I was hanging with my posse this past Saturday. That is my Womyn's Group:) We were talking about GMO's and Roundup and the poisoning of Mother Earth. I was on my soapbox (one of many) and ranting and raving. Then one of the women said (paraphrasing), "We need to heal those wounds in ourselves to heal Mother Earth." Of course!! It was a ton of bricks falling on my head. And let's face it, I often seem to need those ton of bricks to see the message!
The message was...what poison do we need to purge from our bodies? This message had been coming at me from a few directions lately, but it took this beautiful woman to deliver it in her beautiful words for me to be able to hear it. This message had also been coming in other levels and layers of truth for the past month. I believe it started with my allergic reaction rash. I purged the toxins of early childhood abuse with the ravaging course of the rash. I received this message last week when I watched Eve Ensler's poignant Ted Talk titled Suddenly, My Body. In it she discussed her body and cancer and how having cancer helped her reconnect to her body. Eve also spoke about how she came to realize that her body was a mirror image of Mother Earth in that her cancer was symbolic of the poisoning of Mother Earth. I have left out a great deal of her talk and highly recommend you watch it. This is the link: http://www.ted.com/talks/eve_ensler.html. Now it was time for me to take a hard look at how I was poisoning myself.
The answer couldn't be any clearer. I have been poisoning myself with toxic, negative self-talk. I have found myself saying, "You are so stupid no one will want to hire you," "You are boring," "You are not enough for anyone or anything," "You are selfish and needy," "You are lazy!" Whew! I got a headache just typing those comments! But, now is the time to let go of all of that for good.
I am also reminded of some amazing words that Marianne Williamson strung together: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." Wow! Truth in poetic form is a beautiful thing!
My prayers go out to all those effected by Hurricane Sandy as well as all people in need. And I vow to purge myself of anything that makes me feel small. Perhaps, in this way, I will heal myself and send healing out to the world. Won't you join me?
Monday, November 5, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Skin Deep
My husband and I recently had a wonderful weekend in North Carolina hiking Mt. Mitchell. I had been looking forward to the hike since our summer vacation. We were able to hike several days during our week away, but hadn't made it to the highest eastern pinnacle.
All of our hikes to date have been amazingly sweet with warm sun and stunning vistas. The sweating exertion on mother earth and fresh air worked to keep me present. Mt. Mitchell was no different in many ways, but vastly different in others. With all of the fraser fir trees, Mt. Mitchell was ever green and smelled like Christmas, wonderful. It was also rockier, steeper, and colder than we had yet encountered. And as we started our return trip to the car, it began to rain steadily. It was tricky making our way down the mountain with slick rocks and billowing ponchos. I worked on breathing with my fear of a slipping fall ending in a broken bone. As we hiked, Jay and I talked about the obvious lesson of accepting what is. I was tempted to bemoan the fogginess hiding the amazing views we should be seeing and the rain preventing the blue skies and warm sun. But it was what it was. We were experiencing hiking in a new way...a more primal way. And I felt it in my bones. By the time we made it back to our car, my hands and ears were cold and we were dripping wet even with the ponchos.
So, what of accepting a rainy, cold hike colored by the small fear of breaking a bone during a nasty fall? Evidently not much, because Creator drove it further home for me early the next morning. I woke up to an itchy raised, red rash on my inner thighs. Later that day, the rash was in the crook of my left elbow and both areas were beginning to give off heat. Four days later, two thirds of my body was inflamed with the rash...itchy, swollen, and hot. It was uncomfortable and debilitating for a full six days and it stopped me in my tracts. Accept that! And as I hung out on the sofa covered in various blends of goop, I struggled to do just that. It wasn't just the discomfort of the itching and swelling, it was also the feeling of helplessness and ugliness that I needed to accept. I felt trapped by my "ailment", prevented as I was from carrying out my normal routine activities. I felt ugly and buried under my red alligator skin and twice normal size thighs and bottom. So, I breathed. In breathing, I accepted. In accepting, I was given the realization that I was detoxing early childhood trauma...letting go of cellular memory. Not bad for a weeks work!
What do you need to accept today?
All of our hikes to date have been amazingly sweet with warm sun and stunning vistas. The sweating exertion on mother earth and fresh air worked to keep me present. Mt. Mitchell was no different in many ways, but vastly different in others. With all of the fraser fir trees, Mt. Mitchell was ever green and smelled like Christmas, wonderful. It was also rockier, steeper, and colder than we had yet encountered. And as we started our return trip to the car, it began to rain steadily. It was tricky making our way down the mountain with slick rocks and billowing ponchos. I worked on breathing with my fear of a slipping fall ending in a broken bone. As we hiked, Jay and I talked about the obvious lesson of accepting what is. I was tempted to bemoan the fogginess hiding the amazing views we should be seeing and the rain preventing the blue skies and warm sun. But it was what it was. We were experiencing hiking in a new way...a more primal way. And I felt it in my bones. By the time we made it back to our car, my hands and ears were cold and we were dripping wet even with the ponchos.
