Two Charms Against Stress

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The first charm is the card above, which was made for and given to me by my fairy godmother, Lenora Perkins.  Lenora taught me to shrug off stress.  She never prescribed anything to anyone.  I learned this by watching her.

If a situation aggravated Lenora, she’d stop, compose herself, stare into space for a few seconds, to understand and master both the experience and her emotions, and then…she’d shrug, you know, hunch both shoulders a little toward her ears, lower them.  Then she’d shake her head, slow and thoughtful, and then she’d move on, usually commenting on something she found cheerful.

If the source of aggravation was an arrogant, pretentious person, she’d fix them with her stare, and then signify her recognition of them by making a classic gesture.  She’d place one forefinger below the tip of her nose and slowly push her head back until it attained haute haughtiness, which was both a mirror and a sharp rejection. Then she’d lower her head, shrug, shake her head, and either walk away or begin a cheerful, unrelated conversation with a by-stander.

In the Blandings novels of P G Wodehouse, there is a character named Uncle Fred, who says his mission in life is to “spread sweetness and light.”  That was Lenora.  She was brilliant, sweet, and exuberant.

 

The second charm is a poem written by Marion Mackles, a third grader at PS 61 in New York around 1970.  This poem appears in Wishes, Lies, and Dreams: Teaching Children to Write Poetry, by Kenneth Koch.  The phrase “swan of bees” is correct, and wonderful.

 

I saw a fancy dancy dress

hanging on a fancy dancy window

of red roses you could call it a red

rose window I put it on and I

danced to a swan of bees I put

it on a chair of rock and I looked

at the sky of hand I put on

my fancy dancy dress I fell

asleep and I had a dream

of a blue sky of roses and a

house of daisies

 

and I awoke and it was true

I saw everything I saw

sky of roses house of daisies a tree

of orange a book of apple and

I loved it all and I lived with it for

the rest of my life

 

Ectopic Pregnancy

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I began a new job in May, 1981. I had interviewed for it for quite some time, (Walt at MDS), and had to convince two hardcore male chauvinists that I was the right person for the job, though my immediate supervisor was enthusiastic about hiring me. The two older men hired a man my age (with less experience) at the same time…just in case I didn’t work out, so I came into the company with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. The product was a combination of expensive software and consulting services. It had a long, complicated sales cycle. I was (of course) the only woman (I was in my late 20s at the time of my hire) and there were only a few on the sales side.

The company was founded to do marketing brand models. Our side of the company was comprised of smart MBA-types who implemented the large-scale financial and marketing modeling using decision support systems, an innovative technology, supported by the multi-dimensional proprietary software that was used by our company, now available for sale, called Express. It was true that I had limited knowledge of both software and business. Yet with my theater background, I had outstanding presentation skills, had been a successful salesperson in a tech-adjacent industry for over three years, had excellent follow-up skills and could always bring along one of those smart MBA-types for follow-on presentations to customize presentations and explain the usage of Express for each customer’s needs. But learning how to present this product took time and my new mentor and I went on a lot of calls together for many months.

Aug, 1981, Cathy Stephenson, Betsy, Christie

In early August I went on my annual trip back to my beloved camp in Northern Michigan with my dear friend Christie to see the operetta, sing with the high school choir and hang out with our former teachers. We did this for a decade; it was a constant on our calendar, an oasis of joy and refreshment of the spirit. We shared a small cabin and talked about everything. During this visit, I commented that I had a period that hadn’t ended. I bled for 5 weeks. Christie does not suffer fools lightly. She looked at with me with concern. “Betsy, that’s not normal! You should see your doctor as soon as you return home.” Of course she was correct. But I had a history of irregular periods and breakthrough bleeding. I was not in pain, no cramping or fever, so I hadn’t been concerned.

I called my doctor’s office as soon as I returned to Boston. He was on vacation, and given my history of irregular periods, his partner wouldn’t see me. He told me to wait for my doctor to return the following Monday, which I did. I saw him that Monday afternoon. I had a sales presentation scheduled at Liberty Mutual (around the block from my Back Bay condo) with my manager on Tuesday afternoon.

I saw my doctor on Monday afternoon. I still had in a Lippes Loop from years ago. He examined me and drew blood. I got a call from him at my home the next morning, where I awaited Barry to come for our appointment. The doctor said, “You’re pregnant and we don’t where.”” What do you mean, ‘you don’t know where?’ What are my choices, my ear or my elbow?” He tried to explain to me about an ectopic pregnancy, but he never used the words “Fallopian tube” and I didn’t understand. He said I should pack an overnight bag, meet him in his office as soon as I could and we would go together to the hospital, which adjoined the medical building. My heart began to race.

I called Dan to come home from his office and waited for Barry to show up (no cell phones in those days). Barry came within a few moments and sat with me, trying to keep me calm, poor dear. He was such a nice man (he is no longer with us, having lost a battle to cancer some years ago). Dan came home a bit later and Barry bid a hasty farewell. Dan and I drove out to the Newton-Wellesley Hospital, went to the doctor’s office, then on to surgery.

