A Day Away

I attended a daylong mindfulness retreat on Friday at my favorite mindfulness center.  I am always renewed when I go there.  The peaceful and rejuvenating atmosphere, the inspiring workshops, the wholesome meals, the lovely concerts, the restorative yoga and meditation classes, the beautiful woods hiding the stone labyrinth, even the little gift shop with unique books and items—everything leads me to contemplation and reflection.   I have attended two Zentangle weekends, a mindful knitting retreat, and now this day of immersion in mindfulness and meditation, which I attended with my good friend, Mommy Goose.

I think the day was just what I needed.  I’ve had a meditation practice for about 8 years now, starting with the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) meditations I learned during my first and most severe back issues in 2010 (when I couldn’t sit—or function for long periods of time--for almost 2 years because of chronic pain from spinal issues and a tailbone dysfunction.)  I still find the MBSR approach to chronic pain one of the most potent tools I have when my back and tailbone issues flare.  From there, I studied Buddhism and found that it really resonated with me—the focus on presence and compassion, the approach to suffering and the alleviation of suffering.  I integrated a regular breathing practice and later a metta or lovingkindness practice.

But with the recent challenges of CPE, when I probably need meditation the most, my practice has been slipping.  I have not volunteered for so many hours in a week since the children were born; it’s essentially an unpaid part-time job.  Nor have I been engaged in coursework (with papers and readings etc) like CPE since I finished my classes for my Ph.D. almost 20 years ago.  And I can see the obvious effect on our home life—laundry goes undone, as does the grocery shopping.  We’re eating more take-out.  And I’m struggling with issues of guilt—I’ve been late to take kids to activities, I’ve been gone on snow days, I had to rely on friends to pick up a child who missed the bus, which I know are issues that working parents regularly deal with, but it is new to us.  While Mama and the kids are handling it all in stride and aren’t disappointed or critical, I am struggling at times.

As for the workshop, which I think both Mommy Goose and I really needed, I sat, watching my monkey mind, observing my breath, and could feel the anxiety pass away.  I did a body scan and felt tight muscles relax.  I practiced an alternate nasal breathing technique and felt my mind clear.  I did a mindful eating exercise and paid attention to a meal for the first time in weeks.   I was familiar with all of these exercises but hadn’t practiced in awhile, despite it being one of my learning goals.  I had been sitting daily at hospice, breathing in the pain and grief of the patients, breathing out love and peace (the practice of tonglen), but I needed something different.

My favorite part was a mindful listening exercise with a focus on empathy.   First, we sat with a partner and alternately shared a story while the other person listened deeply—no interruptions or advice, not even therapeutic nods or “uh huhs.”  At the end we simply said, “I will remember this for you.”  To be heard is such a deep gift.  Then we stood, with one person’s eyes closed while the other looked into her face (we were all women) and gently touched her arm or shoulder while the teacher read, slowly, something like this:  "This person, like me, has been happy and sad.  This person, like me, has had hope and despair.  (It went on like this for a bit) May this person, like me, be happy, healthy, safe, and free from suffering."  To be seen by another and to see another, to acknowledge our shared humanity reminded me of why I was drawn to hospice work in the first place and why the first UU principle (about worth and dignity, a la the UU Golden Rule) is my guiding light.

Good News

After nearly five years of volunteering for a for-profit hospice organization, I am taking the next step in my path to becoming a hospice chaplain.

Last week, I met with the volunteer director of a local free-standing hospice provider and she invited me to meet with the chaplain about joining the pastoral care team.  I spoke with him on the phone and then met him today . . . and I'm in!  I'll be a volunteer with the pastoral care team, a big step on my way to being a hospice chaplain.  I'll have more information about everything I'll be doing later, but it will run the gambit from visiting, conversation, funerals, even the odd wedding.  Altogether, though, it's about sitting with patients and families to give them space and a listening ear to explore the journey they're on.  I worried that I wouldn't pass muster with a senior chaplain because of my "knowledge gap" in theology (while I have a passing familiarity with various Christian denominations and their differences, I haven't read the whole Bible.  I know most of the stories through art.)  But, even after five years of volunteering elsewhere, I've never had a theological discussion with anyone who was dying; most want to talk about their families, relive memories, even those surrounded by Bibles, Christian hymns, prayer cards, and rosaries.   Closet I've come is singing "Amazing Grace" and reciting the Lord's Prayer.  Still, I know I have a lot to learn and I'm looking forward to companions on my own journey.  And if I'm not cut out for hospice chaplaincy, it's good to know before I go get anoter degree! (Yep, to be a real chaplain--accredited and all--I need a Masters of Divinity.)  If it is the right place for me, well, I'm excited to find that out.

