Sixty-Five

Sixty-five is the magic number. I have a Medicare card. Yes. I have been without insurance for 17 years. I consider insurance companies another form of organized crime. Therefore, I have refused to give them any of my money. I have paid for my medical needs, which included a major surgery and the spin-off from a broken back, and I am way ahead of the economic game.

There are those who are attempting to cut back on "entitlements." Certainly, I believe our health-care needs can be provided with simple, basic, good medicine, without all the expensive toys. MRIs and CAT scans have their place but not with the frequency they are currently used.

I am one of the 99 percent. I have paid into Medicare for forty-seven years, and I will continue to pay into it. If the government had put a lock on Medicare and Social Security revenues, as President Clinton suggested, our nation's finances would have a different complexion.

The last President Bush drained our nation's funds into the pockets of the wealthy and gave them tax deductions galore. In the name of "terrorism," this president began two wars and created a staggering national debt, in the neighborhood of $14-to-17 trillion.

Now the wealthy 1 percent want to keep their "entitlements," lower taxes, and cut Social Security benefits. I hope everyone realizes that $4.6 trillion of the national debt is owed to Social Security.

I support the "Occupy Wall Street" movement. It is time to level the playing field, and I celebrate being 65 and having Medicare.

LOOK WITHIN

Many years ago, I traveled to Texas' Big Bend State Park. While there, I found a biography, Border Healing Woman, on Jewel Babb, who was eighty at the time of the book's publication in 1981.

Ms. Babb lived the latter portion of her life on the Texas-Mexico border. She grew up in the days of horse-drawn wagons and cattle roundups. She married, raised children and, in later years, discovered her healing powers.

When her biography was written, Ms. Babb resided alone, living in a home without electricity or running water. There many sought her for her wisdom, her cures and to learn her healing methods. Since reading of Ms. Babb's life, I have valued her wisdom.

"Television makes me sick," said Ms. Babb. "People who look at TV know what other people know. I want to know what I know."

She added, "If you go to church, you'll hear it how they tell it. But if you sit on a hill for fifteen years, with your animals and no one else, you learn a lot. It comes to you."

For many years, I have lived alone on my hill, with my animals. Ms. Babb was right. It comes to you.

TRANSITIONS

As we evolve spiritually, we travel to our centers and our truth.

For many years, I have recurrently dreamed that, even as an M.D., because of a clerical error, I had to repeat my senior year of high school to receive my high school diploma. I was humiliated.

Because of childhood programing, one theme in my life has been that regardless of my achievements, I could not succeed. Prior to medical school graduation, I became intensely suicidal. To approach an assault on my programing, such as walking across the stage and accepting my diploma, created almost unbearable stress.

During those four years of living hell, I thought I would surely die of a brain tumor or leukemia before I received the coveted degree.

For eleven years after graduation, I trained and practiced in the field of pathology. Following considerable, personal growth, I realized in pathology I dealt with dis-eased bodies, which were often the result of dis-eased thoughts and the subsequent emotions and actions they generated. Twenty-five years ago, I retrained as a psychiatrist, the field in which I currently practice.

As I approach retirement, my dreams indicate that I am having difficulty transitioning from a human doing to a human being. For several years, I have dreamed, because my skills were rusty, I must repeat my pathology training. Again, my achievements are not "good enough," and there is more for me to do before I rest or play. On awakening, I felt guilty about the many times, during my medical training and career that I was unavailable emotionally or physically for my three children.

Because of my commitment to my patients and my fear of financial insecurity, I have pushed myself to continue my practice. My gastrointestinal tract is a perfect barometer of my emotional state. Eighteen months ago, my alimentary canal went into full revolt. It informed me, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't quickly do something, drastically different, death was eminent. So, out of desperation, I decreased my patient load and my hours in the office.

For several months now, when I go into the office, I often feel as though I am dying. Last night, the dream of returning for a second pathology residency was more vivid than ever before. I had an infant. She was malnourished, lethargic and near death. If I attempted to perform the tasks entailed in the residency, she would die. I awoke knowing the child was me.

Soon, I know that I must leave my psychiatric practice. This phase of my life is drawing to a close. If I am to continue to help others, I will do so via another vehicle.

For many years, I have been drawn to follow my passions, art and writing, which issue from my center, my true self. As of yet, my literary footprint has been invisible, and I have not publicly shown my art. I am coming to know that it is not important that I have an audience, receive praise or earn an income from these endeavors. What is important is that I follow my passion and my truth, and so it is.