So, what of accepting a rainy, cold hike colored by the small fear of breaking a bone during a nasty fall? Evidently not much, because Creator drove it further home for me early the next morning. I woke up to an itchy raised, red rash on my inner thighs. Later that day, the rash was in the crook of my left elbow and both areas were beginning to give off heat. Four days later, two thirds of my body was inflamed with the rash...itchy, swollen, and hot. It was uncomfortable and debilitating for a full six days and it stopped me in my tracts. Accept that! And as I hung out on the sofa covered in various blends of goop, I struggled to do just that. It wasn't just the discomfort of the itching and swelling, it was also the feeling of helplessness and ugliness that I needed to accept. I felt trapped by my "ailment", prevented as I was from carrying out my normal routine activities. I felt ugly and buried under my red alligator skin and twice normal size thighs and bottom. So, I breathed. In breathing, I accepted. In accepting, I was given the realization that I was detoxing early childhood trauma...letting go of cellular memory. Not bad for a weeks work!
What do you need to accept today?
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The Pursuit of Truth
Recently two dear friends of mine had the courage to suggest to me that my son, Will, might benefit from a residential school setting. I was flooded with many intense emotions. Tears welled in my eyes as I heard the vein of truth in what they said.
Since then, I have been struggling with the idea. While I know without a doubt that I am willing to do whatever is best for my son, I falter with what that might be. How do I determine such a thing? Really what I am asking is "how do I find the truth?" I think this is an important question for all of us. It was the driving force for Gandhi. He titled his autobiography "The Story of My Experiments with Truth" and closes with the sentence: "In bidding farewell to the reader, for the time being at any rate, I ask him to join with me in prayer to the God of Truth that He may grant me the boon of Ahimsa in mind, word, and deed." Ahimsa is a sanskrit word meaning to do no harm. Ahimsa is certainly paramount in my mind as I consider the best course of action for Will.
I believe that getting to truth requires the ability to see past emotion and ego. To this end, I have found it most helpful to fast and meditate outside. Certainly, anything we do to slow down and drown out the madness around us helps. I suppose we could consider this a mini vision quest. While this hasn't brought me an answer, it has brought me peace. I know when the time comes, I will make the best decision I can out of love for my son. What is your truth today?
Since then, I have been struggling with the idea. While I know without a doubt that I am willing to do whatever is best for my son, I falter with what that might be. How do I determine such a thing? Really what I am asking is "how do I find the truth?" I think this is an important question for all of us. It was the driving force for Gandhi. He titled his autobiography "The Story of My Experiments with Truth" and closes with the sentence: "In bidding farewell to the reader, for the time being at any rate, I ask him to join with me in prayer to the God of Truth that He may grant me the boon of Ahimsa in mind, word, and deed." Ahimsa is a sanskrit word meaning to do no harm. Ahimsa is certainly paramount in my mind as I consider the best course of action for Will.
I believe that getting to truth requires the ability to see past emotion and ego. To this end, I have found it most helpful to fast and meditate outside. Certainly, anything we do to slow down and drown out the madness around us helps. I suppose we could consider this a mini vision quest. While this hasn't brought me an answer, it has brought me peace. I know when the time comes, I will make the best decision I can out of love for my son. What is your truth today?
Monday, August 20, 2012
All That Glitters...
All that glitters is not gold. That literally just popped into my head. It's been some time since my last post thanks to school starting for my kids. Life has been otherwise uneventful and I have struggled to find another significant topic to blog. So, I will follow my intuition and go with "all that glitters is not gold." It is certainly a wealth, a mine, a treasure (hee hee:) of a topic to discuss. Yet, for a spiritual perspective, I will focus on the concept of illusion.
Illusion is suggested in this well known saying by the idea that something glittering at first glance appears to be gold. I believe as a society we are extraordinarily suspectible to this mistake when our economy is in the toilet. Most of us are feeling the financial "pinch" and for others it is a vice. With the pressure to survive, it is understandable we would be stopping and turing toward every glittery opportunity. While this is a necessity, it brings many pitfalls. It becomes very easy to follow the money and ignore our true path.
I have recently had my own wrestling match between making money and staying true to my calling. I have considered teaching college, starting a second hand store, getting certified as an EMT, and driving a cab. The sad thing is I am not joking! After much soul searching and meditation, I have decided to stay my course. I will trust myself and the God of my understanding to provide for my needs. Time will tell and I will keep you posted on how my path unfolds. Bottom line...we either fear or we trust love. I myself choose to trust love.
Illusion is suggested in this well known saying by the idea that something glittering at first glance appears to be gold. I believe as a society we are extraordinarily suspectible to this mistake when our economy is in the toilet. Most of us are feeling the financial "pinch" and for others it is a vice. With the pressure to survive, it is understandable we would be stopping and turing toward every glittery opportunity. While this is a necessity, it brings many pitfalls. It becomes very easy to follow the money and ignore our true path.
