The Ferritin Secret Part IV

Towards the beginning of my book I write:

It’s funny, sad, and scary to me what we readily accept as truth.  I didn’t own a pair of flip flops until I was twenty-one because my mom convinced me early on in life that flip flops are dangerous.  She told me I would stub my toe if I wore them; I believed her and didn’t pester her for a pair, but I’ll admit, I was a bit jealous of my friends who owned several pairs.  I especially liked the neat-o flopping noise the shoes made.  All I had was a lousy pair of jelly shoes - which produced no noise - only sweat - and left strange imprints on my feet when I took them off at night.

My senior year of college I got a little wild on Spring Break and picked up a pair of flip flops at an Old Navy in Fort Lauderdale.  I think my mom was more disturbed by the flip flops than she was by the nose ring I also acquired while vacationing in Florida.  But I’ve learned that my mom is wrong about flip flops; I’ve been flopping for over ten years now and I have never stubbed a toe while wearing a pair.  To think, all those years I missed out on as a kid - I might need counseling.  And as I talk to my therapist I’ll tell her not only do I feel cheated by my mom, but by our educational system as well.

You see, when I was in fourth grade I made a model of the solar system for the school science fair.  I included the nine planets I had been learning about in class – Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus (the planet the boys always laugh about), Neptune, and Pluto.  For over 75 years teachers and science books insisted Pluto is the ninth planet in the Solar System.  But suddenly, in 2006, astronomers declared it was no longer a planet, and I was a bit perturbed.  As it turns out, Pluto is nothing more than a “dwarf planet” – whatever that means.  All I know is that the science community has been lying to little kids for years, and I can’t help but wonder how Walt Disney would feel knowing Mickey’s dog – named in honor of the planet’s discovery - is a phony.

The lies I have believed about flips flops and Pluto make me wonder: if my well-intentioned parents sometimes say things that are not true, if science sometimes teaches what is not true, then maybe, just maybe, people who appear to know a bit about Jesus sometimes fall short in presenting what is true. 

* Excerpt from I Hate Books on Christian Dating - A Memoir Journey Towards a Mysterious God

What's fascinating is that as I've wrestled with what I've been told and taught about the Christian faith, I've also been wrestling with what the medical world has been teaching women about their bodies.

The claim by science is that a woman's iron stores (i.e. her ferritin level) isn't all that important.  Yet, iron is needed for transmitting oxygen throughout the body, and women lose iron each month as they menstruate.  Unless a woman's hemoglobin levels drop, she won't be told she is iron deficient.  But I know from personal experience, a woman's hemoglobin levels can read normal and she can still be iron deficient.

The most prominent signs of iron deficiency:

headaches
fatigue
weakness
signs of depression

When it gets really bad, like it did with me, iron deficiency also leads to heart palpitations and breathing issues.

As I wrote a friend, "Perhaps all these women going gluten free to feel healthy just need iron pills, rather than a radical change in diet (with the exception of those with celiac disease, of course).  Iron deficiency causes headaches, fatigue, weakness, and signs of depression.  Hmmm... perhaps some women could use more oxygen rather than migraine medicine and anti depressants."

I promised I'd let up on Ferritin posts, but I have one left - the note I shared with my doctor.

The Ferritin Secret Part III

The Ferritin THEORY

Early on in life I learned never to put a plastic bag over my head.  I'm not sure who taught me - probably my parents - but I grew up knowing it is dangerous to put a plastic bag over your face.  Again, I'm not sure who told me what, but I was well aware a plastic bag can prevent me from getting the oxygen my body needs.

What I didn't know, and what the medical world doesn't seem to understand, is low ferritin levels - especially in women - can have a similar effect as placing a plastic bag over your head.  An obstruction is present, blocking the way for you to receive the oxygen you need into your system.

