I have a road map now, a journey out from this place, where I both relax into the care being given, and twitch with restlessness and anger because of my condition. I will leave here in a week to rest with my great pal in Atherton, who has a spacious peaceful, level house where I can continue the convalescence. The last few days have been filled with emotion, a sense of deep helplessness and intermittent tears... One kid gone on vacation, another one coming, and myself floating in this lonely institution, trying always to remember impermanence, and lovingkindness. I say thank you a lot here because I must, and I go inside and see how things are changing each hour, each day, and AGAIN I know about what Ajhan Cha called "uncertainty." And I think about my road map, and place myself just where I am in time, right here, right now, with the minutes ticking by invisibly.
My distressed neighbor Mr. Tibbs left today, and I have to say I felt relief knowing this. His agony and wild vocalizing (especially at night) stirred me up, set off fear, anger, all those feelings we all would rather not own..... Fear of pain, of dying, of not being understood, of being humiliated, of not being seen -- the list goes on. Anger because I want my private space to be quiet, because the story I have told myself is that I need tranquility to mend. When I step back to look at it, that anger is pretty selfish and contracted, and I do not want to be that way. But it is all about being with what is - isn't it? And I certainly have sent lovingkindness to this man in many odd moments, unseen, and I know that he has no wish to harm his fellow beings. He is in deep suffering. And now he is gone.
My visit with the ortho doctor Tuesday, Dr. Morshed, in San Franscisco, was quite an adventure. I was transported in a wheel chair van to this slick new complex in China Basin, where I met with the colleague of the man who did my surgery - a man as yet unknown to me, and to whom I feel extreme gratitude. His message: all is moving along according to plan, normal healing taking place, with a 6 week overall prognosis for complete healing, which makes another 4 weeks before I can consider completing that journey! My arm will take longer. The 11 stitches were pulled from my arm, and small tapes applied, and now that arm hangs just as anyone else's might, bare and unadorned, except quite bent. I will revisit the ortho corporation at the beginning of August at which time X-rays will be done to ascertain the true status of this injured left side of mine. It is not time yet to know anything for certain. We can only sit around and talk of what is expected, what is the norm under my current circumstances. Uncertainty once again. I liked having this visit though it gave me no guarantees. I felt listened to and informed. I knew where I was on this path back to my other life, the life before this life.
Yesterday felt shaky and emotional, today feels stable ..... and who knows about tomorrow? Stay here now, just here, just now. The road map will be there exactly when you need it!
My Elephant Friends
Amboseli elephants
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Meditation on Ever Changing Emotions
I live in Room 108 at the Terraces, and keep my door open during the daylight time so I can feel a bit a part of the flow of life beyond my little space. And because I have the door open, I have had several inquisitive would-be visitors, both of them men, both suffering from dementia, I suspect, but able to move their wheelchairs about on their own. One is Mr. Tibbs, my neighbor, and I don't know the other.... There is curiosity and befuddlement in their faces as they stare into my space, and I try to meet that stare with kindness. What I find comes up more often though is distaste -- an aversion to being gazed at as though I were some specimen in a jar (or in this case, in a hospital bed!). I don''t open my heart but feel it shrink, pull away from these guys, wanting them to wheel themselves elsewhere. Where is the compassion? And why do I have this aversion? It almost felt like fear the other night, as Mr. Tibbs literally wheeled himself into my room. What was I thinking he would do to me? Get too close? And then what? I think I felt helpless to get away, literally, and fear came right along for the ride. Yes, I have been through a life altering experience and my nervous system is not as strong as it used to be, perhaps.... I need to remember this ... There is a huge fragility present in my system, and maybe I am not sure it will be protected. I don't want to be repulsed by these suffering old men, and I can think of many reasons to go the other direction -- that of compassion and openheartedness. But, yet, I just want to be left alone. I want to know that my space is my space...
Unfortunately, when you are institutionalized you don't have much control over your space. And, so, I must be with that.