I have recently had my own wrestling match between making money and staying true to my calling. I have considered teaching college, starting a second hand store, getting certified as an EMT, and driving a cab. The sad thing is I am not joking! After much soul searching and meditation, I have decided to stay my course. I will trust myself and the God of my understanding to provide for my needs. Time will tell and I will keep you posted on how my path unfolds. Bottom line...we either fear or we trust love. I myself choose to trust love.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Shadow Bag
Two weeks ago I was bitch slapped by my shadow bag. It started when I discovered a loved
one’s lie. Naturally, I felt
indignant, hurt, and betrayed. How
could they do this to me?! I confronted my loved one calmly,
but with a quivering lip and a tear in my eye. Once the fault was admitted, I switched to ranting and
raving. I expressed my hurt
feelings. I instructed them about
the impact their actions were having on me. I stomped and shook my fist. I all but demanded an apology. Then, in the middle of my grandiose drama, up popped the
thought, “What does this say about me?”
Oh, crap! The dreaded
taking responsibility for my contribution to the situation. My righteous anger deserted me as
quickly as it came.
Life would have been so much sweeter if I could have played
the injured victim. I could have
basked in the glow of my loved one making amends for the hurt they caused
me. Unfortunately, I was trying to grow spiritually. “What did this situation say about
me?” The thought was there and I
couldn’t deny it. Slap! I couldn’t ignore the bag I was
trailing behind, after all, it had smacked me in the face. I grabbed it and shuddered at the slimy
dampness of it. Wondering if I
were opening Pandora’s Box, I carefully grabbed an end of the sharp, rusty
barbed wire and began to unwind it from the neck of the bag. I held my breath as I reached in. My hand shook as I searched the bag for
the offending cause. I grabbed a
hairy tail and something squeaked.
A green-eyed monster? No,
that wasn’t it. Ahh. Out came the truth. Not glittery and perfumed, but fetid
and oozing (that’s what happens to things when you keep them in the dark). I was codependent. There I’d admitted it.
The God of my understanding was bringing my shadow to light. Weeks before I uncovered my loved one’s
lie, I had bought Ashley Judd’s book All That Is Bitter & Sweet. I stumbled across the book at our
local bookstore when I was helping my daughter get her AP summer reading list
books. I randomly thought it would
be interesting to read about Ashley’s life and felt compelled to buy her
book. Days before the lie bomb
went off in my face, I started reading Ashley’s book. She wrote about her recovery and working the 12 steps for
trauma she had endured as a child. It was all beginning to make sense.
Now the God of my understanding gifted me with
guidance. I was at our local
library searching for books about blogging and internet marketing when I came
across Recovery- The Sacred Art:
The Twelve Steps as Spiritual Practice by Rami Shapiro. I recognized the hand of universal help
and grabbed it. Later that day, I
was on the internet trying to find a local spiritual teacher when I found Paul
Hedderman’s website (www.zenbitchslap.com). On his site, Paul wrote about his
alcoholism, working the 12 steps, and reaching enlightenment. Both Paul and Rami said we all are
addicted to trying to control life.
Slap! I wasn’t
perfect. I grabbed the dreaded
shadow bag and searched it again.
My hand brushed a blunt object and a glimmer of recognition hit my
brain. I could remember the very
moment I started to believe I had control. Paradoxically, it was at a moment in my life when I felt
completely powerless. I was only
10 years old and being forcibly held down by someone I trusted. I feared for my life and with good
reason. I desperately prayed for
someone to rescue me…anyone. A
knight in shinning armor, an angel, the hand of God…no one came. Miraculously, I survived the
incident. But, I was faced with
continuing life as I now knew it.
It came down to believing I had control or going crazy with fear. I chose to believe.
Thirty-six years later and wiser, I admitted I am powerless
over life and others. A heavy
burden fell from my shoulders and I breathed a sigh of relief. I still struggle daily with reminding
myself I am powerless over life and others. Whenever I start to feel perfect, I can count on my shadow
bag’s strong right hook. What’s in
your bag?
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Will's Peace
My third child, William Harris McKie, was born on July 28, 2002, a lovely Sunday. We had no idea he would be born with CHARGE syndrome. Even my earlier pregnancy problems didn't foreshadow the news. Will was a twin, but his twin (the younger of the two) died at the end of the first trimester. I grieved the loss and worried whether I would also lose Will. I dealt with some of my grief by focusing on the health of the child I was still carrying and on the reassurance my doctor gave me that it wasn't unusual to lose a twin. After all, now we have wonderful technology which lets us peek inside giving us the "It's twins!" news before birth.
I had done everything "right". I weaned myself off caffeinated beverages, starting taking prenatal vitamins, and limited my consumption of fish all before I was even pregnant. I already wasn't eating lunchmeat, was eating lots of vegetables, and was exercising by running an average of 5 miles several times a week. When I found out I was carrying twins, I did some reading and added chicken and extra dairy to my diet to make sure I was getting enough protein for three and stopped doing sit ups or lying on my back to sleep. It stuck like a bone in my throat that I did everything right and still Will was born with physical deformities. It stuck sharpest when I saw healthy babies born to women who smoked, drank, or did drugs during their pregnancies. Please understand, I was happy for them (especially for those babies who needed all the breaks they could catch), but resented that Will and I didn't have the same good fortune.
