christ’s churches THEN there’s the clutching of pearls and the “Oh my God, it’s anti-Christian!!!”  

I’m just not understanding that. I don’t understand why it’s such an affront to Christianity that people are going in and saying “no you can’t pretend to lead while serving two masters,” “you can’t be beholden to ICE,” “You can’t serve ice and Jesus!”   I don’t know why it’s so wrong to protest and imposter in the pulpit while we remain silent as we are inhospitable to strangers, and fail to care for those who are in need, or are downright prejudiced against our Muslim cousins – I’m finding it more than a bit hypocritical that we are comfortable speaking out against those who say “this is not the way of Christ,” while we are unable to see how our own behaviors (or those of people and organizations we champion) are not Christlike.  My thought is that we live in an era where it is politically expedient to vilify “the left” or any one or any thing that behaves in a manner that is too liberal for our tastes, while we cower behind propriety instead of addressing the many ways in which we mindlessly crucify Christ every day.

 It seems that whether we're talking about the dress, the comedian, or the protest, it seems to me that the focus is misplaced. People want to focus on the disruption without acknowledging (at least in the case of the comedian and the protest) without acknowledging that which is being disrupted or why it is being disrupted. I think that in a world as fractured as ours, disruption of the status quo is a necessary prerequisite to peace. Judging from what I have observed of people's reactions to the monks walking for peace, it is clear that Americans and perhaps all humans are longing for something. We Christians seem to have failed them either through our theological incompetence or through our hypocrisy – especially when we stand in support of organizations that act in ways that tear down rather than build up, that foment hatred rather than love – we have failed to abide by Christ’s Great Commission, to go and make disciples by preaching and teaching.  The presence and continued tolerance of an ICE official in a Christian pulpit epitomizes this failure; the continued decline in attendance at Christian worship services as well as decline in American’s self-identification as Christian are further evidence of this failure.  Into the midst of this failed mess you have a couple of dozen unassuming monks, walking across the country, teaching mindfulness, and encouraging us to look inward.  Their message not only encourages us to take the twig out of our own eye, but they offer mindfulness practices as a guide to how we can take that first step.  As each of us takes the twig out of our own eye, we begin to see more clearly, and as we begin to see more clearly, we sow a seed of peace.  As we see more clearly, the seed grows and blossoms, and ultimately, we can cover our world in a canopy of peace!

So.  I’m a little too invested in this to know whether or not it makes much sense; I did wait a day before posting it, and the net net of what I want to say is that these Buddhist monks and their mission have encouraged me to be more mindful, to look within, to be still and know that God is God.  That, they say, is how peace will bloom in each one of us, and then it will blossom and those blossoms will spread into a beautiful canopy of peace throughout our land and throughout our world. 

 Will post a couple of pics here, but here is a link to a FB post with some pics:  https://www.facebook.com/share/p/186gLxt9kr/

as well as a link to a YT playlist: 

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbulJGoqwSysIQ-fUszR_lRSn2SQseX7T&si=16T4a5UyAL5Ln5Q-

 

In the words of the monks, may all beings be happy, well, and at peace!

More on Post-PhD Life, and the Walk for Peace

 

Another characteristic of post-PhD life is my attempt to honor the fact that I’m a being of body, mind, and spirit.  Pursuit of the PhD almost required all my resources go into the “mind” bucket; I remember some time after I defended climbing to the top of a hill in Marcus Garvey Park. There I sat to pray and meditate and nurture my spiritual side; the steep hike up the hill was enough to engage my physical body.  I’ve continued to exercise:  lifting, swimming, and just moving more while intentionally increasing my spiritual practices.