It'll be rigorous, though.  At my initial interview, I was asked if I'd experienced a momentous death.  I never thought losing my dear Aunt Sis would come up in an interview, but I was able to talk about her death--how it was highly medicalized, with hospice only at the end, but that seemed to be her preference.  Of course, then later, my uncle and cousin died.

Then, in a cold call (which I never should have answered, being sick and half asleep on the couch), the chaplain (a Christian) asked me how I had been called to spiritual care.  Of course, I don't think of it as a divine "calling," not being called by anything but my own spirit.  Which I explained, along with my own path to Unitarian Universalism and hospice (Do you know what you call an atheist with children?  Unitarian.  Plus, there are my leanings to Buddhism.  And my own experience with pain and isolation.)  But I should've known that chaplains have seen it all.    These are not the questions I've had on other interviews. But I answered and was honest and it went well.

Still, I was glad to have practiced with Mama the night before--running through questions on strengths (comfort with people from different faiths and backgrounds; I've been told I'm a good listener) and weaknesses (that theology gap! also sometimes a tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation, though I'm better if I'm advocating for a patient.)  Also, what I want from my new organization--a mentor, a community of hospice workers, experience in a facility dedicated to hospice, more skills in sitting with people.  I could talk about my relevant experience--hospice volunteering, lay ministry at church, community service, mindfulness practice, non-violent communication (NVC) training--and my own practices such as Zentangle, Yoga Dance, meditation, reading poetry and history, even crocheting prayer shawls.  And, of course, clarifying my own beliefs--I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, the interconnection of all beings, the importance of a variety of sacred teachers and wisdom sources, each person's responsible search for truth.  Yep, those are the UU principles.  Nothing about heaven, hell, or even God.  I'm focused on the world I know.  I do not know beyond that, though I tend to believe there is a spark of life but no divine plan, no cosmic engineer controlling fate and destinty.  Religions are created by humans to help them understand and cope with the Mystery; as humans are flawed, so are religions.  I don't think we come close to comprehending the world around us (just look at how wrong we've been about margarine!)--there are things we do not understand or can explain--I don't think the Mystery will ever be fully known--though, moments of grace show us glimpses.  So, for me compassion is the guide through our experiences; some call it Love.  And that is what I want to bring to people as they or their loved ones are dying; just as I hope I am surrounded by love, compassion, and family when I die.

And NONE of that came up today!  It was a quick discussion--he was comfortable with me and must have seen something he could work with--and I clean up nicely, in new clothes approrpriate for the place.  So there we go.  I have some HIPPA hoops to jump  through and then I'm on my way.  Soon. (I'll do the TB test and have my photo taken in two weeks; they're also checking references and doing a background check.)  I can't wait.

Last note:  I was meditating yesterday in preparation for today, and came up with the metta meditation I could use with hospice patients (the whole safe-happy-healthy-live in peace progression isn't quite right), or really with anyone:

May all beings know joy.May all beings know hope.May all beings know comfort.May all beings know peace.

"Knits and Pearls"* Retreat

Please pardon the centering of the text; I've tried to get rid of the formatting, but it won't go.  So it can stay centered.

Coincidence?

FRIDAY

I had been looking forward to this weekend since midsummer:  it was time for my mindful knitting retreat.  We picked up the kids just before dismissal and rode together to Copper Beech Institute.  It's part of a large monastery and retreat center, though unconnected theologically.  If you recall, I went to a Zentangle retreat there in February which was a marvelous experience.  

We arrived not long before sunset and they helped me get settled into my room.  Unlike last time when we were all a bit edgy about the separation and newness of the experience, this time they left rather quickly--to catch a showing of the new Peanuts movie (which they enjoyed.)  Indeed, they had a hold weekend planned--Peanuts, lots of restaurants and take out food, Minecraft, kung fu, ice skating, public free skate, origami.  

I had a big weekend planned, too:  a mindful knitting retreat.  I was more focused on the knitting, hoping to expand my skills beyond rectangles to a simple mitten pattern!  And so with my Icelandic Lopi wool yarn and my double-pointed needles, I was ready to learn.