Moment by moment reality.... uncertainty .... meet these and be with them. No judgment, no reaction.
Am feeling a mixture of pleasure and sadness that Sara & family are going on their Canada vacation, the one we were supposed to do together. I want them to have a good time out there and I know I am missing that time, and I will be missing her terribly. She is a sweet loving presence in my life that makes me grateful for motherhood. She tries hard to do the right thing, and agonizes when she's unsure of the right choice. She needs this vacation to replenish herself, and I need to let go for now. Loving and letting go. Tough. When I start to think of letting go, I realize there are SO many ways we can do this.
What do I see: letting go of fear (just a passing emotion), letting go of loneliness, of control impulses,
of imagining my future plans, of identifying with the pain in this body, of wanting more creature comforts .... the list could continue on.... but I won't.
The sun outside my window is sinking and the light softening. This is one of my favorite times of day, and I am stopping now to take it in. And feel grateful I am alive.
Unfortunately, when you are institutionalized you don't have much control over your space. And, so, I must be with that.
Moment by moment reality.... uncertainty .... meet these and be with them. No judgment, no reaction.
Am feeling a mixture of pleasure and sadness that Sara & family are going on their Canada vacation, the one we were supposed to do together. I want them to have a good time out there and I know I am missing that time, and I will be missing her terribly. She is a sweet loving presence in my life that makes me grateful for motherhood. She tries hard to do the right thing, and agonizes when she's unsure of the right choice. She needs this vacation to replenish herself, and I need to let go for now. Loving and letting go. Tough. When I start to think of letting go, I realize there are SO many ways we can do this.
What do I see: letting go of fear (just a passing emotion), letting go of loneliness, of control impulses,
of imagining my future plans, of identifying with the pain in this body, of wanting more creature comforts .... the list could continue on.... but I won't.
The sun outside my window is sinking and the light softening. This is one of my favorite times of day, and I am stopping now to take it in. And feel grateful I am alive.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Sunday Morning at the Rehab
I have gone from feeling forlorn to perky in the space of an hour .... Sunday feels like a lonelier day here in the rehab hospital, lonely because there are fewer people tending you, and because it is a day when families hunker down to do their own thing, which may not include visiting their relations. The help here feels more distracted on the weekend because my guess is they would rather be somewhere else.
My sadness was coming from a sense of deep separation -- not only being separated from my friends and usual pursuits, but separation in a large existential sense. We are all really doing this journey alone, separate, no matter how many communities we partake in.... Separation reminds me of living alone and what I now feel deeply are the drawbacks of that solitude. I have been blowing my horn in a way about how pleased I am to be living an independent life, but under the surface of that bravado is a lingering fear. Will I depart this life unnoticed? And, of course, working with the dying as I do, I know that there is no way of knowing the what, when, and how of it. Uncertainty. Impermanence. Acceptance. Equanimity? Hopefully!
Yesterday I visited the volunteers who came with their dogs - "pet therapy" it's called ... Many of the people in the activities room were slumped in wheel chairs and not engaged. But I loved looking at those four legged creatures, all eager to relate, to be petted, acknowledged! There was a boxer, and a daschund, a terrier, and a Bavanese. It all reminded me of the time Charlie and I took Francesca to the nursing home in SF and had her visit patients in her beautiful gentle way. She was born to do that work, really. It occurred to me that I still miss her deeply. It's the unconditional love that I want - of course. And then I think : can I give myself that unconditional love just as she would have?
Eleanora wheeled me into a shower room, and sprayed hot water all over me and I instantly felt rejuvenated. The washing away of the residue of the last week or so, both the scratchy grit on my skin and emotional layer as well. We chatted in the shower about having children, and I helped her scrub my curly hair, which she said she liked. What a pleasure that experience was. Hands on care. Just that. My wounds were covered in large plastic bags and I nervously stretched my arm away to be extra sure it didn't get wet. Putting on fresh clothes, and lotion in my hair made me feel human, and lively. The loneliness is still here but I am not feeling oppressed by it. When she left my room, I thanked her profusely for her kindness and hard work. Now I so clearly understand the depth of gratitude our hospice residents feel for our loving care while they live with us. I don't want anyone's help to go unrecognized. It all forms a bridge that I can take myself across .... to a place of ease and self sufficiency finally.
