With 58% of Americans disapproving of Obama’s foreign policy, mounting Ebola virus deaths, and flu season around the corner, I think it is important to synthesize an overlapping theme between how our country fights perceived threats, and how our bodies successfully or unsuccessfully fight disease. In short, I think Obama’s continued restraint and use of soft power is evidence of a good prognosis for the country.

In this analogy, our bombs and military are the most caustic weapons of the country’s immune system, akin to a fever of 105 degrees and impending sepsis. Does “nuke them all” work?

Diplomacy, espionage, surveillance, economic sanctions, and other soft tools of foreign policy can be likened to low grade temperatures, coughing, mucous, and all the other less dramatic symptoms of immune system activation.

Considering medications is a stretch, but stay with me. Cholesterol-lowering medications called statins actually do more than lower our lipid levels – they mildly hamper the immune system and reduce inflammation. Intuitively this would seem to be a bad thing when fighting a war inside the body against an invader. But statins are increasingly suspected to be a beneficial kind of weakening force that paradoxically might save us from an immune system run amok.

Is Obama like Lipitor?

Consider influenza. Often young, healthy people with robust immune systems are at increased risk of dying from pandemic influenza simply because their immune systems launch such powerful attacks that the body cannot withstand the friendly fire.

One study found that patients hospitalized with influenza were 54% less likely to die if they were taking a statin medication. It is postulated that statins modulate and dampen the inflammation unleashed by the immune system, thereby limiting collateral damage.

Another study published in the journal Critical Care recently found “that early treatment of sepsis patients with a statin reduced the occurrence of organ failure (a complication that often kills Ebola patients) by 83 percent.” An opinion written by two medical doctor/professors appeared in the New York Times this week calling for a trial of statins in those dying of Ebola for this very reason.

ISIS is a cancer, surrounded by other diseased states. Putin is MRSA. The Middle East is the Middle East. I’m glad we don’t have Bush and McCain running in with their hands unwashed to try and save the day. I’m glad Hillary isn’t trying to do her best Clint Eastwood.

So far Obama seems to be managing these illnesses like a well-restrained immune system. Even though we disapprove of his foreign policy, a majority of Americans want to stay out of these foreign conflicts – putting Obama in no-man’s land in terms of chasing approval ratings.

Personally I’m much more worried about the planet’s fever, the looming environmental catastrophes, and being on the front end of the greatest mass extinction the Earth has ever known.

Push fluids with ISIS. Only send in bombers and troops to Ukraine prn, and start World War 3 if America is terminal in the ICU. But for now I salute the commander for swallowing his bitter pills, sneezing and hacking up mucous, and enduring the taunts of weakness from viral media on behalf of the country’s health.

Death leaves an invisible silence, a wrenching disappearance of love’s voice and presence.

Your father held you in your first moments, poured his love and life into your cup, and told stories that created a fabled purpose from the dull chaos.  And then he was no more.

Are loved ones gone forever when they die?

They live a new, unselfish life within the murky, star-forming nebula of our memories.  We conjure them in moments of anxiety, sing along with them in the music they loved, and see how they once adored us as we tuck our children into bed.  And beyond our perceptions, they exist as nothing and everything.

And if we don’t keep a keen eye on the outside world, we may miss them there as well.  On a birthday I looked down and saw this dirty little puddle.  I paused, noting that it was heart-shaped.  And as great art can move mountains within us, so too can dirty puddles speak for the dead:

I love you.

it said.

~

In the moment my father died there was a beautiful, September-like sky, crisp and blue like the month he entered the world.  He shone in the sunlit footprints of his granddaughter as she ran down the sandy beach, brimming with her young life, a torch of his own.

My father jammed the electromagnetic waves of the police trying to call my cell phone to tell me of his demise.  Four times I answered the phone to static, which has neither happened before nor since.  Stay in this brilliant moment a little while longer, son. I’m with you and your family over this warm beach blanket as I join the sky, reveling in your daughter’s giggles.  Remember nothing in the universe has produced a greater sound.

We are of the world when we are born into it, why should we not remain of it when we die?

Look for your loved ones, hear them, sense them, and hold on in inexplicable ways.