Our Friday evening gathering included the usual housekeeping issues (no cellphone usage in public spaces, how to return used linens on Sunday via the laundry chute, even a discussion of the omnipresent Catholic iconography as full of compassion and sensitivity and in no way connected to the beliefs of the mindfulness institute.)  We did a mindfulness meditation, letting go of attachment, judgment, criticism, expectations, wishes especially with regard to our knitting.  And then we knit a swatch, silently, checking our bodies and breath, letting go of a product or a goal or an end, just knitting to knit.  We felt the yarn, saw the colors, heard the needles, even sniffed the wool--almost all the senses taking in the knitting (I would taste the fibrous stuff as I threaded a needle later in the weekend.  Eh.)

And then we pulled it all out!

I was glad that I had knitted my green Block Island blanket last week, so that my skills were in practice.  I can cast on, knit, purl, knit two together, bind off, and follow simple patterns as needed, not much more.  But I made the mistake (albeit intentional) of admitting I was a crocheter.  "Oh, we'll cure you of that," one said.  Ah, the superiority of knitters over crocheters.  But I expected it and am used to it (in "real" yarn stores, the clerks barely want to help crocheters choose yarn.)  Still, on the last day, another congratulated me, "You're a knitter now."  So much for judgment and attachment.

The evening was spent on our own and I journaled and doodled in my sketch book.  It's so quiet in the monastery, so much solitude and peace.  It's odd after living in a small house with three other people and four furry beasties; even during the day when I'm all by myself, it's not the same--there are chores and phone calls and errands, either to do or ignore.  At the retreat, there was nothing.  

I resolved to wake up early to see the sunrise and set my alarm.

Saturday

My walk in the woods at 6:30 a.m. was a continuation of the quiet and solitude of the monastery.  I was the only one out.  I found the labyrinth easily enough, though I was convinced I was lost on the alternate wood path just as I spotted it.

Bigger then I realized, more remote, and surrounded by trees, the labyrinth was built in 2007, I think. If you can get to it, via the longer paved path with a short jog through the grass, it is even possibly wheelchair accessible, paved with small gravel as it is and wide and flat.

The sun was just rising, first creating muted pastels and then producing brilliant reds and oranges and yellows.  I watched the sunrise and took pictures from outside the labyrinth at first and then walked the path.  It was a wonderful, focusing, rejuvenating walk.  It wasn't even until I had circled the center  stone circle for awhile that I noticed someone had been there before me:  a novena candle was lit.

I walked back just in time for the breathing mediation with the director of the institute.  As much as I had focused on the knitting of the retreat in my anticipation of it, I got so much out of the meditation; I imagine that my daily practice has been kickstarted.

Then it was breakfast and our morning lesson.  There was so much to learn:  how to split stitches between three needles; how to insure the stitches are not twisted and facing down/away from you so that the project grows down/away from you; what to do if you drop a stitch or a whole needle of stitches (DON'T PANIC!  with non-slippery yarn, the stitches don't really move so you can recover it); how to change color; how to use waste yarn to save space for the thumb; how to easily count stitches on the purl side; how to gather the tops of mitten and thumb together; how to wave in; how to close holes.  I worked on it for hours.  I think I counted 7.5 hours overall for the one mitten.  But I was so excited, so proud, elated, grateful, joyful.  I had learned a new skill.

We broke up a lot of the knitting with stretches, centering breaths, water.  One of the breaths was the alternate-nostril breathing, when I realized that my cold wasn't completely gone!  There was also a cupped-hand/slapping exercise to get the blood flowing, plus one where we twisted back and forth swinging our arms.  There were self-hugs to open up our shoulders, eye exercises because of all the intense focusing, and a variety of yoga poses I didn't know.

I've realized that yoga just makes me sad.  Really, deeply sad.  I even shed a few tears during the morning practice.  My poor body has been so unloved by me and family and friends who criticize it or much more subtly make suggestions for its improvement, not accepting me how I am; it--I?--has been through so much from birth defects and other anomalies (lordosis, scoliosis, low muscle tone, leg differetital), hernia repairs, c-section, herniated discs, tailbone dysfunction, and now emergency abdominal surgery; and it just can't do what so many can do, especially all those stretchy middle-aged white women dedicated to yoga who are pretzeling themselves while I lie prone and alone (yes, lots of self-pity and envy in there, too.)  I always leave yoga feeling sad and down about myself, which is entirely opposite the point so I vowed to skip other yoga sessions entirely.  