The first sign of trouble was immediately after his birth when the neonatal clinician tried to suction Will's nose and couldn't pass even the narrowest catheter. She reassured me his nose was probably swollen from delivery. Will had a lusty cry and any concerns that glimmered in my mind faded. After I was able to look into his beautiful face, speak softly to him, and touch him to prove he was real, Will was shuttled to the term nursery. I volunteered to hang out a little longer in the delivery room in order for my tubes to be tied and my abdomen and uterus to be stitched closed. All three of my kids were delivered by the zipper method even though I did everything but stand on my head to try to deliver them naturally. Seriously, I did things I won't discuss here or with my closest friends.
Once my doctor was done with me, I was moved to the recovery room where I began to recall where I was (in a hospital) and why I was there (having a baby). Those are some kinda drugs! I even was beginning to resent the lack of hospital compliance with my well thought out and constructed birth plan. By now, Will was supposed to be with me for the very important first moments of bonding and breast feeding. As I was working up a goodly amount of righteous anger, I caught the attention of the first warm body to wander past and demanded to see my child. I was gently informed that my doctor would be by soon. It wasn't the words, but the look in the eyes which caused a cold sweat to trickle down my back. What was wrong with my son? For several agonizing minutes, I fluctuated between a nauseating worry and thoughts of clawing my way out of bed and to the nursery (my lower half was still numb from the epidural and not under my control) and comforting thoughts that Will's cry was loud and strong and he looked fine to me. I was losing the battle when not my doctor, but the Neonatal Intensive Care doctor who I had worked with for years arrived to tell me Will had been moved from the nursery to the NICU because he turned dusky. The doctor reassured me Will was stable on only a small amount of oxygen and listed the tests they would run. He reminded me how common it was for babies born by caesarean section to have short-term breathing problems. I nodded mutely with tears running down my face. Not only was it painful to be separated from my son who (I don't care what anyone said) so obviously needed me, but I hated to cry in public.
I focused on one thought only, "I can handle this." I repeated this to myself as I was wheeled down halls and into the NICU where I worked (when not giving birth). Kind, compassionate eyes met mine as I passed the beautiful people I was blessed to work with. I swallowed repeatedly willing myself not to cry in front of them. My stretcher finally came to rest near the warmer where my son lay under an oxygen hood. Will's nursery card announced his weight as 6 pounds and 5 ounces. He was the smallest of my children. His slow weight gain had concerned me as my pregnancy progressed because I knew each subsequent child tended to weigh a little more than the first born. I had certainly gained plenty which was normal for me and often joked (especially when I stood on the scales for my checkups) that my body didn't get the message we were down to one passenger. Why was Will so scrawny? He also had a small penis, ahem, was microphallic. This was pointed out by his nurse which I was sure was code for something, but my brain wasn't functioning. He looked comfortable and unperturbed by the additional attention he was receiving. Having assessed for myself he was stable, I promptly started weeping and embarrassed myself further by throwing up. Those ARE some kinda drugs. As a side note to all anesthesiologists everywhere, NEVER promise a pregnant woman that you have some new anesthetic which won't cause vomiting. It's just not right to get her hopes up!
After I composed and cleaned myself up with help, I was able to hold Will for the first time. It was awkward as I had to manage his small body swaddled in a blanket, tubes from an IV, wires from monitors, and the oxygen hose. Paradoxically, it was a very powerful moment for me. A warm peace radiated from Will's body and engulfed mine. "It's going to be ok," a strong voice spoke in my mind. My back ached from being propped up at a strange angle on the hard stretcher, my mouth tasted of bile, and my heart ached, but I didn't want to move. I wouldn't move. I stayed as long as they let me. When I handed my beautiful boy back to the care of his nurse, I thought I would break.
The next stop was my postpartum room where I was moved to a slightly more comfortable bed and instructed to sip liquids slowly. No kidding! I could hear the other babies crying in other rooms around me. I was now the woman I had often felt sympathy for as I discussed her child's progress in the NICU...and I didn't like it one little bit. I threw up twice more and I wasn't sure I could blame the medicine. I was emotionally wrecked. That day, and all the many more days that followed, as I reached the dark abyss, my mind snapped back to the promise "It's going to be ok" and the feeling of peace I felt from Will would wash over me again.
The next days of my hospital stay consisted of hobbling to the NICU to hold my son and listening to yet another finding of something wrong with his body and another test they would run. By the time I was discharged, the NICU doctors had a good case for CHARGE syndrome and a long list of appointments with various other doctors. It was a harrowing time and I was sustained by the thought "It's going to be ok" and the sense of peace I felt when I held Will. I had started to think this was part of his nature. I focused on this when I was discharged and wheeled out of the hospital with flowers and balloons. My arms were achingly, glaringly empty. I kept my eyes on the floor in front of the wheelchair, "It's going to be ok". The looks of compassion and pity which had warmed and soothed me earlier were now turing my stomach.
The next week was spent pumping the life sustaining breast milk from my body, cleaning the pump equipment, running back and forth from the hospital to visit and feed Will, and tending my loved ones at home. All I wanted to do was sit in the unit holding my son. Thankfully, I had many people bringing food, so I was spared from an additional task of cooking. I was beyond tired and stretched past my limits. I repeated "It's going to be ok" frequently and was rewarded with a warm peace. I started running again (even though I wasn't supposed to), because running had helped me heal old childhood wounds and sustained me through a previous miscarriage. I hung onto anything I could.
