Watering the Grassroots

Just returning from a three-day trip to St. Louis, I feel a little bit like Pooh-—with a head stuffed with too much fluff-—and Alice in Wonderland—-with a head filled with overwhelming wonder. Each and every time I go to this forum (I started attending eight years ago) I come back with a head literally swimming with confusion and uncertainty, along with some newfound conviction...and righteous indignation to boot.


Topics ranged from our Missile Defense System to our Trade Imbalance to Job Losses to Asia to the Overmedication of Today’s Children. Hardly light material. Heated lectures were presented by Congressman and Justices, by physicians and lawyers. Most attendees were like-minded, though certainly, one could only expect that when faced with issues charged with this level of controversy and intensity, 400 folks from all walks of life—-in all age brackets, from virtually every state in the union-—we wouldn’t always be on the exact same page.


And indeed, as I sat in on my very first session, one trying-to-be-helpful attendee asked me to consider putting Nick (who’s battling leukemia) on the best-selling “Natural Cures” protocol, urging me to give up the tried-and-tested chemo regimen of forty-plus-years in the making in favor of this most recent fad. Before I could say “nobutthankyouverymuch,” I found my girlfriend grabbing me by the elbow as I felt the words “Because he’s a quack” forming quite boldly on my tongue.


Ahhh! Controversy. Not exactly something which I thrive on, but something which I acknowledge as necessary for social, economic and political progress.


I happen to hate conflict. Perhaps my distaste stems from a long-forgotten childhood experience; perhaps from pure birth order (I’m that proverbial peacemaking middle-child); perhaps it’s written in my genetic code. I do not have that lawyer’s instinct for argument, for slicing and dicing minutia, and for debating every fine point of every law on the books. I am-—as my 81-year-old “adopted” mother and conference roommate described—-much too much of a free spirit. For while I admit to heartily enjoying a good debate, I abhor intense conflict, and hate dotting all of those nasty little “i’s” and crossing those silly little “t’s.”


Not so, these presenters. They wallowed in detail. Delighted in controversy. They argued their points with passion, hoping to ignite in each one of us their urge to move their messages forward.


It is this recognition of the power of grassroots movements that impressed me this weekend. Recognition of the power of one. Of research backed by belief. Propelled by vision or divine intervention or spiritual guidance. Powered by energy and enthusiasm and determination and persistence.


Most of the world’s great movements were fueled by anger or by righteous indignation. At social injustices. Economic imbalances. Medical emergencies. Political persecution. And many of these were pushed into the national consciousness by the power of one individual who caught hold of a vision and boldly moved forward.


Amidst the “overwhelmingness” of your everyday reality: of lunchboxes and homework drills, nursings and night duty, carpools and booster clubs: seek involvement in issues of monumental proportion. Involvement not only ejects you out of your own personal problems; it injects you into the national (if not universal) equation. Something, sometime, will hit a nerve somewhere in you. Perhaps you’ve faced a life experience which has left an indelible imprint such that non-involvement would seem heretical. Dealing with childhood cancer has had that impact on me; I will be serving as a goodwill ambassador for the Make-A-Wish foundation. And Nick is contemplating medicine-—for the first time ever-—as he ponders the why’s and how’s of his personal journey with leukemia. My husband has unusually high sympathies for the plight of immigrants, as his own family fled Cuba under Castro’s regime; we now support families facing similar circumstances.


Each of us faces unique combinations of experiences, abilities and personalities which shape us into persons of unique forces for good. Working at causes far larger than those faced by our own families help us shift our focuses away from the dilemmas and concerns facing us on a close and daily basis into a much larger circle of concern. Expanding this circle, while seemingly exhausting and arduous during this overwhelming child-rearing phase, has potential for consequences of epic proportions.


I encourage you to embrace indignation. And anger. Pain. Suffering. To water the grassroots movement stirring within you. And to allow it to sprout into something which might benefit the whole world. It seems like an improbable scenario. One too far removed from the routine, mundane reality of your workaday world. But somehow, somewhere, you have your place in it. I know that I do. I wish you the joy of discovery; simply attending a national conference always has this effect on me. I wish you participation in the fulfillment of your destiny.


Blessings on your week,


Carolina


A Nick Note


With the ink on last week’s Nick-is-doing-great-Nick-Note still wet, we endured a night of horror as we watched helplessly while muscle spasms sent Nick screaming in pain. A middle-of-the-night trip to Yale Hospital’s ER-—something which he fought to the end-—was aborted around 4:30 AM when the cocktail of tylenol-codeine-advil-benadryl finally kicked in. A mid-week visit to his doc proved that it was “only” muscular pain, something which we could nothing to avoid nor to help. Intense chemo sometimes does that. Relief came by the end of the week, and Nick was able to enjoy a weekend visiting friends, virtually pain-free. Today brings the start of a new four-week round, the last of this year’s intense chemo protocol. It includes a spinal tap as well as a powerful combination of three chemo drugs, all of which make him vomit more than I care to describe. We have, indeed, thrived on your prayers on his behalf. As always, we continue to ask you to keep Nick in your prayers, until his full healing has been revealed to all of our senses.