My breathing provides a melody for a morning meditation, as varying degrees of raspiness are met by the audible rush of air. 

I am reminded of an interview with Linda Ronstadt when she spoke of the subtle flavors of the notes.

Breathing in and out, I notice as my body moves in sync with the rhythm, expanding and contracting, lengthening and widening with each cycle, an active participant.

An accident, an unexpected test result, a dismaying prognosis...

A flood of thoughts and intense emotions compete with my pounding heart and quickening breath for attention.

As my discomfort escalates, I struggle to make sense of the challenge that has emerged.

Why did this happen?

Is there something I could have done, something I should have known to prevent this or ensure a different outcome? 

I scrutinize the details, searching for an explanation that will bring me peace.

As she threw her hands over her head, effortlessly folding her tiny body backwards and upside down to reach the floor, she looked up at me and exclaimed:

“Like this, Dr. Deb.  This is the position that helps me feel better.”

“What else?” I asked.  

Without hesitation, she jumped up on the treatment table, flopped onto her belly and rested her chin in her hands.  After a moment or two of complete silence, she looked straight at me, as if to emphasize the seriousness of the situation, and announced:  "I need rest!

Several years ago, I started asking myself:  Why do I care for my children more than other children?

Shouldn’t my attention extend beyond my immediate family to include all children?

I bring this question to my classes, which at times feels a bit dramatic and rebellious, and I am heartened by the number of people who nod in agreement, admitting that they too have contemplated this question.

Her diagnosis is early Alzheimer’s disease, and simply sitting in the waiting room with individuals who are exhibiting symptoms of the disease elicits fear.

She is informed of the progressive nature of the disease, counseled about necessary lifestyle changes and even given statistics about probable outcome.

Now referred to as an Alzheimer’s patient, and even classified by stage, she leaves the office feeling uneasy, as if her identity has been altered.