One of the things I decided to do was attend the CME Pastors’ Conference. It’s an Annual Conference held in Atlanta the first week of every year, and it coincides with homecoming for the Phillips School of Theology, THE Seminary of the CME Church.  The Conference always seemed a bit Phillips or ITC (Interdenominational Theological Center, a consortium of Atlanta-area seminaries of which Phillips is a member)-centric. Additionally, I find value in attending conferences where publishers offer books at a 20-40% discount; I was about to purchase a book at this conference and the preacher beside me nudged me and let me know he’d purchased it on Amazon for less than the conference price!!  So attending the Pastors’ Conference wasn’t a high priority while I was completing; having successfully defended, I was interested in attending the Conference.  The CME Church is a Connectional Church, and our national meetings are a bit like family reunions; I was excited at the prospect of seeing old friends and perhaps meeting some FB friends IRL.

I encountered that and more!  Dr. Michael Eric Dyson presented, followed by a Scholars’ Roundtable.  After worship and an alumni luncheon there was a special pastoral session on handling conflict, then a service by the Commission on Women in Ministry and an Outstanding Ministers Service that evening.  I think I left after the next day’s Plenary, but found that I didn’t need to attend every event, and time spent fellowshipping was time well spent.  I also managed to make some connections that will facilitate forward motion on some of my church projects, but the real value for me was in the corporate worship.  My home congregation has waned over the years, often resulting in a more intimate, private worship experience.  While private and corporate worship each have advantages, I don’t think I’d been in corporate worship since this summer in Sweden.  So the corporate worship was edifying and invigorating, it was great to see so many folk, and then I left the conference, rented a car, and headed to South Carolina to visit my Dad. He lives in a rural town that could not be more unlike the fast-paced life in New York City, and always provides a welcome respite. 

Headed to South Carolina after a spirit-filled conference would have been enough, but I heard about the monks Walking for Peace. They were to have been near Atlanta when I was there, but as I checked their route, it seemed that on January 8, the 75^th day of their walk, they would be about an hour’s drive from my Dad’s place.  They were to be in a little town called Saluda, the hometown and final resting place of one of my parishioners, so I thought that would be an appropriate site to visit.  As I drove through the South Carolina highways, I first had the opportunity to appreciate driving again – having lived without an automobile in NYC has been an adjustment and while I continually think about buying a car, for my purposes, renting one once a month or once every other month is sufficient.  So I drove through the South Carolina countryside – acres and acres of farmland, little cotton balls dotting the countryside, more roadkill than one would have expected, despite the deer and other critters scampering by the roadside.  For a native southerner who’s lived longer in NYC than anywhere else, this was a welcome change of scenery. There was even an old ESSO (Exxon’s precursor) sign!

Got to Saluda. It was the middle of the week, and I didn’t expect much of a turnout to see a bunch of Buddhist monks walking through a small South Carolina town. Boy, was I wrong!! The crowd was massive, though not nearly as large as it would grow by the time the monks reached Columbia, the state capital.  In Saluda, they were assembled at the Saluda County Courthouse.  I actually had to drive around for a while looking for parking, and ended up parking in a questionably legal spot a couple of blocks away from the courthouse.  When I approached, the monks were sitting in the yard, eating lunch. I snapped a picture of them before I knew of their request to not record them while eating, but once I learned of their request, I sat on the steps of the courthouse waiting for them to finish.

When they finished eating, the spokesperson, the Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara, came to address the crowd.  To accommodate him, the police officers had those of us on the steps move off the steps.  We were free to sit on the ground facing the steps, which I did, gaining a front row seat in the process.  Venerable Bhikkhu spoke to us for 20+ minutes, on mindfulness, on taking a break from our lovers (electronics), on the monkey mind, and on meditation.  I recorded most of his talk, and will try to post it along with pictures from the event.  While nothing I heard from him was new, he delivered these truths in such a way that they not only made sense, but they stuck.  Earlier I noted the need to nurture my spirit more, and one of the best ways I know to do this is to increase my mindfulness and meditative practices. (Truth be told, there’s a thin line between corporate worship that is edifying and corporate worship that is performative; for me right now a bit of corporate worship is edifying, but too much becomes performative.  I’m grateful for mindfulness and meditative practices:  mindfulness to direct my focus away from the external world and meditation to really listen to the voice of God.)  So there was a tremendous benefit in this exposure as it redirected me back to mindfulness and meditation.  Perhaps even more significant, though, was the ENERGY (or spirit if you want) these monks generated. I said to someone that if they can simply be conduits of this sort of energy on their journey, they will bring about peace in our land.  I think of SC in general as a red state, one where the different races appear to coexist only because everyone “knows their place.”  I think of Saluda as another stereotypical Southern town, embodying all the best and the worst of those stereotypes.  What I saw was a town full of people desperately seeking peace.  I saw a town full of people who’ve not found the Love or Truth of the Christian Gospels, and who are still seeking.  In America in general, perhaps in the Western world, I see people who reject the hypocrisy they see in those of us who claim to follow Jesus, but who still seek the love, joy and peace they’ve been taught are available in Him.  And in today’s pluralistic society, even folk in the Bible Belt are willing to commune with Buddhist monks if peace is a probable outcome.