When Will was eight days old, he had surgery to create patent nasal canals. Not being able to pass a catheter through his nose and turning dusky was caused by a bony occlusion. Once his recovery from the surgery was assured and with stents in place to keep his nares from swelling shut, he was allowed to come home. Now, I was nursing, pumping, cleaning equipment, giving him his medicines, suctioning his nose several times a day (my record was 10 times in 24 hours for a process that took 20 minutes at a time), tending loved ones, and trying to sleep. Will didn't sleep much his first 6 years of life. You read that correctly...his first 6 YEARS of life. I sustained myself with the comforting warmth of his very alive body and the thought "It's going to be ok."
The next few years were a blur of tending children, visiting doctors, giving medicines, doing research (thank God for the world wide web!), changing doctors, being very angry at doctors, overcoming my brainwashing from nursing school and the medical establishment, and looking for answers for Will. It was one of the most stressful times of my life. I was getting very little sleep. I often had to park the van quickly while in route to an important somewhere and jump in the back to give Will oxygen because he was screaming, turning blue, and his oximeter was blaring. I would repeat my now constant mantra, "It's going to be ok." However, at this point, I wasn't feeling the peace so much.
Now the belief "It's going to be ok" was driving me to constantly seek new doctors, new treatments, and new answers when things obviously were not ok. I learned a lot in the process and met some amazing people. We were blessed with warm, wonderful, brilliant therapists (OT, PT, speech) and I very smartly befriended them! Yet, things still glaringly were NOT ok. Will was pervasively developmentally delayed (significantly delayed in more than one area of development) even more than his CHARGE limitations could explain.
I struggled to reconcile my belief with my perception of what was. I believed deeply that Will would be ok, but he was not ok by my assessment (as well as OT, PT, and speech therapists and numerous doctors would attest). I struggled to find the missing piece. There was something I was supposed to do or learn which would magically change the situation from absolutely NOT ok to perfectly ok. What was it, what was it, what the hell was it?!
Several years later and many, many miles down the road as we are, I have learned much, met many amazing people, and cleaned up a lot of poop. All because of Will's definitely NOT ok situation. Will has changed and touched many lives which wouldn't have happened if his path had been different (a leap of wisdom I made gracefully a few years back). Yet, the biggest gift of grace had been staring me right in the face, nose to my nose, but I couldn't see it. The problem was an inaccuracy of semantics really. All along the grace and the truth was that Will WAS ok and always had been ok. It was I who would eventually be ok. I had judged and found Will lacking when in truth it was I who was lacking...lacking in patience, wisdom, self acceptance, and compassion.
I still have to work very hard (and let me tell you when I say it's hard work, I mean the hard work of scrubbing poop out of acres of rug and off walls and windows cringing and sobbing with self loathing and self pity) at letting go of judgement...judgement of self, situations, and others. When I do let it go, that now familiar and much loved feeling of peace washes over and warms me...a gift from Will and, then, I know, eventually, I will be ok.
What judgements do you need to release? Let me know and, please, hear me when I say "It's going to be ok."
I had done everything "right". I weaned myself off caffeinated beverages, starting taking prenatal vitamins, and limited my consumption of fish all before I was even pregnant. I already wasn't eating lunchmeat, was eating lots of vegetables, and was exercising by running an average of 5 miles several times a week. When I found out I was carrying twins, I did some reading and added chicken and extra dairy to my diet to make sure I was getting enough protein for three and stopped doing sit ups or lying on my back to sleep. It stuck like a bone in my throat that I did everything right and still Will was born with physical deformities. It stuck sharpest when I saw healthy babies born to women who smoked, drank, or did drugs during their pregnancies. Please understand, I was happy for them (especially for those babies who needed all the breaks they could catch), but resented that Will and I didn't have the same good fortune.
The first sign of trouble was immediately after his birth when the neonatal clinician tried to suction Will's nose and couldn't pass even the narrowest catheter. She reassured me his nose was probably swollen from delivery. Will had a lusty cry and any concerns that glimmered in my mind faded. After I was able to look into his beautiful face, speak softly to him, and touch him to prove he was real, Will was shuttled to the term nursery. I volunteered to hang out a little longer in the delivery room in order for my tubes to be tied and my abdomen and uterus to be stitched closed. All three of my kids were delivered by the zipper method even though I did everything but stand on my head to try to deliver them naturally. Seriously, I did things I won't discuss here or with my closest friends.
