Retrospective

By Jennifer Zartman Romano

Scotland and Ireland often get classified together for some reason.
If one made generalizations like this about other cultures, someone might be offended, but I'm not. Truly, many of Scottish descent are also of Irish descent too since there was a lot of movement back and forth in that area of the world over time.

So, while I'm more Scottish than Irish, I do look forward to the green day every year and secretly wish there was also a plaid day for Scotsmen and Scotswomen to enjoy as well.
It is this generalization of Scottish and Irish-ness that I smile most about on St. Patrick's Day though -- the way the two cultures are similar...the food, the music, the celebratory attitude! Exactly 53 years ago today, my grandfather James Blackie Main emigrated to America from Paisley, Scotland. He arrived in New York City to what, in his mind at least, was the country's gigantic welcoming celebration in his honor. On that day, his first in a new country where he'd make a home for his wife and child who still waited for him in Scotland, he was greeted to a parade with bagpipers and a street painted plaid. It was as though this new country had opened its arms to him and said hello with a giant Celtic hug.
He always felt that day was just for him -- and what better way to travel across the ocean with only what you could carry and find yourself right back at home!
He departed 11 years ago this month on his final journey to a new land of promise in the sky, but his humor, his spirit, intelligence and bravery live on with those of us he's traveled on without - for now. As the old Scottish song says,
    "O ye’ll tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road
    And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye
    But me and my true love will ne-er meet again
    On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon'.

    ‘Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen
    On the steep, steep sides o’ Ben Lomon'
    Where in purple hue, the hielan hills we view
    And the moon comin’ out in the gloamin’.

    The wee birdies sing and the wild flowers spring
    And in sunshine the waters are sleeping
    But the broken heart, it kens nae second spring again
    Tho’ the waeful may cease frae their greetin'. " -- The Bonnie Banks O' Loch Lomond by Andrew Lang

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By Jennifer Zartman Romano

I typically have a lot on my mind -- and most of it doesn't come out in the form of an article or a column. Sometimes it's helpful for me when it does.

Because I'm blessed to have people who love and care about me, I finally heeded the advice of others and made an appointment for a full health assessment a little over two weeks ago. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 47, she had never had a mammogram and rarely went to the doctor. She was a healthy person and with a busy life, she didn't have time (nor occasionally the insurance) to go to the doctor. At the age of 26, when she died, I said, "That will never be me. I'll make time to go to the doctor." Five years, two kids and a busy life later, I found that a good amount time had passed since I had been to the doctor.

Six months of occasional, very well-intentioned "bugging" from three important people in my life made me aware of the need to go, but finding an unidentified lump three weeks ago -- I made the appointment. I realized going to my doctor (who was also my mom's doctor) was kind of an emotional thing. When I got there that day, they asked me if I wanted to change my emergency contact and then proceeded to read off my mom's name. My eyes welled with tears as I shook my head, "Yes." Sitting in the waiting room thinking about her situation and the unknown lump, it was kind of a lot to absorb.

After a few initial tests, the lump was determined to be a non-issue and, fortunately, non-cancerous. A few more tests revealed that despite my weight, I have excellent health. There are people who would give their right arm for my cholesterol levels. I also have normal blood pressure and I don't have diabetes. There was one thing I never saw coming, though, and it explains everything.

Of the full battery of tests completed, there was one I didn't even know about. It is called a TSH and it measures the level of thyroid hormone in your blood system. Ironically, I learned the name of the test the same day my test was ordered during the course of writing an article, but I didn't know it was being conducted on me! Before I left the office that day, the nurse said no news was good news regarding all of my health screenings and I really didn't expect a call.

But a call did come. I sweated bullets for 48 hours until last Monday morning when I could call the office back. I thought of every horrible thing possible: cancer, diabetes, cancer, cancer, heart disease...did I mention cancer?

