John's Story

Co-Enzyme Q10
B-12 Lozenge
Acetyl-L-Carnitine
Lactobacilli Non-Dairy
L-Glutathione
Burdock
Chamomile
Milk Thistle
Green Tea
Bromelaine
Peppermint Oil
Vitamin C
Vitamin E

This is a partial list of the supplements John takes every day. Over 100 pills a day. These supplements cost us an average of $120 per week. He also takes a line up of prescription medications. The co-pays for those? Plenty.

As I mentioned in my previous post, he also sees a naturopath once a week. The cost for that visit? Another hundred. Plus the cost to drive 3 hours one way every Friday, grab dinner on the way back...

Add to that the cost of at least 2 or 3 additional doctors' visits each month. Let's just say that we will have no problem reaching the threshold to deduct medical expenses on our taxes this year.

But the value of John's health? Priceless.

In honor of John's birthday today, and for all of you who asked or expressed joy over his improvement: here is his story.

Two months before Giuliana was born, in October 2007, John started to feel a sharp and stabbing pain in his abdomen. We had no idea the cause of it. It literally came on suddenly, in the course of an afternoon, and has never really gone away since then.

At first we assumed he must have been having some sort of acute attack...gall or kidney stones, something like that. Blood work and ultrasounds showed no cause for the pain. After a few weeks he developed a high fever and was in agonizing pain. He was admitted to the hospital and diagnosed with hepatitis A. He was treated for hep A and was released from the hospital a week later. Still in pain.

Over the course of the next year, while taking care of a newborn, John had procedure and test after procedure and test. He had his gallbladder removed. He had a GI procedure called an ERCP that ended up causing acute pancreatitis that left him hospitalized for 2 weeks with a central PIC line. Two weeks later he was back in the hospital to have a stent left over from the ERCP removed and that ended up causing him to be in the hospital another week.

We saw doctor after doctor. Primary care, gastroenterologists, communicable disease specialists, endocrinologists,  psychologists, psychiatrists, anesthesiologists. Countless emergency room visits. Up and down, back and forth, good days and bad days, but no diagnosis, no cure. Always pain.

Eventually, in early 2009, we exhausted all the local doctors and resources. We had tried going up to Syracuse, the closest "big city" but had bad experiences there as well. So, we moved on. We went to Albany to see a neurologist, nada. We were referred to a GI specialist in New York City. It meant leaving our daughter with family, driving down to New York, spending the night with John's aunt in Brooklyn, a long day in the city and another long drive home. They did tests, they tried new meds. It still didn't help. They referred us to an anesthesiologist in the City. He was great and really tried to help. Medications, patches, electrical stimulators. Some of it helped, to a point. But, still, the pain was always there. John took 3 long leaves of absence from work because he was just unable to function. Back and forth, good days and bad days...

By spring of 2010 we were spent. We did not know where to turn. He was hoping to be able to attend graduate school in the fall, but honestly, it looked quite doubtful he would be able to handle it. We were coping day to day, it was tenuous. He still wasn't able to work a full week most of the time. He had no endurance. His energy and reserves were used up and his body was just plain tired from being in pain.

John began to see another psychologist to try to learn to cope with the constant pain. After a few weeks, this psychologist said, "you know, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I see this guy in New Jersey and the only way I can describe him is as a 'miracle worker.' I would like to call him and see if he would meet with you." John came home and we discussed it. "Miracle worker?" I asked incredulously? Really? I googled the man, Roland Ramos, and his office, Hands of Care. Nothing. People were telling us this guy was world famous, worked with celebrities, cured people of stage 4 cancer. But I couldn't find him on the web. I was skeptical. John was skeptical. The psychologist told John the next week, "I called him. He is not accepting new patients. His practice is full. But I explained your situation and he is willing to see you. He will make an exception for you." Another long discussion at home. Should we try it? No way this was going to be covered by health insurance. Who was this guy? The psychologist described him as having "energy" in his hands. He touched you and you could feel it...warmth and healing. Sounds, weird, right? Yeah. It did to us, too.