What's tragic is many women are unknowingly starving their bodies of oxygen because the medical community decided some time ago ferritin levels aren't all that important (as long as your hemoglobin level is good) AND that women don't need blood work done as a part of their annual physical.  As a result many child bearing age women have unexplained fatigue, headaches, misdiagnosed depression and anxiety disorders, and miscarriages - all because their ferritin levels (iron stores) are far too low for what their bodies need to function properly.  Women are literally suffocating, but since the medical world insists they are okay, women can only assume the negative effects they are experiencing are simply a part of life.

Men, please keep reading.  If your wife isn't getting the oxygen she needs, she will also be too exhausted to have sex with you.  Really, this is important information for everyone.  Low ferritin levels also impact men as well as children and unborn babies.  But female athletes are most at risk.

Again, this is THEORY - one that I'm still researching.  But my hypothesis is, the medical world is setting the normal range for ferritin levels far too low for women, and especially for athletes.  Granted, I think HealthWise (quoted by web MD and Wikipedia), is on the right track with a base level of 18.  But the medical world varies in their claim of what is healthy.  For instance, my lab in New York says 10, while the University of Michigan sets the minimum at 6.

So why did I feel like I was dying when my ferritin level - a 12 - fell within my lab's normal range?

(Part IV: My Ferritin Story - then back to "normal" posts, I promise.)
     

The Ferritin Secret Part II

"Katrina, you’re getting too old not to be plucking your eyebrows.  You really need to start shaping them.” 

Thanks mom.  I’m also getting too old not to be having sex.  What’s wrong with my eyebrows?  It’s not like I have a una-brow or anything like that.  And I’ve seen the horrendous effects of excessive plucking and accidental waxing.  Eyebrows are already weird enough, but then women go and make them look even weirder.  I just don’t get it. 

My mom expressed her concern about my eyebrows the same year my dad sat me down and told me that he and my mother would really like for me to see a gynecologist.  I told them I would, but only if they paid for it.  I didn’t have health insurance at the time and I wasn’t about to fork over money to be molested in the name of medicine.

My parents agreed to pay and so for my 24^th birthday they gave a trip to the gynecologist.  To date, it’s the most unique and worst birthday present I’ve ever received.

At the age of 29 I finally conceded to getting my eyebrows waxed, and even signed up for another gynecologist appointment on my own.  (Gosh, I must be making my parents proud.)

But when I went in to see the doctor (a female doctor this time), she told me a pap smear wasn’t really necessary.  She informed me it’s nearly impossible to get cervical cancer or an STD when you aren’t and never have been sexually active.  That’s right.  I’m a 30 year old virgin.

She performed the test anyway and a week later I received the results in the mail.  Sure enough - I passed!  I proudly showed my test results to several of my coworkers, successfully making my friend Rick feel horribly uncomfortable. 

 

* Out take excerpt from the original version of I Hate Books On Christian Dating (when it was actually a book on dating rather than the book it has evolved into today.)  I wrote that 5 years ago, and tonight I write this:

 

What I really could have used at age 24, and at 29 is a blood test, rather than a pap smear.  But for some reason, the medical world decided some time ago, blood work isn't all that important for young women who are losing blood from their bodies on a regular basis. 

 

I noticed in my early twenties I'd often get some sort of sickness each month on top of my normal period symptoms.  As the frequency of illness with my periods increased, I looked online to see if there was a solution to prevent my above and beyond PMS ailments.  But all I could find were discussion boards with other girls having similar sickness issues coupled with their periods.

 

Instead of finding a way to get healthy, I simply accepted my weakened immune system as part of being female.  It made sense to me my body would have a difficult time fighting sickness after preparing an egg each month.  This is "normal" and what women should expect - right?

Or is it?

 

The Ferritin Secret Part I

April 2013... on a Monday...

"Now don't go and have some sort of existential crisis."  She picked up on my hesitancy, and continued to try and sell me on a job I wasn't so certain about.  She was a job recruiter in New York, and she had me in mind to work as an administrative assistant at a hedge fund company.  I thought we'd be discussing at least 12 potential job possibilities and she only had 1 - 1 that I wasn't all that interested in. The pay was decent, but $20,000 less than I had anticipated, and although I knew I could do the job well, if I was going to take a job I wasn't excited about, I wanted to at least be paid enough to pay off my grad school loans within a year or two.  (I'm at $30,000 plus 6.8% interest rate.)

