Hello Community, Nice to Meet You.

I’m naturally drawn to community and the many definitions that one simple and complex word represents.  I easily identify with many communities, enjoy reflecting on where my affiliation in them intersect, sometimes collide, and how this tapestry makes me who I am.  It really is pretty cool to take the time and soak in the multiple layers of life that naturally swirl around me and contemplate a deeper understanding.  If my usual state of community curiosity is a stroll on the beach periodically dipping my toes in the water, this week was body surfing on a perfect summer day and catching every. single. wave.

So, many of my community affiliations intersected this week.  You see, the UNE Rural Health Immersion packed up a van of 10 students from osteopathic medicine, pharmacy, social work, and dental medicine drove them 250 miles off campus into Washington County, a region of the state that is near and dear to me.   My heart was beating thinking about them looking out the window at the vastness of Route 9, hoping they were seeing the beauty of landscape, the peeks of water, rolling hills, blueberry barrens scattered with boulders, rundown structures, and not thinking to themselves “what the heck was I thinking” as they saw markers for territories instead of towns.  Here it was, my professional life was taking a road trip right into the middle of a very special part of my personal life.   I so wanted them to love Washington County, felt like I had to protect it, and at the same time I let that piece of being from “away” creep in and realized this was an incredible opportunity of immersion for me as well, a new type of journey into a community I love, this time with my professional hat on.  What happened next was magic.

Not every student is a good fit for a rural immersion and that is why they self-select.  It takes someone curious, open, compassionate, innovative, and willing to listen.   Most of all it takes strength of character.  A tall order for anyone in any situation.  They met these expectations and to say I was puffed up with pride would be an understatement. Each of these students is enrolled in incredibly rigorous academic programs, and this was their one week of “time off”.  They chose to use it to learn more, to immerse themselves in a transformative experience with their peers from other professions in a community they knew nothing about.  Its true that some of them grew up in rural communities themselves, but others were more familiar with the likes of Los Angeles, Miami, and Manhattan, a far cry from Calais, Lubec, and Eastport.  Through the long days, many miles on the road, they remained inquisitive, humorous, and appeared to developed what I hope to be friendships that will stand the test of time, both with their peers and faculty.   This is what interprofessional education looks like in real time, why we do it, and why we need to keep doing it.  It is what will make the health care system better in the future.  One student said to me that it felt like we were on a family vacation!  A family of future health professionals.

But here’s where I think the magic really happened, in each candid and generous conversation in the community.   I have been blessed with years of friendships with my Eastport clan, and feel grounded, loved, and connected.   What this opportunity did was push me outside of my circle of friends and put a different pair of lenses in my glasses that let me see this community more deeply.  I admired the amount of time afforded the students which we learned mirrored the time given to patients, and this was not lost on anyone.   In a world where health care can be an assembly line, to see how rural care providers took the time to listen was inspiring.  Part of this is necessity because lack of resources leaves no other alternative than for social workers, doctors, dentists, pharmacists and others to fill many roles.  It’s compelling to hear that a surgeon, turned primary care physician, now retired has found himself as lead substance abuse doctor in the region.  Or the nurse practitioner scheduled for a follow-up with a patient finds herself spending more time doing a mental health check with the patient then the follow-up.  And there is the dental hygienist that started a program to teach elementary school students how to brush their teeth because of the lack of fluoride and parental guidance for dental care.  The list goes on.   This community makes it happen and when you ask them why its because this is where they live, these are their family, friends, and community members.  They see each other regularly at spaghetti suppers, town meetings, the grocery store.  They coach sports, start knitting circles, and they look out for each other.  They understand each other.  They are in it together, in ways that seem to be lost in other places.  Their skill, education, abilities, and drive could get them jobs anywhere, but the choose here.

It went further than that when we met with community members outside of health care.  First was our trip to Raye’s Mustard Mill.  Originally thought of a nice diversion from all the health care talk, but there it was in front of us again … a history of community.  The rich history of the mill, the family, the pictures on the wall, and the dialogue that it generated were fun to watch.  There is science in the mustard seed after all. We then moved onto Quoddy Bay Lobster, a much touted (by me) experience, where we got a glimpse into the lobstering industry, its challenges and joys, what its like to be a lobsterman’s wife and raise a family, and how to grow a business.  Lobstering is a complicated, political, and dangerous job and I know I walked away with a new appreciation and admiration of that business on Sea Street down the path from my Eastport house.  One of the highlights was looking at the faces of students look at the three pound lobster wriggling in front of them.

To be honest, my community organizing heart was most excited to have connected and worked with my good friends to organize a panel of community members to meet with students and faculty.   I know I am loved, but truth be told on those nights I got home after long days of being on the road to get emails from them knowing they were helping made me want to cry.  (Super shout out to Tessa Ftorek and Kevin Raye).  The quick and willing replies were only overshadowed by meeting new friends in person (Judy Clendenning).   There was also the phone call to Sara Griffin in the parking lot of Monica’s Chocolates when she told me she would make time for a Quoddy Bay Lobster tour, cater our lunch, AND be on our community panel that almost made me fall out of my car.  And there were my phone calls with Chris Gardner where without question he agreed to take 2 hours out of his busy schedule to meet with students and reserved the conference room for us. Just to note, he’s the Executive Director of the Port Authority.  I. Can’t. Even.  All of this even before the lively conversation with students that  ended our day in Eastport.  And that conversation? It was lively, candid, honest, and real.  Students and faculty asked questions.   Community asked questions.  We all learned from and with each other.  Biggest take away … you make what you want.   Eastport wants to thrive and it will. 