So hat evening, instead of yet more yoga, I decided to take another walk to the labyrinth.  It's not everyday you have a labyrinth in the backyard.  As I made my way there, I saw three women from another retreat standing off the path and pointing up, then they waved to me.  I stopped in my tracks in time to see a Great Horned Owl fly from where they were standing, over my head, and in a tree nearby.  And when it took, another one followed.  Two giant, silent, fast, beautiful owls with their little tufty "ears."  Such a gift. So amazing.  I had never seen owls in flight naturally (beyond birds-of-prey exhibitions.)   I was too caught up in seeing them to take a picture; they were too fast for that anyway.

And then I watched the sunset at the labyrinth, the day ending quietly, not in a huge splash of color.  As I walked, I sang Sarah Dan Jones's "When I Breathe in" mediation and Emma's Revolution's "Peace Salaam, Shalom," which I think go well together.  I like to sing.  A few others joined me around the labyrinth later, quiet togetherness.  At first, I thought I'd mind, but I think I actually welcomed the company, even though all we did was nod.  

After dinner, there was a concert.  Girl-with-guitar Kate Callahan came and played many of her lovely folk ballads and songs for us, accompanying herself on guitar.  She also plays a quartz crystal singing bowl, with which she vocalizes and chants.  An incredible sounds!  She did some circle singing with us, which she had studied with renowned singer Bobby McFerrin.  She had one group start a rhythm, the other group do another, and she overlaid it with a tune and lyrics--about our retreat and concert!  Such a gift.

After the concert, as many of us stayed up to knit, as we talked of the music, I offered to teach them the two songs I had sung at the labyrinth.  And I did!  I sang a cappella, alone, in front of other adults; and then most of them were too shy to sing along.  But a few did, boldly.  Singing, I realized (as I've realized before), has so much to do with confidence.  I mustered just enough to sing aloud; I don't think I could do it regularly.

By the end of the evening, I had completed the body of one mitten and closed off the top!  If all went well, I would make the thumb the next morning and perhaps cast on the next mitten to do at home.

Sunday

So many clouds that I didn't bother to get up for sunrise.  I slept in, read more in Voyager (my current Outlander novel), and then got up to dress, pack up, and clean up my room.

We spent the morning knitting in silence, first complete silence and then with some sacred music.  We could quietly ask questions, as I had to in order to complete my thumb.  We checked in with our breaths and our bodies (especially to combat hunched postures common to knitters.)  

And I finished one whole mitten!!!!!  

In fact, we all finished at least one.

We celebrated over lunch together, commended the friendly and supportive community we had created in just a few days, pledged to continue our mindfulness practice and knitting upon reentry into the "real" world.  I was grateful to the teacher for her knowledge and assistance and patience, to the participants for their companionship and support, the Copper Beech staff and volunteers for creating a nurturing and sustaining event, to my family for letting me go, and for the privilege of being able to attend a retreat and to have knitting as a hobby.  

Then Mama and the kids picked me up.  They met a few of the staff and then helped me fetch my things.  We all walked to the labyrinth together, the kids talking the long path "off road" through the woods.  We walked relatively quietly, joyfully, through the labyrinth.  The kids walked ahead while Mama and I walked holding hands (see, nice wide labyrinth; couldn't do that on Block Island.)   At the center, we placed a little heart that I had purchased at the gift shop.

And then we were off, retreat over.  Back to life, back to reality, as the song goes.  I hope I carry a little bit of the peace and acceptance into the whirlwind of the holidays.  Perhaps this was just the right way to kick off the holiday season.

For next year, I promise everyone mittens!

*That's "pearls of wisdom" and a knitting pun on purl.  The retreat's title and pun, not mine!


-=-=-=-=-
Poems read during some of our mindfulness moments:

Allow by Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.

Try corralling a lightning bolt,

containing a tornado.  Dam a

stream and it will create a new

channel.  Resist, and the tide

will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry

you to higher ground.  The only

safety lies in letting it all in –

the wild and the weak; fear,

fantasies, failures and success.