…. well, most folk, anyway.  The only sad spot in the gathering was a gentleman with an amplifier and a sign, trying to drown out the monks with his voice, and displaying a sign proclaiming “Jesus Died For You:  God Loves You And Wants To Save You From Your Sins. Repent of Sin. Believe the Gospel. Obey Jesus.”  It was quite sad; I walked past him at the end and told him I hoped he got to know Jesus some day.  That comment produced a response so charged that its vitriol was almost palpable.  The sad thing, and something I didn’t realize when I started chanting decades ago, is that the practice of Buddhism does not interfere with and is not contrary to the practice of Christianity.  I happen to think that some tenets of Buddhism enhance my practice of Christianity, and I have thoughts about where Jesus was from the ages of 12-30, but that’s a different conversation.

So.  I’m going to post this and hopefully either post pics and video from the day or link this blog to FB pics and video of the day.  I can’t overstate its impact on me; not only am I attempting to be more intentional in my daily meditative practices, but I’m slowly imposing some much-needed discipline throughout other areas of my life.  The monks remind me of how my spirit used to be before living in NYC for so long:  I remember being in my mid-to late-twenties before finally realizing that some humans are just mean, and despite where I live, my instinct is still to look every human in the eye and greet them with a smile.  I’d like to get back to that sort of gentle, unassuming outlook on humans, and think the only way I can is through much, much MUCH prayer and meditation.

There’s probably more, but this is part of my forced daily writing exercise, so I’mma post this and figure out the pics later.

Post-PhD Life

 

Somehow FINALLY completing that dissertation has turned writing from a lifelong avocation to the source of unhealed trauma.  But I choose not to live with that trauma, and I gotta get back to writing.

 

So let me tell y’all about my healthcare. In a coupla weeks I’ll celebrate my 69½ birthday.  Yup, I celebrate my half birthday.  At age 60, I was happy that I had a regular workout routine, was regularly hit upon by people half my age, and though I took a number of supplements, was on NO prescription meds.  A decade earlier, I’d been on as many as eight prescription meds, including one or two injectables for diabetes, so to be on zero scrips was awesome!  Now, at 69½, I’m on a handful of scrips:  a couple to keep my acidic stomach from developing ulcers, one for sleep apnea, a couple for cholesterol, one for bp, and one to address the inflammation from the gout in my neck.  The stomach ones are already on an as needed basis, I’ll prolly keep using the sleep apnea one because I won’t use my CPAP, and my next bloods will determine whether or not we change the cholesterol meds.  I saw my cardio this week and not only does he want to start weaning me off the bp med, but he thinks I’m managing my weight well and don’t need to lose any more. I, of course, noted that I’m 13 lbs heavier than my prime fighting weight (in my late 20s!).  We had a discussion where I acknowledged that not only do I want to drop 13 lbs, but I want to change my body composition.  My lean muscle mass and bone density are both above average for women my age, but I want to put on more lean muscle while dropping fat.  My cardio wants me to understand that, at my age, this will not be as easy as it was FOUR DECADES ago; nevertheless, that’s what I want to do.

 

Of course, when I came out of the train today and had to stop to tighten my belt (once again, my pants were about to fall down), I did remember his comment that I’ve lost enough weight. So I’mma get back to lifting and consuming good protein to see if I can start building more muscle. 