We really had no other options. It was either go see this guy, reservations aside, or keep the status quo, which was barely maintaining us. So, without much hope that this was going to work, we went in May 2010. We left Giuliana again to spend the night with her grandparents, and made the 3 hour trip to Harrington Park, NJ after work one sunny afternoon. We stopped at a rest stop along the way and spontaneously decided to have 2 chocolate ice cream cones. That turned out to be John's farewell to both chocolate and ice cream...but we didn't know it at the time.

I'm struggling with how to describe to you our experience at Roland's office. I don't want this to come across sounding hokey, or like we found some sort of Messiah or modern shaman. But Roland truly does have a gift. I don't even really know what to call what he does. He's a naturopath and uses herbs and supplements and natural healing methods. But he was also previously a hospital administrator. So he knows modern medicine. He does a lot of talk therapy, but he's not really a psychologist or a counselor. He does incredible energy work with his hands, but I don't know that it's actually reiki  or anything similar. He just does what he has been given a gift to do, and it works. He's also physically not what you'd expect. I was picturing some youngish middle-aged hippie, tall and thin, with long hair, maybe birkenstocks, definitely a crystal hanging around his neck. Nope. He is an average looking grandpa type. Favors argyle sweaters and a comb over. No crystals.

So we arrived. The office is a beautiful and cozy complex on a quiet side road in the middle of suburban New Jersey. There is a gorgeous landscaped koi pond in the parking area and a peaceful meditative garden filled with gnomes. The office is a part of Roland's house which is show-stoppingly beautiful. And it all works together to create a peaceful and healing environment. Still, I was skeptical when we walked in the door.

Roland had John lay down on a massage table. He told us he uses his hands to heal and not to be alarmed if John felt a very warm sensation as he touched him. He also looked John dead in the eye and said, "You are going to be healed. I have no doubts. It might take some time, and you have to do everything I say, but you will be healed." Ummm. Ok.... I didn't know what to make of that statement. John and I both described his pain and the ordeal he'd been through over it. Roland listened and asked a few probing questions but mostly he moved his hand over John's body, about an inch above him, concentrating on his abdomen. All of the sudden he yanked his hand away as if he was pulling something out of John's body. Roland never touched him, and John had his eyes closed. But John's whole body physically jerked and he let out a little yelp. Roland told him to be calm and just continue talking. Roland kept sweeping his hands over John's body concentrating on his abdomen and his head, every so often jerking his hand away. Everytime, John jumped. It was eerie.

After several minutes of this, Roland stopped John. He told him that he had felt, through his hands, that John has a very severe allergy to milk and milk products. He told us that this allergy was eating John's stomach and intestines up and they were filled with toxic by-products. He said, "let me guess, you love to drink milk...probably chocolate milk, am I right? And you eat a lot of pizza with cheese, ice cream, cereal?" Hmmm. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. He said, "you have to completely cut out dairy. No milk products. None at all." This was probably one of the worst things, in John's opinion, that he could have said. John looooooooves chocolate milk and drank gallons of it. He is Italian, so most meals include something dripping with cheese. A bowl of cereal is one of John's comfort foods, what he turns to when he is in pain and needs to eat but can't handle anything heavy. Not anymore, according to Roland. And he made this determination without a single test, scan, or scope.

Roland told us he wanted to meet with John once a week for a while until they were able to get things under control. He gave him a list of supplements to take every day and again stressed completely cutting out milk, along with, for the time being, beef and citrus, to give his stomach a rest.