Once my doctor was done with me, I was moved to the recovery room where I began to recall where I was (in a hospital) and why I was there (having a baby). Those are some kinda drugs! I even was beginning to resent the lack of hospital compliance with my well thought out and constructed birth plan. By now, Will was supposed to be with me for the very important first moments of bonding and breast feeding. As I was working up a goodly amount of righteous anger, I caught the attention of the first warm body to wander past and demanded to see my child. I was gently informed that my doctor would be by soon. It wasn't the words, but the look in the eyes which caused a cold sweat to trickle down my back. What was wrong with my son? For several agonizing minutes, I fluctuated between a nauseating worry and thoughts of clawing my way out of bed and to the nursery (my lower half was still numb from the epidural and not under my control) and comforting thoughts that Will's cry was loud and strong and he looked fine to me. I was losing the battle when not my doctor, but the Neonatal Intensive Care doctor who I had worked with for years arrived to tell me Will had been moved from the nursery to the NICU because he turned dusky. The doctor reassured me Will was stable on only a small amount of oxygen and listed the tests they would run. He reminded me how common it was for babies born by caesarean section to have short-term breathing problems. I nodded mutely with tears running down my face. Not only was it painful to be separated from my son who (I don't care what anyone said) so obviously needed me, but I hated to cry in public.
I focused on one thought only, "I can handle this." I repeated this to myself as I was wheeled down halls and into the NICU where I worked (when not giving birth). Kind, compassionate eyes met mine as I passed the beautiful people I was blessed to work with. I swallowed repeatedly willing myself not to cry in front of them. My stretcher finally came to rest near the warmer where my son lay under an oxygen hood. Will's nursery card announced his weight as 6 pounds and 5 ounces. He was the smallest of my children. His slow weight gain had concerned me as my pregnancy progressed because I knew each subsequent child tended to weigh a little more than the first born. I had certainly gained plenty which was normal for me and often joked (especially when I stood on the scales for my checkups) that my body didn't get the message we were down to one passenger. Why was Will so scrawny? He also had a small penis, ahem, was microphallic. This was pointed out by his nurse which I was sure was code for something, but my brain wasn't functioning. He looked comfortable and unperturbed by the additional attention he was receiving. Having assessed for myself he was stable, I promptly started weeping and embarrassed myself further by throwing up. Those ARE some kinda drugs. As a side note to all anesthesiologists everywhere, NEVER promise a pregnant woman that you have some new anesthetic which won't cause vomiting. It's just not right to get her hopes up!
After I composed and cleaned myself up with help, I was able to hold Will for the first time. It was awkward as I had to manage his small body swaddled in a blanket, tubes from an IV, wires from monitors, and the oxygen hose. Paradoxically, it was a very powerful moment for me. A warm peace radiated from Will's body and engulfed mine. "It's going to be ok," a strong voice spoke in my mind. My back ached from being propped up at a strange angle on the hard stretcher, my mouth tasted of bile, and my heart ached, but I didn't want to move. I wouldn't move. I stayed as long as they let me. When I handed my beautiful boy back to the care of his nurse, I thought I would break.
The next stop was my postpartum room where I was moved to a slightly more comfortable bed and instructed to sip liquids slowly. No kidding! I could hear the other babies crying in other rooms around me. I was now the woman I had often felt sympathy for as I discussed her child's progress in the NICU...and I didn't like it one little bit. I threw up twice more and I wasn't sure I could blame the medicine. I was emotionally wrecked. That day, and all the many more days that followed, as I reached the dark abyss, my mind snapped back to the promise "It's going to be ok" and the feeling of peace I felt from Will would wash over me again.
The next days of my hospital stay consisted of hobbling to the NICU to hold my son and listening to yet another finding of something wrong with his body and another test they would run. By the time I was discharged, the NICU doctors had a good case for CHARGE syndrome and a long list of appointments with various other doctors. It was a harrowing time and I was sustained by the thought "It's going to be ok" and the sense of peace I felt when I held Will. I had started to think this was part of his nature. I focused on this when I was discharged and wheeled out of the hospital with flowers and balloons. My arms were achingly, glaringly empty. I kept my eyes on the floor in front of the wheelchair, "It's going to be ok". The looks of compassion and pity which had warmed and soothed me earlier were now turing my stomach.
The next week was spent pumping the life sustaining breast milk from my body, cleaning the pump equipment, running back and forth from the hospital to visit and feed Will, and tending my loved ones at home. All I wanted to do was sit in the unit holding my son. Thankfully, I had many people bringing food, so I was spared from an additional task of cooking. I was beyond tired and stretched past my limits. I repeated "It's going to be ok" frequently and was rewarded with a warm peace. I started running again (even though I wasn't supposed to), because running had helped me heal old childhood wounds and sustained me through a previous miscarriage. I hung onto anything I could.
When Will was eight days old, he had surgery to create patent nasal canals. Not being able to pass a catheter through his nose and turning dusky was caused by a bony occlusion. Once his recovery from the surgery was assured and with stents in place to keep his nares from swelling shut, he was allowed to come home. Now, I was nursing, pumping, cleaning equipment, giving him his medicines, suctioning his nose several times a day (my record was 10 times in 24 hours for a process that took 20 minutes at a time), tending loved ones, and trying to sleep. Will didn't sleep much his first 6 years of life. You read that correctly...his first 6 YEARS of life. I sustained myself with the comforting warmth of his very alive body and the thought "It's going to be ok."