In finding the wonderfulness of a CNA's attention today I was able to dispel the bleakness inside. Or perhaps I was able to hold that bleakness with love.
My sadness was coming from a sense of deep separation -- not only being separated from my friends and usual pursuits, but separation in a large existential sense. We are all really doing this journey alone, separate, no matter how many communities we partake in.... Separation reminds me of living alone and what I now feel deeply are the drawbacks of that solitude. I have been blowing my horn in a way about how pleased I am to be living an independent life, but under the surface of that bravado is a lingering fear. Will I depart this life unnoticed? And, of course, working with the dying as I do, I know that there is no way of knowing the what, when, and how of it. Uncertainty. Impermanence. Acceptance. Equanimity? Hopefully!
Yesterday I visited the volunteers who came with their dogs - "pet therapy" it's called ... Many of the people in the activities room were slumped in wheel chairs and not engaged. But I loved looking at those four legged creatures, all eager to relate, to be petted, acknowledged! There was a boxer, and a daschund, a terrier, and a Bavanese. It all reminded me of the time Charlie and I took Francesca to the nursing home in SF and had her visit patients in her beautiful gentle way. She was born to do that work, really. It occurred to me that I still miss her deeply. It's the unconditional love that I want - of course. And then I think : can I give myself that unconditional love just as she would have?
Eleanora wheeled me into a shower room, and sprayed hot water all over me and I instantly felt rejuvenated. The washing away of the residue of the last week or so, both the scratchy grit on my skin and emotional layer as well. We chatted in the shower about having children, and I helped her scrub my curly hair, which she said she liked. What a pleasure that experience was. Hands on care. Just that. My wounds were covered in large plastic bags and I nervously stretched my arm away to be extra sure it didn't get wet. Putting on fresh clothes, and lotion in my hair made me feel human, and lively. The loneliness is still here but I am not feeling oppressed by it. When she left my room, I thanked her profusely for her kindness and hard work. Now I so clearly understand the depth of gratitude our hospice residents feel for our loving care while they live with us. I don't want anyone's help to go unrecognized. It all forms a bridge that I can take myself across .... to a place of ease and self sufficiency finally.
In finding the wonderfulness of a CNA's attention today I was able to dispel the bleakness inside. Or perhaps I was able to hold that bleakness with love.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Uncertainty, Fear & Loathing .... then Compassion
It wasn't that long ago that I felt that my life was shimmering with happiness, that it was just sweet and beautiful, with my amazing beach house as refuge so close to the roaring ocean, with my new found surge of creativity for bead making, my deepening immersion in hospice work, and the sounds I was producing on my piano: Bach's Goldbergs, and now Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Yes, it was a charmed existence, and I breathed it in and was thankful.
Then as I was crossing the street in my neighborhood a week and a half ago, everything changed. A heedless driver ran me over, or literally ran my foot over, knocked me back onto the street. It was a surreal event that I saw coming, and that I could not prevent though I tried, screaming out to her. Splat I went on Polk Street, and the screaming burst from my body. People gathered, wanting to help, 911 was called, and I writhed on the hard concrete while an anonymous guy from Starbucks offered me his knee to rest my head on. I screamed and looked down at my foot now flattened and deformed from the tires of that woman's car. She stood silently on the sidelines looking as though she were viewing a ghost. I fell back in a shivering state of shock while we waited for the ambulance, and people formed a circle around my body on the street... I even tried to get up, deranged enough to think I could actually escape this state of being. An ambulance took me to the best trauma center in the city - SF General - and an amazing team of people worked to discover, to ward off pain, to mend, to reassure. A warm flood of painklllers streamed into my body, filling my torso as I thought blankly about how sorry I was that I had missed dinner at Pesce, my local fish bistro. Then, a burning thirst in my mouth, uncontrollable shivering, my mind moving from wildly high speed to a drugged hiatus, and then more horrible thirst....