MY TIME

Professional confines,
Muzzled too long,
I've listend,
And listened,
And listened,
To "experts,"
Mostly men,
Who said little worth hearing.
After sixty years of hatching,
It's my time.
I am woman.
Hear my voice.
May it travel far.

A HUMAN RIGHT

Health Care,
A Civil Right?
Absolutely!
Even more,
A human right,
What does it look like?
Less procedures,
Tests and
Gadgets,
With spurious results,
More physicians
Nurses and
Human caregivers,
Healing comes with being
Seen,
Heard and
Touched.
Eyes of compassion
Heal the body and the soul.

INTRODUCTION TO ROLLING COMMENTARIES, 2011 EDITION

In my thirty-nine year medical career, I studied much, listened to many, reflected and synthesized. In 1996, the cosmic computer pressed print, and words began to flow through me and onto paper.

As I approach retirement, professional constraints are lifting, and all that I am can become visible. My favorite motto for this process is "let it rip."

I was reared in rural Oklahoma, a shameful fact in my young mind, so I attempted to eradicate my roots with education.

Even worse, I was born female, a birth defect in my patriarchal origins. Therefore, I had to be as good as or better than any man. Brains were my winning ticket.

After fifteen years of college and professional training and many years of living, I developed insight, into myself and others. When used for the highest good of all concerned, an educated mind is a blessing. However, there are many recipients of excellent educations with bloated egos, who spew forth on any and all topics, as if they were supreme authorities. Actually, they have barely skimmed the surface of true understanding or wisdom.

I am no longer impressed by any one's education or the amount of money in their bank account. I am more interested by the nature of their soul and their ability to be loving, kind and compassionate to all.

As the years passed, I came to value my country roots. Oklahomans' feet are firmly planted in the red earth. They also have good, common, horse sense and a belly-laughing sense of the absurd.

As for being a woman, I consider my gender to be one of my greatest assets. Women, more often than men, tend to listen to and follow their intuitions, their inner knowings. I, along with many others, consider intuition to be the highest form of intelligence and a direct extension of the collective unconscious, which is also called the Akashic Field and Divine Intelligence.

ROLLING COMMENTARIES: This title is based on my travels in life and on the planet. I spend much of my time in silence and solitude, my form of meditation, and a myriad of thoughts and topics flow into my consciousness.

In the springs and summers of 2009 and 2010, I travelled five times to the coast of North Carolina. The following series, which includes over fifty pieces, came to me during those travels. This series will be followed by many others.

The "Addendums" are personal notes made the date of the blog's post.

May your journeys be blessed.
Linda Bowlby, M.D.

LET IT RIP

At 62, I am a mother of three and a grandmother of six. I am a member of the silent majority who has been silent far too long. It is my turn to be heard.

As a college student, medical student and young mother and physician, I was too busy to find my voice, let alone speak it. Besides, in my training as a pathologist and later as a psychiatrist, I was schooled to censor all verbiage, lest it offend or rain down legal wrath upon my head.

In social circles, I often heard others pontificating drivel, I remained quiet. I felt any comment I made would fall on deaf ears or summon an attack, and I wasn't willing to waste my energy.

In 1997, with children grown and grandchildren on the horizon, I lived off the grid and, with hammer in hand, I built my own home. On a very cold January day, I was sitting in bed quilting, attempting to stay warm. Suddenly, a short essay came to mind, and words began to gush through me and onto paper. It was as if the cosmic computer button had pressed print.

My motto became, "Let it rip," and I did. Over the following years, I wrote three books on holistic healing, art and women's history.

Making the usual rounds of query letters to agents and publishers, I accumulated a stack of rejection letters. It seems I needed to be well known, or known by the right people, to be published.

Mustering my courage and resolve, I decided if artists could buy their own canvas, I could buy my own paper. In 2006, with the help of two professional stay-at-home mothers, I self-published.

In 2008, I released another adult nonfiction and six children's books. My readers have been few, and the literary world has yet to fall at my feet.

Disheartened, I have pondered the question, "Why write?" Finally, the proverbial light bulb went off, and I realized it is not so important that I am read. What is important is that I write.

For years, I have admired such artists as Georgia O'Keeffe and Grandma Moses. In their tenacity and perseverance, they held true to their inner visions, and I must do the same. There is freedom in anonymity. When no one is looking, I can really let it rip.