The next few years were a blur of tending children, visiting doctors, giving medicines, doing research (thank God for the world wide web!), changing doctors, being very angry at doctors, overcoming my brainwashing from nursing school and the medical establishment, and looking for answers for Will. It was one of the most stressful times of my life. I was getting very little sleep. I often had to park the van quickly while in route to an important somewhere and jump in the back to give Will oxygen because he was screaming, turning blue, and his oximeter was blaring. I would repeat my now constant mantra, "It's going to be ok." However, at this point, I wasn't feeling the peace so much.
Now the belief "It's going to be ok" was driving me to constantly seek new doctors, new treatments, and new answers when things obviously were not ok. I learned a lot in the process and met some amazing people. We were blessed with warm, wonderful, brilliant therapists (OT, PT, speech) and I very smartly befriended them! Yet, things still glaringly were NOT ok. Will was pervasively developmentally delayed (significantly delayed in more than one area of development) even more than his CHARGE limitations could explain.
I struggled to reconcile my belief with my perception of what was. I believed deeply that Will would be ok, but he was not ok by my assessment (as well as OT, PT, and speech therapists and numerous doctors would attest). I struggled to find the missing piece. There was something I was supposed to do or learn which would magically change the situation from absolutely NOT ok to perfectly ok. What was it, what was it, what the hell was it?!
Several years later and many, many miles down the road as we are, I have learned much, met many amazing people, and cleaned up a lot of poop. All because of Will's definitely NOT ok situation. Will has changed and touched many lives which wouldn't have happened if his path had been different (a leap of wisdom I made gracefully a few years back). Yet, the biggest gift of grace had been staring me right in the face, nose to my nose, but I couldn't see it. The problem was an inaccuracy of semantics really. All along the grace and the truth was that Will WAS ok and always had been ok. It was I who would eventually be ok. I had judged and found Will lacking when in truth it was I who was lacking...lacking in patience, wisdom, self acceptance, and compassion.
I still have to work very hard (and let me tell you when I say it's hard work, I mean the hard work of scrubbing poop out of acres of rug and off walls and windows cringing and sobbing with self loathing and self pity) at letting go of judgement...judgement of self, situations, and others. When I do let it go, that now familiar and much loved feeling of peace washes over and warms me...a gift from Will and, then, I know, eventually, I will be ok.
What judgements do you need to release? Let me know and, please, hear me when I say "It's going to be ok."
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Shadow Sucks...Or Does It?
Along the narrow, winding path through brambles and beside beauty that has been my spiritual path, I often encounter my shadow. The shadow is an archetype as defined in Jungian psychology. It is those aspects of ourselves that we judge unacceptable. We cast these miscreants into our shadow bag that stretches out behind us. We rejoice in our lantern aspects and the light of these cast the shadow that follows us like a faithful dog.
We are right and they are wrong. This is good and that is bad. The judgements fall from our lips effortlessly and often without thought. We repeat what we have learned and embraced as truth. Yet, we give little consideration to what these judgements cost us. All the energy and pieces of our being stripped and thrown out as waste leave us fragmented and stunted.
Consider the Zen koan "Everything is Best": When Banzan was walking through a market, he overheard a conversation between a butcher and his customer. "Give me the best piece of meat you have," said the customer. "Everything in my shop is the best," replied the butcher. "You cannot find here any piece of meat that is not the best." At these words, Banzan became enlightened.
I have noticed that the more I try to run, putting distance between me and my shadow, the harder and quicker it snaps back and slaps me in the face as if attached by a rubber band. I was slapped pretty darn hard last Thursday and I didn't like it one little bit. My mantra since Thursday has been "It's all good." This has helped me short circuit my usual pattern of self-judgement and recriminations.
Consider my experience several years ago when I was first in therapy. I was having trouble going to sleep, feeling anxious and irritable. I wanted to crawl right out of my skin. I would fidget, toss and turn, fluff my pillow, take deep breaths all to no avail. Finally, I would hop out of bed and rush downstairs to sit on the couch and rock rapidly back and forth. After about 30 minutes, the emotions would abate and I could go back to bed and sleep. After several weeks, the situation had reached an intense pitch and rocking wouldn't help. I jumped off the sofa and started pacing back and forth. After a few minutes of this, I had the distinct impression that someone was following me. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up and butterflies were spinning in my stomach. The quite and dark of the night added to my fear. I paced more quickly as though I could escape whatever or whoever was pursuing me. I was convinced that it was a ghoul or witch who meant to harm me. I paced more quickly still. At some point, logic kicked in overcoming my fear. Taking a deep breath, I spun quickly to face my would be "attacker". For a brief moment, I was afforded a glimpse of not a witch or a ghoul, but a beautiful woman hovering above the ground with her long, wavy hair blowing as if in a wind. She was me.
Jungian psychology describes our shadow as the wildness of character with a flavor of the exotic. My shadow was pursuing me those long ago nights. Ever since, I have attempted to embrace that wildly beautiful and defiant part of myself. On my good days, I feel her presence and I feel whole and powerful. On my bad days, I repeat my mantra..."It's all good." Take it out for a spin and let me know if it helps you!
Namaste!
We are right and they are wrong. This is good and that is bad. The judgements fall from our lips effortlessly and often without thought. We repeat what we have learned and embraced as truth. Yet, we give little consideration to what these judgements cost us. All the energy and pieces of our being stripped and thrown out as waste leave us fragmented and stunted.