I’ve been experiencing problems with my eyes since my last eye exam.  There seems to be a bit of double vision, and they’ve sent me to an ophthalmologist, have referred me to something called an orthoptist, and I’ve just come from an MRI of my brain and eye orbits.  Now, when I got Medicare, I took the plan that most closely resembled the plan I’d had when working. I think they’d call it a gold or platinum plan – I’m a two-time cancer survivor, and accustomed to buying insurance before the protections of Obamacare, I always selected the best coverage I could afford.  Still do, even though my PhD degree is no match for deciphering the ins and outs of Medicare and Medicare-adjacent plans now available to me.  I ended up selecting the same plan this year as last year, only to find a couple of notable changes:  the fee for a PCP OV went from $5.00 to $0.00, which is cool, considering there is now a $54.00 monthly premium for coverage that was free last year.  My cardio did get approval for the sleep apnea drug, but since it’s also used for weight loss, the pharmaceutical companies are cashing in – WITH my Medicare coverage, the first month’s copay for this drug was $600.00 (last year).  I was only responsible for paying drugs costs up to $2,000, so by the first quarter of the year, the drug was free.  My pharmacist managed to get me this year's  January scrip at the end of December '25 so I avoided the New Year Copay, but I’m kinda dreading what I’ll discover when I head over to pick it up at the beginning of Feb. 

 

Meanwhile, I go to this MRI of brain and eye orbits. Now, my insurance company sent me two letters advising me that they’d approved the prior authorization for this MRI.  I just checked, and the two approvals have two different approval numbers.  Not sure why, but I suppose that’s something else I'll have to research.  There’s nothing in these letters about any charges, so silly me assumed that they would charge me anything from $0 to $45 (which was the max specialist copay under my old plan).  My new plan shows a $0 charge for PCP, and a $115 charge for ER, but there isn’t even a SPECIALIST category listed, and I vaguely think I recall reading that specialists had the option to charge me anything from $0 to $45.00 (which my mind translated as “there’s no specialist fee on the card, so they’re not spozed to charge me anything"). Plus, I sorta thought that imaging was 100% covered under this policy.  I thought.... ANYway, why in the world do I go to this MRI, check in, and this lady tells me that I have a copay of TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS?!?!? I mean, it’s an exorbitant amount IMO, but could they at least have told me about it beforehand?  And the state of medical bureaucracy is such that it will take several hours on hold and several more hours of being transferred before I reach a human who tells me they don’t know why I didn’t get an estimated copay, blah, blah, blah….

 

Ultimately, I’ll be ok.  The fact they are doing an MRI of my head to understand why I have double vision reflects how seriously my medical team takes my care.  I’m blessed to be able to pick and choose physicians, grateful that I grew up poor enough to understand the importance of always having “a little something for yourself,” and blessed with medical practitioners who have expressed a willingness to work with me when insurance behaves badly.  I’m blessed that every significant physical affliction I’ve had has been covered.  I do worry about folk who don’t have adequate (or any) insurance, and God knows I don’t understand how we can go galivanting around pretending we’re going to govern Venezuela when we can’t even govern this country.  But from what I’ve read, free healthcare for all is constitutionally guaranteed to all Venezolanos, and their public healthcare system has a handshake agreement with the Cuban government.   (In propaganda-free countries, Cuba is known for its excellent healthcare.  In 2021, it had about 84 physicians to 10,000 people and has ranked as high as 94-95 per 10K people, higher even than wealthy enclaves such as Monaco which reported 86-89 physicians per 10K people). The Venezuelan healthcare system, like much of their government, seems mired in corruption, and I’m not hopeful that an influx of North American “leadership” in any sector will produce better outcomes.

 

In an ideal world, this blurb would have had a theme, maybe some points, some semblance of structure and at the very least a beginning and an end.  I’m rusty, and for today, the win is simply showing up to write.  I’ve only cranked out a little over 1K words; as with every other area of my life, only through understanding, application, and constant, repetitious practice will these efforts produce results. 

Let’s Get It!