Tag Archives for surrender

Think

It’s been very hard spending so much time alone while being so severely ill.

I’ve known since I was very young that I think a lot. Actually, some would say that I think too much. I might be inclined to agree.

My thoughts have become very circular in some difficult moments: is my illness a boomerang of bad karmic energy that I deserve as payment for something terrible I did in the past; how much longer can I possibly live like this; what if the doctors can’t “fix me”; and how can I possibly continue to do this alone?

These thoughts take me dangerously close to the edges of a rat hole I know it’s possible for me to fall into under the right circumstances. I have to work hard to keep my mental health healthy and some days I just barely come out on top. Some days it feels like it would be easier to give in, but the choice I make instead is to not fight against my thoughts and feelings so hard because it adds to my physical pain and causes me additional psychological and emotional pain.

I’m trying, instead of thinking so much, to accept this challenging experience for what it is. At the very least, I don’t blame myself for being sick anymore. At the beginning of all this, as irrational as I knew it was, I tried to figure out what I could have done to avoid getting sick. Even after I learned that my illness most likely resulted from a rare congenital condition that could never be prevented. I try not to wish my illness and the accompanying excruciating pain away because it requires a significant investment of my energy. Energy that I need to function at the most basic level some days. I also try not to blame anyone else– not even the doctors who misdiagnosed me at the start of all this.

Hardest of all, I try to be present with the pain. Being present means: noticing how the pain is changing my body and my mind; moving my body in ways that don’t aggravate my pain– not always successfully; and moving slowly, carefully and deliberately in every physical action I make so I don’t drop things or drop myself– again. It also means I try not to feel guilt when after doing very little I’m so exhausted I need to nap in the middle of the morning, afternoon and/or evening– like I did for about three hours in the middle of writing this entry.

The final thing is something I’ve always done but I work at even harder now. I work at being grateful for the people who love and support me. One of the ways I do it may not, at first glance, seem like gratitude but I work at allowing them to help me because I’ve never been good at asking for or accepting help. And I need help now like never before– even if I can’t always admit to it. But I can admit that each time I reach out to someone I can feel a shift in myself and I feel a little less alone.

 

Today I leave you with some thoughts from the Queen of Soul,
Aretha Franklin – Think [1968]

Happy Anniversary… to My Pain

Today marks the 18-month anniversary of my illness.

An illness that has yet to be definitively diagnosed, but is characterised by uninterrupted, severe pelvic pain. Pain that landed me in the emergency room last Thursday in spite of the colourful assortment of pain medication I must take at hourly intervals to maintain what I now refer to as my “normal level of pain”. I’ve lost count of how many visits to the ER that adds up to now. Although, during this 12-hour visit I had the tests that I most likely should have had within the first ten days of becoming ill in August 2013 – the awe that still fills me when I think about the fact that I never had a CT scan during my hospitalization is overwhelming.

So, I suppose the obvious question is what are my small surrenders?

I now live out my days within the approximately 600 square feet that are my apartment. I haven’t returned to work since the day I was wheeled out of my apartment to a waiting ambulance and hospitalized for two weeks. Some of theses days I sleep more than a newborn and wake so disoriented I don’t know what day it is. On others I can’t sleep at all. But I sleep, or not, within this space.

Most days I’m unable to think beyond the pain. I have to fight for mental clarity to focus on the colourful squares in the compartmentalized box filled with haze-inducing pills that permit me to move my body between couch, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Sometimes, moments after silencing one of the multiple alarms I have set to remind me to take those pills, I forget to take them because my mind is perpetually clouded and I am easily distracted. When this happens my nerves protest and prompt me to take action to soothe them.

I can’t go for walks. Walking causes my pain to intensify and the compartmentalized pills make be feel like I have a very stubborn inner ear infection (translation: I’m not always steady on my feet). This lack of movement has led to a degree of muscle atrophy in my calves – not even the highest pair of heels could help to camouflage the disappearing definition that once existed below my knees – and my legs continue to get weaker.

Not being able to walk much puts limitations on other things like going out with friends or running errands. I have visits from the friends and family who have stood by me since the beginning – some in person and others virtually. Once in a while I go hang out on their couches for a few hours or a few days. I don’t have visits from those friends who don’t know how to cope with my illness; or those who were never truly the kind of friends I believed them to be to me – illness teaches you a lot about people. As for errands, I now have just about everything delivered.

These are some of my small surrenders: accepting and living within the limitations of my pain. It has not been easy and it seems that the longer I’m sick the more I have to surrender.

 

I will leave you today with the only song I could think of that talks about surrender, even if mine is not as sweet.

Sarah McLachlan – Sweet Surrender