As she tried to entice me with the $20 a day lunch money the company offers its employees (which sounded like a weight gaining plan), I tried to recall the meaning of existential crisis.  I knew it had something to do with freaking out with where you are at in life, but I was uncertain of the specifics.  As the woman (a Reed College graduate) continued on to tell me how this job would be a great way for me to get settled back in the city, I noted I should look up existential crisis later on to make sure I fully understood what she was telling me not to go and do.

Dictionary.com says, "An existential crisis is a moment at which an individual questions the very foundations of his or her life: whether his or her life has any meaning, purpose or value.^[1] This issue of the meaning and purpose of existence is the topic of the philosophical school of existentialism."

I think her warning was 20 minutes too late, because before our meeting, as I waited in the corner office on the 23rd floor, I took a moment to look out the window and stare at the city streets below.  As I took in the tiny taxis and miniature people on ground level, I noted, I was staring the same distance the girl fell out the window and to her death in the building where I had lived and worked with college students.

As I took my seat behind the table, and pulled out my planner and pen, I considered, really, I'd like to help save lives with whatever it is that I do next.  If only I didn't have grad school debt from Fuller Seminary, I wouldn't even be considering such a position working as an administrative assistant.  I knew my gifts were as such that I could be starting up my own non-profit.  BUT I feel paying off my student loan debt takes priority to my dreams and ambitions.  Then again, so does my health.  I seemed to be getting somewhat better over the course of the winter months, but since the end of March, I seemed to be relapsing.  Was I even healthy enough to get a full time job and be back in New York City?  And why was my health still poor - what was wrong with me?

Bleecker

Meet Bleecker the Pomeranian. 

Bleecker is one of the reasons I returned to New York last week.  His owner had to do important law work in Zambia (Africa), so Bleecker and I got to hang out and play together in the financial district.

We'd go for walks, brightening people's days by his cuteness and friendly disposition.  Literally, everywhere we went people would turn, stare, and make some sort of comment.  Many requested to pet Bleecker, and some even wanted a photo with him, because really, he's that freaking adorable. 

On our final walk, as Bleecker stopped to say hello to a BIG dog, the big dog owner observed, "He's seems to be a happy dog.  And he certainly doesn't fear anything."  I'm not a dog expert, but I think the man's dog was a large pit bull.  I agreed.  Bleecker is a happy dog and isn't afraid of anything.  (With the exception of going down steps too steep - then he'd halt at the top of the stairs and wait for me to pick him up and carry him down.)

I pondered the man's comment as we made our way back to Teresa's place.  Happy and not afraid of anything.  I wished for a moment I was more like Bleecker, because last week (and for several weeks prior) I was terrified there was something significantly wrong with my body.  I haven't felt well for over 2 years, and my health was rapidly getting worse.  A visit to my doctor in NYC is another reason why I returned to the city last week. 

Yesterday I spoke with my doctor on the phone and learned my illness isn't terminal.  It will take some time before I'm back to me, but I'm thrilled to know that what I have is treatable.  Today was the first day in the past couple of months I woke up confident I'm not dying, rather than wondering how much time I might have left.  #Relieved  Will write more on the journey soon...

The Towers Part I

Over a week ago I awoke to my brother’s request that I venture across the lake and take a photo for his radio station.  He mentioned something about a news story, and I mentioned something about hardly being conscious at such an early hour in the day (it wasn't even noon). 

My brother Mike works for a public radio station out of Detroit and in waking up I was confused why his station might want a photo for the airwaves.  Mike continued on to say something about their station’s website and that if I took this photo, I’d receive credit for my photo journalism efforts.  I told him I wasn’t feeling all that well at the moment (true story), but perhaps later in the day I could get a few photos to him.