When loss rips off the doors of

the heart, or sadness veils your

vision with despair, practice

becomes simply bearing the truth.

In the choice to let go of your

known way of being, the whole

world is revealed to your new eyes.

________

Surrender by Edmund Leland

I surrender because control creates false security and is an insatiable master. 

I surrender not to give up, but to open up.

Not to let go, but to receive

Not to drop something and have less, but to unclench these hands and make way for more spaciousness that holding on or controlling could never allow.

Sweet conscious choice to surrender.

This is how I choose to live

This is how I choose to love

This is how I choose to dance my life.

______

Last Days by Mary Oliver

Things are

  changing; things are starting to

    spin, snap, fly off into

      the blue sleeve of the long

        afternoon. Oh and ooh

come whistling out of the perished mouth

  of the grass, as things

turn soft, boil back

  into substance and hue. As everything, 

    forgetting its own enchantment, whispers:

      I too love oblivion why not it is full

        of second chances. Now,

hiss the bring curls of the leaves. Now!

  booms the muscle of the wind. 

_______

Love after Love by Derek Walcott

The time will come 
when, with elation, 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, 

in your own mirror, 
and each will smile at the other's welcome
and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life. 

_______

Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
     purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

How To Get Through Abdominal Surgery

A friend recently posted that she has to have laparoscopic abdominal surgery this summer and asked for advice.  I realized we've had some experience with this, from my c-section, to Mama's hysterectomy and complications, and then to my emergency small bowel obstruction and re-section.  Smaller than those procedures, we've also had a few D&Cs and two abdominal hernia repairs.  So, we've had some experience.  Which I thought I'd impart here.  But I will write that in no way does this post constitute medical advice.  You should listen to your doctor.

Beforehand (*if you know, of course!)

• Sleeping Arrangements:  Figure out where you're going to sleep in the days after surgery.  Stairs can be a challenge; couches might not allow real rest.  I have found it easier and better, for me, to climb to my bed and stay on the second floor for a few days.
• Ativan:  if you are at all prone to nerves, ask for a prescription for Ativan or the like for the night before and drive to the hospital.  It just dulls some of the often considerable anxiety.
• Groceries:  Depending on doctor's orders, you might have a special diet.  We always have easy snacks on hand because sometimes your appetite is small and it's easier to eat lots of little things.  Crackers, granola, bananas, peanut butter, white bread for toast.  I also like to have my favorites on hand to tempt me--I like Cream of Wheat when I don't feel well.  And eggs over rice with soy sauce.  And marmalade on toast.  Also, drinks.  I like iced tea, homemade or other, also coconut water.  Kefir and yogurt are also good for the probiotics.  We keep some of these in the bedroom, especially the high-protein ones, to go with medication or late-night snack needs.  See Eileen Behan, Cooking Well for the Unwell, for recipes and ideas about nutrition--protein seems to be very important to healing.
• Prescriptions:  Some doctors give you your pain meds Rx beforehand so no one has to rush out to fill it right after surgery.  Ours never did.  It would have been helpful, though.
• Medical supplies:  
• Because you'll do wound care at home, it's good to have supplies of gauze, paper tape, bandages, whatever, plus an antibiotic cream, if suggested.  Follow your doctor's orders for how to take are of it (mine wants me to use baby soap to shower!)  
• If the surgery is gynecological in nature, you might need extra-absorbent pads.  The ones from the hospital are super bulky and don't stick well.  Have a supply of your favorite brand at the ready.
• The hospital will give you a surgical binder; if not, Amazon sells them.  It helps to have two, for washing.  
• You'll want pillows:  to hold onto when you sit or sleep, to give pressure, especially if you cough or sneeze (oh, awful.)  Also protects you from overly excited pets and little people.   A small stuffed animal would work as well--and be cuter!  (Like the lop-eared bunny ISMITE that my family brought.)
• From my back injury, I love my little bed rail, which helps me turn over at night and get up in the morning.  Probably not necessary for a single surgery, depending.  But I LOVE mine.   
• I also have a temporary suction handrail in the shower, which helps me stay balanced and get in and out.  You can get these at Bed, Bath & Beyond.  It's more for peace of mind.  And again, with my back injury, my healing was long and slow and these things were necessary.  Now that we have them in the house, I find they are doubly helpful post-surgery.  I'm not sure I would have bought them just for surgery.  Well, maybe the shower rail.  
• Clothing:  Check your wardrobe for loose, baggy clothes that won't bind in the days and weeks afterwards.  I wear yoga pants and men's pajama bottoms with ties that can be tightened or loosened.  I also wear layers because my sense of temperature changes.  I also like having pockets.  Wear what is most comfortable to you.  
• "Phone Tree":  Choose someone to be your point of contact to get the word out to loved ones when you're ok.  Cell phones and FB/email really speed this along.
• Other helpful ideas:  
• a tray table:  for eating on the couch or in bed; also very useful to protect your abdomen from pets while you're lying in bed.  The cats so love to sleep on Mama that she slept under the tray table for weeks to keep them from jumping on her tummy.  
• a box or basket:  we both were always losing the telephone, cell phone, tv remotes, pens, etc in the bedcovers.  A little basket or box helped us keep track of things.
• drinking cup with straw:  it helps to have a spill-proof cup with a straw, especially when you're still in bed.