The following morning I was operated on for 5 hours for a broken elbow, a badly broken elbow. I now have some titanium plate and screws beneath the surface of this crook in my arm. My leg was broken close to the ankle, the fibula bone, and no surgery was done. Encased in a large splint, and expected to heal on its own over time. I spent a bleak, frightening several days at General Hospital as I waited for word of my future landing place. I was to go to a skilled nursing facility to be rehabilitated until I could manage the challenges of my 1912 San Francisco house with all its stairs. A deep sadness came over me as I realized I would be away from my little refuge, and my beloved cats, for an indeterminate amount of time. I would be under the control of the medical establishment for better or for worse until they deemed it viable to release me into the world..... Helplessness gave way to anger and stubbornness as I remembered my mother's outrageous resistance to authority, and then I saw the story begin in my brain and then I stopped myself and said, yes, this is what is happening.
One of the reasons I want to chronicle this is that I want to create clarity where there was deep chaos, and fear, and because I have been in a drugged condition ever since this horror occurred. Drugged though I've been, I have also been able to reorganize parts of my life, and relay information to relevant people, etc. Percocet has been a helper in the tending of this extreme pain, but I don't want to count on it as a savior. There is something so inexorable about profound body pain.... It is the ultimate reality, and it never really goes away. Just relaxes its grip a bit, I think. I do sense the scrambling of my mental process on and off, and the whooshing in and out of deep fatigue, and I yearn for a spacious, stable place inside.
As I rest in a rehab facility in Los Altos, amidst trees, rose bushes, and lovely planting, I am trying to stay open to the upheaval, and the grim feelings rising to the surface. I will be walking soon with the aid of a crutch, and my arm will hopefully look and act like a normal arm, and I have no trouble believing in that, but I am weighted down by despair and anger that I have been so assaulted. At the same time, though, I try to remember that I am a person alive and breathing, and healthy -- that I still have a life. Yes, and with that gratitude. And then the whoosh of sadness : will I feel crippled and deformed as I resume my journey into elder-hood? And how will I hold that reality? And threaded through all of this is my compassion arising - in response to myself, my very wounded self, in response to those who work the grueling shifts to care for the fragile and ill, in response to people who are so numbed out in life that they cannot focus as they go about their daily lives ........ Yes, the Buddha had it right. THERE IS SUFFERING IN THIS HUMAN LIFE. And the only way through this suffering is on the back of compassion, that opening of the heart in response to pain.
There has been an outpouring of generosity and compassion toward me that has given me space to breathe, and cope, and finally, to rest. I need to rest and welcome those feelings of helplessness, of anger, of fear. They are as real as my injuries. I need to hold myself as a mother would hold her wounded child, tenderly and softly. Along with this holding is the witnessing: the looking at my broken limbs, the discoloration and abrasions and deformity, with acceptance not fear. The ugliness I feel is there is not -- it is simply injured body parts. Do not judge. Love instead.
I want to continue my exploration of this event because I know that there is profound learning to be had here. I already know that my body is healthier than I had ever given it credit for, but I need to shepherd my heart through this life changing act. Healing will come at its own speed, in its own time, and I must stay steady and patient and loving. I feel proud to say that I can do this. Stay with me in your thoughts and with your attention -- it will be an interesting ride.