It’s not that I don’t feel connected to my community in Southern Maine.  I absolutely do. I LOVE my job.  I love my Southern Maine clan of friends, my family, the beauty of the area.  I live an absolutely blessed life.   What happened this week is my heart grew a little bit more.   I’m more connected to Washington County, and most of all Eastport.   I'm more immersed in UNE and can’t wait to see these 10 students on campus again and work with faculty on other projects.   What this experience taught me is it is possible to be more connected no matter where you are.  That is what I want.  That is what I will make happen.

Mirror. Mirror.

Looking in the mirror, or possibly at my reflection in a window as I inadvertently catch a glance, poses a challenge. What I see makes me want to turn away and this raises important questions.  Do I call upon my positive nature and see the glass as half full to reconcile my distress?  Should I use this discomfort, literally and figuratively, as a way to redefine who I think I am within the realities of fibromyalgia, age, and life?  How do I rise above real or perceived physical limitations?

 Recently, I found myself pining to be someone other than who I am on a morning walk while on a business trip in D.C.   Heading to the metro to catch a train on a fresh sunny morning a woman ran past me, earbuds in, running attire impeccably highlighting her level of fitness, with an effortless gait that propelled her down the street.   I thought about how freeing it must be to move at that pace, heart rate elevated, lungs distributing oxygen to muscles, and experiencing a detoxifying sweat.   I thought about what it must feel like to have a body that looked and moved like hers.  I also pined for that feeling I knew she would have once she got back home, as her heart rate slowed, hydrating with a cold swig of water, and then falling into a comfy chair to take in the bliss of endorphins.

Truth be told, I never was a runner (although I tried mighty hard to be), so the pining to be the gazelle-like woman was ironic, if not hysterical.  I am sure “gazelle” has never been a term used to describe me, even at my height of fitness! I reconciled my desire to be a runner well before age or fibro caught up to me, nonetheless the deep green envy of this woman was palpable and made me yearn for my former self.   I was able to shake it off as I stepped onto the down escalator to the platform, paying particular attention to the pain in my feet and knees, taking care to distribute the weight of my laptop bag and purse in a way that didn’t strain my shoulders and neck, and saving face by choosing to stand instead of sit while waiting for the train.

 Once on the platform I relaxed into my usual people watching habits and marveled at the unique differences of those who waited with me.   I considered how each of those bodies held stories I would never know, just as I was carrying my own stories not visible to them.  Perhaps they also took extra care to position their bags as they descended the escalator.  I stood concocting stories about my fellow metro riders when I spotted a young woman (who I deemed to be a college student) who joined the waiting game.  She possessed a confidence I admired, she was short in stature, lean and muscularly compact at the same time.  She was wearing athletic black shorts and a tank that was the embodiment of assuredness and left no question of her commitment to fitness.  I recognized this because she possessed similarities to several of my lifelong friends who also emanate these qualities and something I once did as well.  I felt a surge of grief.  I looked closer and saw she had a number marked on her hand, an indication she had just competed in a race or other athletic event, and a justification of the shameless hamstring stretches she performed in public.  And just like that, the envy creeped back in, and just like that I worked at pushing it away so I could move on with my day.

The train arrived and I boarded.  Four stops later I was delivered to my destination and walked up the hill to my meeting.  The promised breakfast was a disappointing choice of Frosted Flakes or Fruit Loops (no kidding).   I cursed my decision to forgo breakfast on my own and apprehensively picked up one of the pre-packaged cereals of my youth knowing the consumption of carbs and milk would result in guilt worthy of the locale of the meeting … The Catholic University of America.  With the shameful breakfast in hand, I joined my social work colleagues and vowed to embrace their powerful presence of compassion.  We spoke of ending oppression, elevating vulnerable populations, and challenging and confronting injustice (a day in the work of a social worker)! But still, I couldn’t shake the envy or guilt, and this brings me shame.   When I looked in the mirror during my bathroom break, I felt self-loathing, and returned to my table.

I’m still figuring it out.  There’s a socially-constructed ideal of beauty and fitness I have internalized that is complex and multi-layered.  I know this.  I’ve been the chubby middle-schooler, athletic teenager, overweight college student, super-fit twenty-something, in-between-thirty-five-year old, over-stressed forty-year-old, and defiant fifty and closer to sixty year-old.  When I think of all of these outward versions of myself, I know that the deep-down-inside Cyndi has never changed.   I am not unique with my body-image struggles, and at the same time they are unique to me.  I am thankful for the age, experience, and wisdom that helps me navigate them.  Truth be told, I never knew I possessed such vanity, and the reality of that is hard to shake.  I want the pain to end, and not just the pain of negative self-regard, but the actual pain that pulses through my body.  I want age to reverse itself.  I want my belt to stop pressing into my belly.  Most of all, I don’t want this to hold as much importance as it does.   I’m working on being as kind to myself as I strive to be to others.