The drive home that evening was interesting. We had a long talk about whether to give this a shot or not. I mean, how could he possibly know that John was allergic to milk without doing any tests? But what about that weird energy work he was doing? John said he could feel his hands moving over his body even though Roland wasn't touching him. He said he could feel his pain welling up and concentrating under Roland's hands, and when he pulled his hands away, John could feel energy and pain pull from his body. He said when Roland held his hands over John's head, he felt peace and relaxing energy. So we didn't really know what to make of it. My advice was, you've tried everything else and nothing has worked, why not give it a shot? If it doesn't work, what have you really lost? But maybe there's a chance it will work. And I also said, "if you decide to do it, you have to really do it. You have to listen to him and do everything he says."

And he has. For 9 months now.  He takes all the supplements. He found a carob rice milk that staunches his craving for chocolate milk. He hasn't had cheese, ice cream, a bowl of cereal or any other milk product since that last ice cream cone (including chocolate! I couldn't do that!) He is just now adding beef and citrus back into his diet in small amounts. And it's worked!!!! In the first 2 months John dropped 25 lbs. He said he could feel toxic sludge leaving his system. He has been able to cut back on the prescription medications he takes and his goal is to eliminate most of them over time. He is completely off of narcotic pain relievers. He is able to work and play with Giuliana and help me around the house (we even scraped and painted our garage this summer which was a huuuugggeee project. He never would have been able to do that 2 years ago.) And he is going to grad school, something else he wouldn't have been able to handle before. He is enjoying life again.

We continue to see Roland once a week. It's still a long trip to make, but about 6 months ago we started taking Giuliana with us so we didn't loose so much time with her each week. She loves going to "Dr. Rowand's" and is an absolute angel on the trip. She occupies herself for the entire car ride, mostly looking out the window and talking to us. She has made friends with the people in the office and feels at home there. And she looks forward to our dinner date afterward, often ordering her own food when the waitress comes to the table :)

And I have turned into a believer. This guy, as weird as it sounds, really does have a gift. He is a miracle-worker. We have met other people who he's worked with, people who have recovered from multiple sclerosis, stage 4 cancer, thyroid disorders and chronic pain. Roland, Dawn, and Lisa are becoming family. The office is like a welcome respite each week.

This sign hangs in the entrance hall at Roland's office. It sums up the feeling and atmosphere there pretty well, because the healing Roland does is not just physical, but spiritual and emotional as well. John still has a ways to go, there is still break through pain now and then. But the transformation has been amazing. I am more grateful than I can express.

Writing for Myself

Hello, Blogland. How are ya? I’ve been good. I took a hiatus from you and honestly? It felt kinda nice. It wasn’t intentional and it was nothing personal. I hope you forgive me. See, this blog of mine…it became this THING that began to feel like it was swallowing me. I stopped writing because I enjoyed it and started writing because I felt like I needed to get a post up already, my Lord, it’s been 2 weeks, 2 months, why oh why haven’t I written anything?!? And suddenly it’s been 6 or more months. And to be honest, I haven’t even looked at this page in at least 3 of those months.

Last night I sat down at my newish computer. I bought it over Thanksgiving when my last laptop crashed. And I typed in www.gsblueeyes.blogspot.com into my browser and sat there, astonished, when my newish computer didn’t even recognize the address while I typed. I’ve never visited this site on this computer?

I lost myself for a few hours in old posts. My old posts. My thoughts and memories. My worries (some of which seem so silly now, some I still carry). And I began to miss you all; I began to miss this. This whole THING. This space that I own, it’s mine. I can say, in theory, what I want. (Anyone who blogs, especially if they blog unanonymously, knows they can’t REALLY say anything they want. But still…) I can be me. I can write for myself, even if no one else reads it. Bessie.viola reminded me of that, and that’s why I love her. She’s so like me. She gets me. And I never would have met her without this space. And I miss that, too. Making friends with people I would never have met in real life because they live in Michigan and Canada and other places that are NOT upstate New York.

So, Blogland, I think I’m back, if you’ll have me. I might not post as often. I’ll try not to get sucked up by ads and obsessing over readership and all the other niggling little annoyances that made me just feel so….gah! And I will write for myself. So my future self can sit down, have a cup of coffee, and re-live these moments that are passing my current self by so quickly. That’s why I began this space. That’s what I love about it.