I used to think of Thanksgiving as the supremely humble, agenda-less holiday most deserving of our celebration. As an American adaptation of harvest festivals found in other cultures, it seems at once natural, secular, and modest.

Yet as I called a lovely woman a few days before the holiday to inform and counsel her that she has cancer, the notion of millions of others “giving thanks” rang hollow, selfish, self-referential, and arrogant.

The turkey on her table was unexpectedly as rotten as the necrotic mass in her pelvis, and her many arriving guests were suddenly interlopers in her nightmare. Perhaps there is a better way to frame the loaded notion of “giving thanks” that does not presuppose blessings, special entitlements, and personal good fortune.

The act of giving thanks necessarily involves a transaction between an actor and a receiver. Giving thanks is a reaction to something bestowed. This problem of agency is what makes Thanksgiving fundamentally flawed.

An unseen God known via faith can be thanked, but to do so takes a egotistical leap over the woman with cancer. What has she received from this same God? Instead, giving thanks seems most appropriate for the transparent exchange, such as that which occurs between human actors helping one another.

So what notions would be most honorable, most worthy of our sacred celebration? The best abstract ideas I could come up with would be reverence, humility, wonder and awe.

Reverence for humanism, the natural world on Earth, a newborn child’s silky head, the brilliance of the stars, and the capacity of love.

Humility that grasps our frailty, our inherent flaws, and the acceptance that every action we commit, even those considered altruistic, is ultimately self-serving.

Awe at the enormity of the universe from galaxy to gluon, the stubborn and heroic perseverance of life, comets from the Oort belt grazing the Sun, and the beauty of snow flurries falling as we exalt in the pleasures of sharing pumpkin pie.

If we were all equally blessed, or if there were some rational justice that determines who suffers, then we should say “thanks.” Otherwise I think a good prayer before the feast should focus on the ideas of reverence, humility, and awe… and to give thanks to those who journey along with us.

Author Danea Horn has written a book entitled Chronic Resilience in which she describes “10 sanity-saving strategies for women coping with the stress of illness.” I read a copy of the book and highly recommend it.

The stresses of being ill and suffering from chronic illness are manifold. Just today I listened to a woman in the examining room whose fear, anxiety, and sense of isolation with her medical problems were as distressing as the many unpleasant feelings of pain, dizziness, and dread. I did my best to listen to her, validate her concerns, and offer her constructive medical solutions – but I found myself also mentioning Ms. Horn’s book. Even in the first few pages of her disarming introduction, in which she describes her own congenital problems, you can sense her warmth and sincerity, and the toughness that she might lend to a besieged fellow patient and life traveler.

The ten guidelines within specifically address the many challenges of chronic disease, and give tangible means of coping with and overcoming the many adversities. Her approach is instrumental in moving past the initial feelings of ‘why me?” and on to an empowering sense of control recaptured. Ms. Horn effortlessly draws from her readings of other empowering authors, notions of spirituality, and the existential reckonings of her own lifetime to synthesize a holistic and wholly effective worldview of illness.

Instead of relying on broad strokes of clichéd and unspecific advice, Danea includes actual exercises in her approach. Similar in my opinion to the highly respected concept of cognitive behavioral therapy, these practical assignments function like homework to drive home and reinforce the positive methods that can promote resilience.

Ms. Horn shares her own experiences in a witty, candid way that fosters trust, establishes credibility, and engages the reader. But she is not content in any way to simply make this a book about her own life, but rather includes intimate portraits of nine other women whose struggles have been met with courage and grace. There is really nothing more powerful to convince and inspire the human mind than the sharing of human story. Through the lens of these women’s tales, we see ourselves as capable of facing our own trials, strengthening our own resolve, and ultimately transcending the cruel frailties of our shared human condition.

As we are all imperfect creatures, there is a lot to be gained from reading this book whether you have a major chronic illness or not. I found the book to be uplifting, inspiring, and compelling. I found ideas to improve my own approach to daily life, and ways to cultivate a healthy sense of wellbeing, even in times of sickness and despair. As a family doctor I found myself thinking of several patients that this book would be perfect for, and I intend upon recommending it to them.

Thanks for a noble guidebook through good mental health in the face of chronic disease, Ms. Horn. May your life’s work continue to make the world a better, more resilient place.