Out of the ordinary
For the last month or so, we’ve been preparing. Yesterday, just days before my sixty-ninth birthday, we stepped over the threshold of our ordinary lives and into a new adventure. The usual doesn’t serve any more. For several years now my life has been getting small due to ill health, and I found myself getting more anxious, despite my best efforts, to accept this “new normal.”
By December life was particularly dark. I was at once both so “wired and tired” I told multiple doctors and specialists I felt myself blinking in and out of existence, as if I were a faulty light switch. My symptoms presented as neurological not pulmonary (chronic fatigue, tinnitus, attention, mood, etc) and I believed something was deeply wrong, so I kept looking for answers. All the usual blood work found “nothing” of clinical significance so there was nothing to call it clinically but “anxiety.” And oh by the way, since the Opioid Epidemic we don’t have any treatment for that except deep breathing. I love deep breathing, but it wasn’t helping.
Spark of possibility
Then my functional medicine MD, oriented to look at the whole person/whole system, checked me for mold illness. And guess what; the tests both in my biome and my home were off the charts. Mold is in the majority of buildings, hopefully at “acceptable” levels. Our house, however, may have been moldering (haha) for years. We each have our own tolerance threshold, and I experienced a sequence of health events over the last few years that breached my ability to cope. Or maybe it’s because I am one of the 20% of the population genetically predisposed (HLA, MTHFR). While Tim remains “well,” there’s some speculation that the long term effects of exposure for those who appear more healthy while living in mold may just be delayed.
I am so grateful to my doctor, who put me on a curing path two months ago, starting the work to rewire me from the gut up, trapping millions of mycotoxins with activated charcoal and a slew of other medications and meditations. But my house is likewise sick, and must be taken down to the studs too. The remediation expert hired to tear out the walls said our place has some of the worst ERMI reports he’s ever seen. The levels are two times higher than the data range that states, “Re-occupancy is ill-advised until further remediation and re-assessment are conclusive.”
That’s a pretty clear call to leave the ordinary behind. After a few weeks of preparation, today Tim and I stepped over the threshold, taking a road trip for the next month. Our home is now filled with workers in hazmat gear. We think it’s a month to remediate the mycotoxins, then a master bath replacement for three months more. None of it is covered by insurance.
The journey isn’t over when we come back. We will wash, disinfect or delete every last thing in our environment as we continue to test, test, test mold levels over the next six months to a year. And still there are no guarantees all will be well. When I stop even briefly to listen to my life right now, all I hear is overwhelm. But if I’m going to get better, if Tim and I are going to have the good life we seek, we cannot listen to that.
It’s grow time
Instead, we’ll embark on our own heroic journey and creative process, and both stories teach us the most important thing to pack is curiosity. The Hero and Muse are guiding myths because human growth and development at any age doesn’t happen if we ignore the “explore.” When we avoid novelty we actually prune back brain function. Neuroplasticity has proven the brain looks for repeatable patterns to optimize predictability and reduce danger. In my case, “I am a sick person with untreatable anxiety” was the multi-year message, and would have been my sad little story if it weren’t for curiosity (and pain; pain is an amazing motivator).
The gift I seek
I’m glad to be traveling with Tim. He and I embarked on our first journey 38 years ago, as we created a family and life together. With “the kids” now older than we were when we married, this new journey will let us seek and receive boons as both a couple and as individuals.
I already know what I’ll be exploring for myself: Beyond my wish for vibrant health, I seek the gift of recreating myself as The Artist. I’m a born Creative (aren’t we all, yes we are). The Artist reframes the ordinary in ways that inspire people to grow. I do that with my coaching, taking people through their own journeys to create the life, work, relationships or world they seek. But I have always had a gift for music and writing, which I largely put aside to properly attend another spiritual prime directive of serving others. In fact, I’ve tried for two years now to turn that story into my artistic debut, writing about my life with my brother Phil. And I will write about it. Just seems the fates won’t let me get to that reward without battling this mold monster first.
That’s the thing about the creative process and the hero’s journey. One requires you to dig deep, one to reach high. For both, you must be sparked, then embark on a curious journey. Since the road is new, you never know what you will struggle through until you intuitively connect with your best way forward in the new landscape. If you’re lucky enough to find - then return - with a gift, that’s a comedy. If not, it’s a tragedy. But that’s life.
Next episode; from L.A.
Dear Diane… I find the energy that connects our families so interesting… and that which connects you and me in particular. Thank you for your support, it means so much to me ❤️
Wow—Gail, I had heard something about the business with the mold in your home from the kids but not the extent of it, and believe it or not, I think I have some idea of what it entails to have everything in your life turned upside-down. I don’t know if you got my invitation to subscribe to my newsletter this afternoon because it didn’t seem to go through or if perhaps we both managed to get through to each other serendipitously. Don’t know if you had heard or not, but I had a hip replacement last year that’s taken about a year to recover from. Won’t go into the details, and Doug just had a partial knee replacement; in the meantime we moved out of our place in the mountains, relocated to the central coast and are currently in the process of selling the mountain house. Just getting old is a hero’s journey! And we are on it. Am going to read your other posts now, am sending you so much love and healing energy!