What to Expect in the Hospital
Depending on the doctor and hospital procedures, your experience might be very different.  Of course, do what your doctor and hospital staff say.  In planned surgeries, there is usually a pre-admission appointment, with blood tests, maybe heart checks.  Often, you're assigned a day but not a time; you often get the time the day or two before . . . and even then there will almost always be delays.  You go, check in, and eventually they take you back.  Sometimes your partner can go with you; sometimes they have the partner wait until you are enrobed and on your gurney.  In the ER, Mama and I were only separated during my x-rays and my CT-scan.  There is always a lot of waiting and time moves so oddly in the hospital.  Eventually, they'll start an IV and then you're off.  For my recent surgery, I was unconscious before the gurney left my room to go down the hall (or at least that's how I remember it; Mama says I'm missing parts of my timeline.)  And then at some point, you'll wake up in recovery.  Often they don't have your partner with you until after you wake up.  I think I woke up and fell back asleep a few times in recovery--I don't even remember being transferred to my room.  But eventually you'll be transferred to your room.

Depending, you'll be on a catheter for a day or so, with an IV.  I wasn't allowed anything by mouth, but Mama was allowed liquids almost right away.  Liquids includes jello, broth, juice, etc.  You'll then progress to regular food.  Best. Meals. Ever.  Order whatever you like from the menu.  I always seem to crave the roast turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans or corn, and a roll, with chocolate pudding or rice or tapioca, and hot tea and gingerale.  That's two hospital stays now . . . but then, it's hard to mess that up.  Mama herself had a dozen or so meals of baked potatoes!!

They'll wake you up in the night to check blood pressure and temperature.  This is when people complain about not getting any rest at the hospital.  I didn't mind the visits, maybe because I always fell back asleep.

TV in the hospital is an odd thing.  I kept it on all the time, day and night, as did Mama (though, not when we had the babies.)  It is distracting background noise so you can't hear other people and all the beeping machines.  It's company when you're alone.  It keeps your mind off pain and worry.  I think it even helped me keep track of time--I could mark that an hour had gone by.  I always seem to watch the stupidest stuff that I'd never watch at home (and I definitely can't watch cooking shows in the hospital.)  Mama watched "Deadliest Catch," "World's Most Dangerous Roads," "Ice Road Truckers," something about Arctic gold, pawn shop stars, was there storage locker wars?  I watched "Ancient Aliens," "Swamp People," and others.  And there's always the Weather Channel!

I was shocked at how quickly they got Mama up and about after her robotic hysterectomy--that night, even (but only once the catheter is out.) Anyway, don't be surprised if they are constantly encouraging you to get up and walk, sit in the chair, even shower, pretty soon afterwards.  And the walking, while slow and painful at first, even with the binder, is so important, especially to getting your bowels working again and also to help break up gas pain, which can be very uncomfortable.  You'll need to either pass gas or have a bowel movement for them to discharge you--apparently, the colon is the last part of the body to wake up, so it's function proves that you are healing relatively normally.  No doubt they'll be giving you a stool softener and fiber in the hospital, with instructions for more at home.  Suffice it to say, the first few bowel movements are difficult, regardless.  But you'll get through them.