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A brief update on my life:

I am now the mother of a 3 year-old. She’s still amazing. She is in preschool 2 days a week. She’s potty trained. She is my joy.

My husband’s health has made a dramatic turn-around. In May he began seeing a naturopath in New Jersey named Roland Ramos. He doesn’t have a website (!!) so I can’t link you there, but he is a miracle worker. That is not hyperbole. We drive 3 hours one way once a week to see him, and it has been life changing. John is also in graduate school working on a Master’s of Social Work.

Not much is new with me, really. My job keeps me very busy, which also cut into my blogging time. I am not expecting baby #2 and probably never will be. And, honestly, I’m ok with that. My family feels right. I’ve been working on me, my internal life, my thoughts and fears. I haven’t shared a lot of it with anybody. I’ve been trying to create some cohesion between my past and my present, who I was and who I am. And all the imperfections I’ve discovered along the way. Ahh, maybe that’s a post for another day. Maybe not.

The Perfect Summer Breakfast

If it's a Saturday in June and I've found a way to have rhubarb happily burbling away on my stove, I'm in heaven.

I know I've mentioned my love of what I call stewed rhubarb, what my kitcheny friend Kristina somewhat more romantically calls Rhubarb Compote, on these pages before. I really should add rhubarb compote to my lexicon. I mean, stewed rhubarb....yuck, I understand why those who haven't tried it would politely decline. But, to me, the tangy-sweet and sour, slightly salty, spread slathered over buttered rye toast evokes happy memories of my childhood summers and I find I can't get enough of it this time of year.

My grandparent's were raised gardeners. From the depression era gardens of their childhood in rural Pennsylvania, to their own patriotic Victory gardens at their WW II home in Baltimore, they knew the value of growing your own. That's one trait I didn't seem to pick up from them. I have no talent or desire for gardening and my rhubarb tends to come from the produce aisle. But that fact doesn't diminish the memory for me.

I grew up in the upstate NY home that my grandparents raised their children in, grew old and eventually died in. My early summer memories almost all involve the big garden they and my parents laid out every year. I recall running through rows of tall corn stalks, my feet bare on the hot, dry tilled earth. I remember digging up potatoes and carrots that went directly from the garden to the dinner table. I would eagerly check the watermelon patch to see if they were ready to enjoy. I seem to remember being "forced" into the manual labor of tediously weeding...though my mother laughs at that and assures me I didn't spend very much time at that chore. I fondly reminisce about playing around with the garden hose, spraying myself or my cousins more than the garden, and drinking thirstily from the little water fountain my grandfather attached every year to one of the spickets. And I remember my grandfather, dripping sweat under the big straw hat and kerchief he always donned in the garden, pulling ripe rhubarb stalks, bringing them in the kitchen for a quick wash, sprinkling salt and crunching contentedly on his fine work. As I child I found, and still find honestly, rare rhubarb a little too sour and stringy for me. But when my grandmother would take that fresh rhubarb and stew it down with a little water, a little lemon juice and salt, and a whole lot of sugar...well then. Then it was heaven. The key, too, comes with the rye toast. The hint of bitter, the silky touch of butter added to the tang of the rhubarb....YUM.

Catching Up

My new evening ritual involves sitting in the upstairs hallway with a book, the light from the bathroom spilling out just enough to read. Not that I actually spend much time reading. No, I spend anywhere from 2 to 3 hours reminding Giuliana to go back to bed, putting her back in bed, rocking her and then putting her back in bed, chasing her around her room and then putting her back in bed, getting her more milk and then putting her back in bed. You get the idea. Last night I cleaned smeared Vaseline from her changing table, her legs, the floor, and then put her back to bed.