Consider the Zen koan "Everything is Best": When Banzan was walking through a market, he overheard a conversation between a butcher and his customer. "Give me the best piece of meat you have," said the customer. "Everything in my shop is the best," replied the butcher. "You cannot find here any piece of meat that is not the best." At these words, Banzan became enlightened.
I have noticed that the more I try to run, putting distance between me and my shadow, the harder and quicker it snaps back and slaps me in the face as if attached by a rubber band. I was slapped pretty darn hard last Thursday and I didn't like it one little bit. My mantra since Thursday has been "It's all good." This has helped me short circuit my usual pattern of self-judgement and recriminations.
Consider my experience several years ago when I was first in therapy. I was having trouble going to sleep, feeling anxious and irritable. I wanted to crawl right out of my skin. I would fidget, toss and turn, fluff my pillow, take deep breaths all to no avail. Finally, I would hop out of bed and rush downstairs to sit on the couch and rock rapidly back and forth. After about 30 minutes, the emotions would abate and I could go back to bed and sleep. After several weeks, the situation had reached an intense pitch and rocking wouldn't help. I jumped off the sofa and started pacing back and forth. After a few minutes of this, I had the distinct impression that someone was following me. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up and butterflies were spinning in my stomach. The quite and dark of the night added to my fear. I paced more quickly as though I could escape whatever or whoever was pursuing me. I was convinced that it was a ghoul or witch who meant to harm me. I paced more quickly still. At some point, logic kicked in overcoming my fear. Taking a deep breath, I spun quickly to face my would be "attacker". For a brief moment, I was afforded a glimpse of not a witch or a ghoul, but a beautiful woman hovering above the ground with her long, wavy hair blowing as if in a wind. She was me.
Jungian psychology describes our shadow as the wildness of character with a flavor of the exotic. My shadow was pursuing me those long ago nights. Ever since, I have attempted to embrace that wildly beautiful and defiant part of myself. On my good days, I feel her presence and I feel whole and powerful. On my bad days, I repeat my mantra..."It's all good." Take it out for a spin and let me know if it helps you!
Namaste!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
My Spiritual Journey, Chapter 1
I have talked with my husband about blogging for about the past 6 months. Can you say procrastination? I kept waiting to reach enlightenment, become more wise, have more to share, find my "true" voice, have my house more organized, become a real writer, be a better mother and wife, be more compassionate, heal my son, toilet train my son, hear someone say "Kim, why don't you write a blog?", etc. No kidding, these were all of my reasons for not doing what I knew I deeply wanted to do! Ego, ego, ego!
Yet, today I read some of Bea Johnson's blog about Zero Waste Living (zerowastehome.blogspot.com) and had an AHA! moment:) Why not share my journey to enlightenment? After all, that's what Bea was doing with her topic. Thank you, Bea! Side note: I was also inspired to work toward eliminating material waste! So, here I am working toward letting go of anything that no longer serves a purpose in my life...physically, mentally, spiritually and sharing it with you as openly and honestly as I can. Join me and together we will find our way home!
Before I sign off for the day, I want to share a little about my journey thus far. I will try to keep it brief , because trust me, I have accumulated a lot of journey in my 45 years!
- Until I was 4, I saw and talked with my two angels.
- I had several traumatizing events beginning when I was about 2 leading me to have a death and rebirth experience.
- I made a conscious decision to live a spiritual life as a mother instead of as a nun or priest (girls couldn't be priests anyway) when I was 8.
- I started reading the Zen books on the library shelf near my study spot and thought they made sense and realized that I was no longer Catholic...I was spiritual.
- I saw my first born and after 9 months of worrying if I would love her, thought, "I know you!" when I was 23.
- I buried my beloved brother, Todd, and briefly joined Eckankar to escape the pain and learned about the power of sound.
- I spent 7 years (off and on, give or take) in therapy with a wonderful therapist, Deborah, and learned how to turn my trauma into grist for my spiritual mill.
- When I held my last born, I felt peace and knew that even though a lot was wrong with him (CHARGE syndrome) everything would be OK. I was 36.
- While I was out running near a local river and canal, God told me to pick up the feather I saw and throw it in the river. I learned that I would never be "mainstream".
- I knew I found my soulmate when I saw his soul (it looked like an Indian Chief) when I was 42.
- I learned energy work from my Lakota elder friend.
- I learned energy work from my Cherokee Chief mentor.
- Attending a Jin Shin Jyutsu course, I learned about David Hawkins book Power vs Force.
- I read David Hawkins' book and started to wonder what happens to the rest of us chickens who can't study with a guru in a cave in India? Answer: You find spiritual growth in whatever Now you have happening.
- Raising my son and looking for a healing for him, I found a healing for me. He's perfect:)
- Cleaning up poop out of the carpet and off walls for the gazillionith time this past fall, I realized that "poop" washes off.
- Reading Martha Beck's books Expecting Adam and Finding Your Way in a Wild New World, I realized that I wasn't the only crazy out there!
So, that should catch you up on my spiritual meanderings to date. Where has your spiritual quest taken you lately?
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