The doctor used a laparoscope through my navel to see where the ectopic pregnancy was implanted, then cut it out of my left Fallopian tube, leaving a huge incision along my abdomen, and me considerably less fertile, with only one working Fallopian tube. His partner, who wouldn’t see me a week earlier, came by on rounds on Wednesday morning to check on the incision. He was dressed for his golf game (in those days, doctors played golf on Wednesdays). He had evidently assisted at the operation and closed the incision. He seemed pleased with his handiwork and commented that it was a good thing I came in when I did, as it was about to rupture (which might have killed me at the worst, but certainly would have caused serious complications). I commented that HE wouldn’t see me a week earlier. I had somehow offended him with that remark. His rebuttal: “I’m not GOD!” I was in the hospital for four days before being released.

Healing from an abdominal incision like that takes a long time. It left a long scar. I was out of work for the better part of a month. The other new hire was very kind to me. He visited me in the hospital, brought my mail and office gossip. He told me that Barry’s VP was overheard saying, “Why was she trying to get pregnant anyway?” WHAT? Did he not understand the point of the IUD? It only motivated me more. Of course I wound up being the top salesperson in the office (indeed, there was a time when I was one of the top software salespeople in all of New England). I showed them!

When I finally did become pregnant with David, I left this OBGYN practice immediately. I would never let these men touch me again.

With all that is going on in reproductive health these days, I think it is important to share this story as widely as possible. I was lucky. Despite some delays, I was able to get the life-saving help that I needed, covered by insurance. I didn’t have the state or the NOT Grand Old Party and “religious” fools telling me what I can or cannot do with my body! I would likely not be here to tell this story in today’s climate, depending on where I live. And certainly wouldn’t have my two wonderful children and granddaughter with another on the way. MY BODY, MY CHOICE!

 

Stress – Chill Out Before You Melt Down

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Ah, stress! The ever-present uninvited guest at the banquet of life, refusing to leave even after polite (or impolite) hints. Now, some folks, bless their little cortisol-pumping hearts, seem to thrive on it. They’re like squirrels on espresso, bouncing off the walls with deadlines looming and their smart phones exploding with emails.

Me? I’m more of a wilting lily under a stress hurricane. The mere mention of something like oh say filing my taxes sends me reaching for the gin and a good Lee Child novel (because frankly, fictional murder pales in comparison to real-life financial accounting).

But enough about me, let’s delve into the murky depths of this universal frenemy. Why do we, the supposedly rational homo sapiens, let this invisible gremlin hijack our brains and turn us into jittery messes? Is it the constant barrage of news alerts about impending societal collapse? (YES) The ever-growing pressure to curate a picture-perfect life on social media (while secretly living on Instant Ramen)? (YES) Or perhaps it’s the existential dread of knowing we’re hurtling through space on a giant rock with limited resources and an unsettling continuous fondness for choosing buffoons as leaders? (YES)

Whatever the reason, stress clings to us like a barnacle on a particularly unfortunate seafaring vessel. But fear not, fellow stressed-out souls! Because just like there’s a self-help book for every neurosis, there’s a coping mechanism for every stressor. Here are a few of my personal favorites, guaranteed to either alleviate your anxiety or at least provide some much-needed gallows humor:

Embrace the Absurdity: Sometimes, the best way to deal with the ridiculousness of it all is to laugh. Find humor in the mundane, the absurd, the sheer ridiculousness of being a stressed-out human in a stressed-out world. Watch stand-up comedy, read those satirical essays inside Retrospect, or simply observe the pigeons fighting over discarded french fries in the park – laughter is the best medicine, even if it comes with a side order of cosmic freak out.

Channel Your Inner Zen Master (or at least a decent impersonation): Meditation, mindfulness, yoga – these all sound lovely, but let’s be honest, most of us have the attention span of a goldfish on Red Bull. Instead, try simpler forms of “me-time”: take a long walk in nature, stare at the clouds and imagine shapes (bonus points for rude or crude ones) or even just take five minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time (don’t judge, we’ve all been there).

Retail Therapy (with Caution): Let’s face it, sometimes retail therapy is the only therapy that truly speaks to our souls. But beware, dear reader, for the joy of that pricey new gadget is fleeting, while the dent in your bank account is permanent. So, indulge sparingly, choose experiences and adventures over things, and maybe consider buying a nice stress ball instead of that designer handbag (trust me, it’s more effective).

Complain Out Loud: Venting can be cathartic, but choose your audience wisely. Don’t be that person who turns every conversation into a stress-fueled monologue. Find a supportive friend, a therapist, or even a particularly receptive houseplant (judgment-free zone guaranteed). Just remember, there’s a fine line between venting and becoming a human black hole of negativity.

Remember, We Are All In This Together: In the grand scheme of things, our individual stresses might seem monumental, but we are all just grains of sand on the shared beach of existence. Take solace in the fact that everyone, from CEOs to baristas to bartenders experience stress. We’re all in this crazy big blue boat together, so paddle on, my friends, and try not to capsize from laughter or dread.

Remember, stress in life might be inevitable, but how we deal with it is a choice. So, laugh, breathe, complain strategically, and above all, be kind to yourself. After all, the world needs our wit now more than ever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a stress ball and a particularly amusing Harry Bosch novel. Cheers to us and surviving the stress storm, one witty remark at a time!

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