Across the lake from my parents' place are two towers people use to climb to gain a better view and perspective of the area.  First opened in 1924, for decades tourists and travelers would stop at the towers en route from Detroit to Chicago.  Long before the 94 freeway was built, horse drawn carriages and model-Ts would pass through the Irish Hills area on US-12.  But at the end of the millennium, the towers were deemed unsafe, and this summer, after failed attempts to raise funds to restore the towers, these twin towers are in the process of being demolished.

Towers in the back behind my former student Zach

These towers have been my half way point when I go for my longer, 10 K runs around the lake.  Before I flew out to New York the tops of the Towers had been removed, and I suspect by the time I return, they’ll be gone.  To be honest, it’s odd to me that something that has been a landmark for years could so quickly disappear from the skyline. 

 

This past week I’ve been staying near where the twin towers of Manhattan, New York once stood.  I’m reminded that in this world, no structure or empire stands forever.  I’m convinced the US will continue to crumble in the century ahead.  On a micro level, student loan debt acquired by graduates (at a corrupt 6.8% interest rate) WILL forfeit the disposable income the economy needs to keep businesses up and running.  Meanwhile, cities like Detroit are paying $1,000 an hour to lawyers to declare bankruptcy.  (This is even more than what Teresa’s law firm bills an hour in NYC, and double the amount Cher’s dad in the movie Clueless charges.)  In the US, balancing budgets seems to be more like to be an idealistic idea, rather than a necessary goal we MUST achieve.  Those in DC are our nation’s worst example - those in office appear to have few qualms in increasing the national debt each year.  As long as they retain their positions in office, and maintain their upper middle class status, why fret?

I shouldn’t be writing on politics. 

But as I learned from one of my Prof’s in grad school, whether we want to acknowledge it or not, everything is political.  From clean drinking water to electricity to education to health care – everything comes with political strings attached.  And just like everything is political, everything is also spiritual and I believe there are forces in our universe actively seeking to destroy what is good.

 

Nun Life 101

"You know how to surf?!"  I nodded yes.  "Holy Jealousy!"  My friend Kate, now Sister Fiat Marie, exclaimed.  She went on to tell me how surfing is one of the first things she wants to do once she's in heaven.  I think even before she meets Peter, Paul, and Mary.

I ran into Sister Kate while I was out for a run in Michigan a few weeks ago.  Her family has a place on the west shore of our lake, but Kate has been in New York City, living as a nun for nearly a decade.  She "enlisted" at age 26, and has been wearing her nun garb ever since - even when she plays tennis and basketball. She explained to me she simply pins up her outfit so she can get around better while she is out on the courts.  (I didn't ask if nuns get a choice in their bra wear - like, if she's allowed to wear a sports bra.  You'd hope the Pope would at least grant the nuns some leeway in their undergarments and perhaps even allow them to own a piece or two from Victoria Secret.)

For a number of years Kate's order (i.e. nun group), was located in Harlem.  There, they were known for being the nuns on roller blades who would block off their street and play field hockey.  Their order is also known for taking in young women who are in a crisis pregnancy situations and simply loving on them through the pregnancy and for the first few months after they give birth.

Now, I'm not pregnant, but still, Kate invited me to visit her convent upon my return to New York.  So this past Sunday my friend Ariel and I visited Kate's convent home on 51st Street.  I explained to my friends at church that night, "You know, I'm just exploring various career possibilities."

To be perfectly honest, I'm shocked Kate became a nun - not because she isn't a good Catholic, but rather because in high school, Kate liked to laugh a lot and play pranks on people.  She's far from a serious person, so I'm kind of surprised they let her in.  In seeing her, I asked, "So do you all play pranks on each other at the convent."  A sheepish look came over her face, and she started in, "Well, actually..."  She filled me in on this statue of Mary at their convent that isn't the most pleasant looking.  The nuns nicknamed the statue Scary Mary and one of their favorite pranks is to sneak Scary Mary into random places throughout the convent.  You know, someone goes to take a shower, or opens a closet, and there's Scary Mary, out of nowhere.

Ariel and I intend to return to the convent when I return to the city this fall, so here is first blog entry of my ongoing nun series.