It turns out, that TSH test determined that I have hypothyroidism. An hour of googling later, I determined that it explains a whole lot about my situation. For reasons that are still not entirely clear, my thyroid (a gland located in the front of my neck) is failing me. Because it does not work properly, my body is chemically a mess. This condition is responsible for weight gain due to a lifeless metabolism, fatigue, body aches, paleness, dry skin, lackluster hair, swelling of the face and limbs and an assortment of other maladies...all of which I've been experiencing for awhile now. I just assumed it was part of life. I'm not a complainer and I just dealt with it not realizing there was an underlying reason for any of it.

I like to think I operate at about 110% -- full throttle -- all the time. This may be the case, but now that I know what's wrong, I can't help but think I could be operating a lot better. The upside of hypothyroidism is that a lot will improve for me health-wise in the coming weeks. I can look forward to feeling healthier, having more energy and probably an improvement in each of the areas above that are typically impacted by hypothyroidism. The only downside that I see is that I will have to take medication for it for the rest of my life. I will have to make it habit because now that I realize I don't have to feel like I do right now, I don't want to feel like I do right now.

Also, with the advice of Dr. Jeffrey Gladd, I am now embarking on another journey of health improvement – a gluten-free diet. There appears to be a link between hypothyroidism and gluten (wheat allergies). Seemingly the gluten, in a person with allergic response to wheat and wheat-related products, results in an autoimmune response which begins attacking the thyroid tissue. I’ve read about some studies that discovered that people who were able to adhere to a gluten-free diet were able to eventually come off their thyroid medicine when the immune system improved. I’m not expecting that, but I’m hoping I might be able to improve my health a lot with a diet that includes fruits, vegetables, meats, no gluten and as few processed foods as possible. These dietary changes are being embraced by everyone in our household as a means of supporting my efforts to improve my health, but to help them out as well. This is all very positive change.

I'm sharing this with you because I want to encourage each of you to make the time for regular checkups. Our families need us and while, as moms, we say we don't do things because we want to be there for our families -- there's a very real chance that if you don't make time for regular medical check ups, you may not be there very long for your family.

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In the quiet hours, somewhere after prayers and before dropping off to sleep, I’d think of Debra Houser and her family. I never met them, but having a 9-year-old son of my own, I couldn’t help but think of that child and how lost he must feel not knowing where his mother was as each night grows colder and further from the day his life changed forever. I’d think of her while doing chores and wonder who might find her, would it be soon and would her murderer be able to be punished to the fullest extent without her body as proof of the crime. I would think of law enforcement officers and how I hoped God would speak to them and guide them to her. I felt sadness when they said they’d have to stop looking for her – but I hoped they weren’t telling the whole story…that they’d still keep looking.

And it all finally happened today.

I received a phone call this morning confirming that at last, her body had been found by searchers. Acting on a tip they received Monday, officials searched a stream near CR 200 South and discovered her there. Neighbors had seen her ex-husband’s truck in that vicinity on November 17. Her body was found undisturbed, no evidence of trauma immediately apparent. An autopsy will be completed tomorrow. A press conference was held this afternoon and the details were made known to a concerned public who, along with her family, has been waiting for her to be brought home.

It’s all so horrible and terrible, a nightmare for that family. But there is a little comfort in knowing they can now begin to deal with the entirety of this tragedy. They can hold a funeral, they can begin to fully grieve. Her children will know where she is – though it is certainly not where anyone wants her to be. The community as a whole can begin to process what has happened here. I believe there are many, those who knew her and many who didn’t, who have been drawn in by this story and who want to see justice served and who want to support the family who has lost someone they love.

In my lifetime, I have known the names of four women who’ve lost their lives to domestic violence in our community. Most of these tragedies happened while I was a much younger child…but I still remember what happened and how those tragedies hurt those families.

There is no way to undo the wrong that has happened here, but I think we can all be a part of the solution in not forgetting Debra Houser’s name – or the names of other domestic violence victims. We must remain resolute to get involved in situations where we suspect domestic violence, whether that is comfortable for us or not. That may involve providing resourceful information to direct people toward help. That may cause us to be a shoulder to cry on or that we might make ourselves available, under cover of darkness, to drive someone we don’t know to a shelter far, far away. These are not easy things to think about, but if we remember the pain of this situation – then we’ll also remember how much we don’t want another family to lose a loved one to senseless anger and violence.

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