I received a notice from My Health Online. It was to inform me of a message regarding a recent blood test result. I take a medication called Lamotrogine. The result of the test revealed that I had low levels of the drug in my body. This means, though I am taking my medicine, it is not being absorbed properly. This is no surprise to me. I have Leukemia and I am taking a chemo drug which causes me to have a constant upset stomach. This is not well controlled because the usual nausea meds conflict with the absorption of the chemo drug.
It is necessary that I take the Lamotrogine because I have a seizure disorder, plus it works well for another medical problem I have. In fact it works better than any other medication I have ever taken for that condition. Therefore, when I learned I was not absorbing it properly, I did a Google search to learn more about it. As usual when I do a search like this, I am so fascinated with the facts that one search leads to another and another and another. I just enjoy learning so much that I'm like a bee gathering pollen.
I soon became frustrated because I felt things were not moving fast enough. Like a little kid, I just want to ask, "What does that mean?" and be instantly satisfied by having the answer. So, I wrote a letter to Google. I didn't send it. I'm sure the answer will come to me.... But, I'm posting it here, just in case someone has an thought on the question.
(Though, now... as I am finishing up this post, I realize I could easily use my Droid to speak the new search term and get the answers I am looking for faster than using the computer!)
This is the message to Google:
Dear Google,
When I am reading something in my Kindle and come across a word I am unfamiliar with, I can select it, click on it, and get a description of what the word means.
I would like to be able to do that with Google, too. If I'm reading a website, for example, come across a subject I would like to know more about, I would like to be able to automatically Google that word (or phrase) and have Google search results pop up.
I know I can copy and paste the word or phrase I'm looking for into another browser page, but that takes extra steps. Is there some way, I can just click and have an instant Google search response?
Thanks,
Elizabeth Munroz
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday
Willow Weep For Me
I remember lying on a blanket on the ground by the creek while my mother hung wet clothes on the clotheslines. I was mesmerized as i looked up through the labyrinthine branches and watched them weave and breathe their peaceful magic over me. As I listened to the soft murmur of the wind kissing the air above me, the clotheslines, the wet clothes in the basket, and my mother all disappeared from my little world.
The weeping willow, her green skirts hanging down sheltered me. I didn't know the streams of leaf filtered light caressing my face was not part of her.
Perhaps I was swaddled. I had no desire to turn my back to the beauty, to roll over or crawl away. Perhaps I was younger than I imagine. Born in June, that first four months would have been the time this early memory occurred. If I had known there was such a thing as God, I would have been sure it was the Weeping Willow.
The next year my mother tied me to the tree. The blanket was my boundary again. I could toddle a bit, yet she hollered and screamed at me so much to be still, to not go in the direction of the river, and to not walk myself around and shorten my tether that it was easier to just sit. I would reach out and grasp at the long threads gracing the grass and get lost in the veins lining the leaves. When my mother wasn't looking, I would bite into a branch and taste the bitterness. I liked the crunchy chewiness of the pulp. I knew the weeping willow didn't mind. She was my friend.
The following summer, there was no more hanging clothes on the line. A big white box sat in the basement in the laundry room. My mother would stand at the washing machine fishing the clothes out of it to squeeze them between the rollers. I was not allowed in the that room, but could stand in the doorway to watch the drying machine go around in circles. I was easily bored by the whole process. Much to my mother's consternation I wandered off to explore other parts of the basement.
Our forays into the backyard to my weeping willow tree were few by that time. I remember when Daddy and Davy brought the kitchen table outside. It was a hot day and my cousins were there. Later, Mommy and Aunt Laura laid on the blanket in the sunshine wearing their swim suits. They didn't go into the creek to swim but sat talking and giggling while Nona and I sat under the magic tree playing with her little dishes with teenage cousin, Myrna watching over us.
"Don't go near the creek" I was warned so many times, I sang a song to the tree. "Don't go near the creek. It will take me away forever. My tree will really cry. Don't go near the creek." And I didn't. But, Dickie Culp did, and Bobby Baker did. They sat on the edge of the cement wall. Willow had provided them with their pretend fishing poles which they held out over the water. Bobbie went home when his mother called him. Then, I watched when Dickie arched his back, dropped his fishing pole shaking his arms and fell into the water with his eyes open, not blinking, not moving and began to float away. I ran along beside him for a while calling his name. But, he did not answer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Recently, I used Google to look at the location where I lived as a little girl. I was disappointed to discover my willow tree is no longer there.
 |
| My willow and me, about 1948-49 8124 West Rivershore Drive, Cayuga Island, Niagara Falls, NY |
Perhaps I was swaddled. I had no desire to turn my back to the beauty, to roll over or crawl away. Perhaps I was younger than I imagine. Born in June, that first four months would have been the time this early memory occurred. If I had known there was such a thing as God, I would have been sure it was the Weeping Willow.
The next year my mother tied me to the tree. The blanket was my boundary again. I could toddle a bit, yet she hollered and screamed at me so much to be still, to not go in the direction of the river, and to not walk myself around and shorten my tether that it was easier to just sit. I would reach out and grasp at the long threads gracing the grass and get lost in the veins lining the leaves. When my mother wasn't looking, I would bite into a branch and taste the bitterness. I liked the crunchy chewiness of the pulp. I knew the weeping willow didn't mind. She was my friend.
The following summer, there was no more hanging clothes on the line. A big white box sat in the basement in the laundry room. My mother would stand at the washing machine fishing the clothes out of it to squeeze them between the rollers. I was not allowed in the that room, but could stand in the doorway to watch the drying machine go around in circles. I was easily bored by the whole process. Much to my mother's consternation I wandered off to explore other parts of the basement.
"Don't go near the creek" I was warned so many times, I sang a song to the tree. "Don't go near the creek. It will take me away forever. My tree will really cry. Don't go near the creek." And I didn't. But, Dickie Culp did, and Bobby Baker did. They sat on the edge of the cement wall. Willow had provided them with their pretend fishing poles which they held out over the water. Bobbie went home when his mother called him. Then, I watched when Dickie arched his back, dropped his fishing pole shaking his arms and fell into the water with his eyes open, not blinking, not moving and began to float away. I ran along beside him for a while calling his name. But, he did not answer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Recently, I used Google to look at the location where I lived as a little girl. I was disappointed to discover my willow tree is no longer there.
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