She, suddenly, doesn't sleep. It's been hot and our central AC is on the fritz. But this began before the hot weather. But it doesn't help. I blamed it on too long naps at my mother's but then Grandma was gone for a week and Giuliana didn't take a nap for 6 straight days. Still her nights were spent being chased back to bed. Some nights I finally fall into bed, exhausted from this new, unwelcome ritual, only to have her almost immediately crawling in beside me, her hot, wiggly little body smooshed against me despite the heat.

She is a wise little girl, though. She knows how infinitely cute she can be. "Giuliana, go back to bed," I state from my perch in the hallway as she peers out at me from the crack in her door. She yanks open the door and rushes to my side. She plants a big, wet kiss on my mouth and says, "Mommy, I wuv you!" Then she sits down and begins to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," with hand motions, while I crack up, forgetting I'm supposed to be stern and consistent about ushering her back to bed.

I keep telling myself it's only a phase. She'll eventually go back to quietly winding down and settling in by herself. If it's not a phase, please don't tell me. I prefer to believe this won't last. I confess to getting pretty frustrated around hour two of this little game. I start saying things I don't like to hear myself say. "Giuliana, you HAVE TO go to bed. I've had enough." "Giuliana, you aren't listening to Mommy and you're being naughty. Now go to bed." I check myself, though. Usually after only a moment or two. And I go back and gently put her back in bed. Give her her 4 millionth kiss of the night, wish her sweet dreams...again. I don't want to yell. I don't want to punish her because she can't unwind. But I do want her to go to sleep. I do want to have at least an hour to myself at the end of the day.

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It's potty training time at our house. It probably should have been potty training time a month or two ago. Giuliana is more than ready. She talks about the potty. She sits on the potty. She asks, begs to sit on the potty. She hasn't actually done anything on the potty yet, but she begs to sit there, none the less. But I have been putting it off. When it's warmer, I've told myself. When she can run around the house in just a pull-up and a tee-shirt. When I have more time to spend pumping her full of liquids and parading her up to the bathroom all day. But really, I'm just procrastinating. I don't know how to start, how to help her understand what she's supposed to do, how to explain. I'm worried the newness will wear off quickly and then she will begin to protest spending 10-15 minutes sitting and looking at books, no matter how fun I try to make it. I'm sure she'll be trained by the time she's ready for college. But no promises.


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PS: Has it been nearly two months since I wrote even a "Hello" on here?? How can that be? I just needed a break, it seems. I had absolutely no desire, no guilt over not posting. But now? I miss you all. XOXO

Dirty Toes and Paint On My Elbows

Well, hello, blogland. How are ya? Sorry I’ve been MIA lately. Where have I been? Well, I’ve NOT been getting pregnant, for one. So, I’ve been using all that pent up energy that otherwise would have been spent obsessing over every pregnancy nuance to generally spruce up my home – inside and out.

You know about my kitchen. I’m still in love with all the white, though I practically live with a Magic Eraser in my hand, watching for any little mark or scuff on my pristine cabinetry. This weekend I completed a project that has been bugging me for…oh, about 3 years. We have one “accent wall” in the living room that is painted a lovely red. I painted it shortly after we bought the house. And shortly after that spots on the wall got scratched and nicked through to the white wall underneath. I got out my leftover paint and attempted to patch the damage, but somehow the paint had turned and the color was not the same. So ever since I have had these ugly patches of darker red on my beautiful red wall. Not attractive. So I finally bought a new gallon of the red and painted over the whole wall. Took me less than two hours. We’ll file that one under “Should have done this years ago…”

Another project that has been on my (so very long) list for years is our bathroom. Originally, the bathroom was the best room in the house…meaning the most recently re-done. It’s an ugly green, even the CEILING (ugh), but the fixtures are fairly new and compared to all the other rooms when we moved in, not a priority. Well I’ve finally made it through all the other rooms with my paintbrush (except the dining room, which we shall not talk about lest I get depressed) so it’s finally on to the bathroom to vanquish the ugly mint green and replace it with a deep, stately pine green. All the trim work will get a fresh coat of white paint and I’ll probably spring for new towels and shower curtain. Ah. I’m relaxing just thinking about it.