Then as I was crossing the street in my neighborhood a week and a half ago, everything changed. A heedless driver ran me over, or literally ran my foot over, knocked me back onto the street. It was a surreal event that I saw coming, and that I could not prevent though I tried, screaming out to her. Splat I went on Polk Street, and the screaming burst from my body. People gathered, wanting to help, 911 was called, and I writhed on the hard concrete while an anonymous guy from Starbucks offered me his knee to rest my head on. I screamed and looked down at my foot now flattened and deformed from the tires of that woman's car. She stood silently on the sidelines looking as though she were viewing a ghost. I fell back in a shivering state of shock while we waited for the ambulance, and people formed a circle around my body on the street... I even tried to get up, deranged enough to think I could actually escape this state of being. An ambulance took me to the best trauma center in the city - SF General - and an amazing team of people worked to discover, to ward off pain, to mend, to reassure. A warm flood of painklllers streamed into my body, filling my torso as I thought blankly about how sorry I was that I had missed dinner at Pesce, my local fish bistro. Then, a burning thirst in my mouth, uncontrollable shivering, my mind moving from wildly high speed to a drugged hiatus, and then more horrible thirst....
The following morning I was operated on for 5 hours for a broken elbow, a badly broken elbow. I now have some titanium plate and screws beneath the surface of this crook in my arm. My leg was broken close to the ankle, the fibula bone, and no surgery was done. Encased in a large splint, and expected to heal on its own over time. I spent a bleak, frightening several days at General Hospital as I waited for word of my future landing place. I was to go to a skilled nursing facility to be rehabilitated until I could manage the challenges of my 1912 San Francisco house with all its stairs. A deep sadness came over me as I realized I would be away from my little refuge, and my beloved cats, for an indeterminate amount of time. I would be under the control of the medical establishment for better or for worse until they deemed it viable to release me into the world..... Helplessness gave way to anger and stubbornness as I remembered my mother's outrageous resistance to authority, and then I saw the story begin in my brain and then I stopped myself and said, yes, this is what is happening.
One of the reasons I want to chronicle this is that I want to create clarity where there was deep chaos, and fear, and because I have been in a drugged condition ever since this horror occurred. Drugged though I've been, I have also been able to reorganize parts of my life, and relay information to relevant people, etc. Percocet has been a helper in the tending of this extreme pain, but I don't want to count on it as a savior. There is something so inexorable about profound body pain.... It is the ultimate reality, and it never really goes away. Just relaxes its grip a bit, I think. I do sense the scrambling of my mental process on and off, and the whooshing in and out of deep fatigue, and I yearn for a spacious, stable place inside.
As I rest in a rehab facility in Los Altos, amidst trees, rose bushes, and lovely planting, I am trying to stay open to the upheaval, and the grim feelings rising to the surface. I will be walking soon with the aid of a crutch, and my arm will hopefully look and act like a normal arm, and I have no trouble believing in that, but I am weighted down by despair and anger that I have been so assaulted. At the same time, though, I try to remember that I am a person alive and breathing, and healthy -- that I still have a life. Yes, and with that gratitude. And then the whoosh of sadness : will I feel crippled and deformed as I resume my journey into elder-hood? And how will I hold that reality? And threaded through all of this is my compassion arising - in response to myself, my very wounded self, in response to those who work the grueling shifts to care for the fragile and ill, in response to people who are so numbed out in life that they cannot focus as they go about their daily lives ........ Yes, the Buddha had it right. THERE IS SUFFERING IN THIS HUMAN LIFE. And the only way through this suffering is on the back of compassion, that opening of the heart in response to pain.
There has been an outpouring of generosity and compassion toward me that has given me space to breathe, and cope, and finally, to rest. I need to rest and welcome those feelings of helplessness, of anger, of fear. They are as real as my injuries. I need to hold myself as a mother would hold her wounded child, tenderly and softly. Along with this holding is the witnessing: the looking at my broken limbs, the discoloration and abrasions and deformity, with acceptance not fear. The ugliness I feel is there is not -- it is simply injured body parts. Do not judge. Love instead.
I want to continue my exploration of this event because I know that there is profound learning to be had here. I already know that my body is healthier than I had ever given it credit for, but I need to shepherd my heart through this life changing act. Healing will come at its own speed, in its own time, and I must stay steady and patient and loving. I feel proud to say that I can do this. Stay with me in your thoughts and with your attention -- it will be an interesting ride.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)