I’ve also been busy outside the house during these lovely, sunny days we’ve had. I’ve been freshening up the mulch in the front of the house and extending it around to the side bushes. (This is where the dirty toes comes in.) What a difference a few bags of mulch make! And cheap! My kind of home improvement. Yesterday we purchased a beautiful yellow forsythia bush (and one ladybug, as G pointed out) which I planted myself in the back yard (read, dug a big a** hole all by myself, go me.) I also filled in some random gopher holes in the yard. Next up, the annual spreading of the grass seed to try to repair the damage done by one dog and his urine. (Umm, gross, but this is my reality.)

Family has been consuming my time, too. Last week John and I made the trek to Manhattan for the day to see a couple of doctors and have a nice Indian lunch at this cute little place we found a few months ago on 1st and 74th. It was a beautiful, sunny day and traffic was incredibly light, even when we left the city at 4pm, so we drove with the windows down and the iTunes up. Not a bad day.

Giuliana has been spending most of her days outside. She’s following mommy’s lead and digging holes in the yard, but I’m trying to just be cool with it. She’ll only be little once, why not let her do her thing? Yesterday mommy and daddy took turns pushing her up and down the sidewalk on her new red trike, streamers flying in the breeze, giggles echoing down the street. Quintessential Suburban Americana and I love it. She’s been continuing with her tumbling class. Every week has been better than the last. She still has (many) “I do it myself” moments, but overall is listening much better. She has even taken part in the warm-up stretches, and this week she barely even glanced at the trampoline while she touched her toes and reached the sky. This is major progress.

So, that’s what I’ve been up to. I’ll try to catch up on my reader to see what YOU’VE been up too, because if I don’t my reader is likely to explode soon.

A Tale of a Kitchen Facelift: Done!

Well, it was a lot of work, but it's finally done. I took three days vacation from work to pound it out because I knew I couldn't handle living with my kitchen in shambles while I tried to sneak in a weekend here and there. I still wouldn't have been able to finish it if it weren't for my makeover partner--my mom. She's always up for a good project...she's been remodeling her house for 30 years, And I think she was just itching to get in my kitchen and "do something" with it. Thanks, Mom! You're awesome :)

Some of the progress along the way:


The gross cabinets, Before. (I can't believe I'm posting this!)


And After shelf papering and cleaning and organizing. Paint still to come.


The newly "brushed nickel" knobs.


The newly black range hood, two coats down. It took a third.

And a few shots of my constant "helper," who wanted her picture taken every time the camera came out to document the progress.


Re-claiming her step stool, which I "borrowed." It's usually reserved for G's hand washing. She kept climbing up with me. Possessive?


In her smock so she can help paint!

This chick is sooooo excited with the white kitchen. She keeps running into the room and saying "Surprise! It's white!" or "Not brown anymore, it's white now."

And now, the After:





Ahh. I like it.

A Tale Of A Kitchen Facelift

I've hated my kitchen since the day we moved in. Ok. I've hated it since we first walked through the house before we bought it. We've always had the intention to rip the entire thing out and replace the cabinets, floors, counters...the works! But...yeah. That's not cheap. So, someday. Until then, I just couldn't take the ugly cabinets and hardware another day. So, though it won't fix the falling apart drawers or the hideous yellow counters, I've decided to paint. Oh, boy. This should be fun.

Here's the before. The walls are staying green. The counters and floors, unfortunately, are staying yellow. The brick...it's fate hasn't been decided yet. It may end up white. We'll see. The cabinets and those blue doors will be white. The range hood gets a coat of black paint. I'm even ripping out the old shelf paper!




A close up of the ugly, so ugly, hardware. Luckily that back plate comes off. So, it will go and the knobs will get sprayed with brushed nickel paint and, hopefully, they will match our light fixture, which is staying. And all that grime around the knobs will disappear under nice white paint.

Wish me luck!! After shots are just around the corner.