A note about nurses:  BE NICE.  I'm always confused about the hierarchy (tech, RN, APN, nurse manager, charge nurse, and others) of nursing staff in hospitals and the shift changes, even who is in charge of me; it's all made harder by narcotics!  Recently, our hospital has put up these great white boards where your tech and nurse sign in so you know their names.  Use their names.  They are people, taking care of you at one of your darker hours; they have to stick you and wake you up, even stick an NG tube down your throat, not because they want to but because you need it and it's their job to do it.  They have amazing resources--compassion and knowledge--that most will willingly demonstrate.  But if you are mean, rude, or even indifferent--trust me, because I see it weekly in nursing homes--your care will be less . . . careful.  I don't accuse nurses of hurting or punishing people who aren't nice--they're professionals after all--just that, well, trust me, you'll feel better if you're nice.

While they'll have so much of what you need at the hospital, including toothbrush and paste, soap, shampoo, and towels, you might be more comfortable with some of your own things.  When Mama was in surgery, I had her overnight bag in the car and I fetched it before I could go see her, after she was in recovery.  When I had surgery, she rushed home in the wee hours of the morning to throw some things in a bag, though I didn't need them until much later.  Some things we liked to have:

• robe, for walking the corridors in comfort
• slippers or shoes, also for walking the corridors.  Slip-on Merrills were great--supportive and non-slip, also easy to get on without bending over.
• extra pillow (see above) for coughing and support, etc.  
• cellphone and charger (longer cords that reach the bed are great, at hospital or at home!)
• a set of clothes to wear home, plus extra underwear and socks
• deodorant--there are always your own bodily smells in hospitals (earthy, sick, unfamiliar, distressing smells) and I like to lessen some of it
• hand lotion and lip cream--it can get so dry in hospitals and I like the scents of my own products sometimes (funny, I didn't need my own soap and shampoo, though.)
• if you have long hair, consider a scrunchy or hair band to hold it back.  

Miscellaneous

• Mama was wonderful to bring me pens and notecards so that the kids had something to do while they visited.  Then we decorated my wall with them.  Goo also brought me a notebook to write in when I couldn't comfortable talk with the NG tube in.
• I usually leave behind whatever flowers I receive with reception on my ward, a small thank you.  The kids also brought a big plate of Italian cookies as a thank you to the staff (I think I brought cookies to Mama's ward, too.)  And we had filled out numerous positive comment cards.  
• There is just no predicting when doctors make rounds, though it can be really early.  I missed them on many of Mama's days and vice versa.  But they often answered our pages quickly, when we had questions.  It's amazing what the staff can do with email these days.  

Afterwards at Home

• Discharge instructions:  Discharge always takes longer than you think it will, to get the doctor's sign off that you can leave and then have the right person come and give you instructions.  I was surprised that I could walk out of the hospital if I wanted to, but since it was a long walk, I opted for the wheelchair.  It reminded me of being wheeled out with the twins--I told them how two people handed me money for them ($20 and $50, I think it was) and wished us luck.  Mama took down my bag and fetched the car, while the kids walked beside me in the wheelchair (which they thought was odd.)
• Walking (or that uncomfortable discussion of bowels!):  If you're home, your bowels have returned somewhat to normal.  But it doesn't really feel normal, especially after bowel surgery.  I'm sticking to a bland diet, no raw stuff (to avoid food poisoning and excess gas, which is awful), no gassy stuff even well cooked (cabbage, broccoli, beans), no oily or fried things which also cause gas, and food only from people or places I trust--I can't even bear the thought of food poisoning.   I have also found that several small meals are better than three regular ones, if only because a full stomach presses in odd places.  I also try to have yogurt or probiotics everyday, to repopulate my gut well.  But when I chose poorly or ate too much and didn't feel well, walking was my lifesaver.  Walk, walk, walk.  It moves things along, keeps me from being too sedentary, keeps a few muscles going, gets me outside in the sunshine, even helps me be social with neighbors.  Walking has been really really helpful.  Yes, I started slowly--just around my room, then once around the hall, until I could do 3-4 circuits of our ward.  Now I do 15-30 minutes up and down the driveway or sidewalk near the house (so I don't get too far from home) at least three to five times a day.  Not fast--I call it my "surgical shuffle"--just one foot in front of the other (I always carry my cellphone in my pocket, outside or even in the house, just in case . . . . )  I didn't do it enough after my c-section and Mama didn't do it enough after her surgery, but oh, it is such a help.   Both the nurses on my ward and even my surgeon commented how well I was doing with walking. Not just for bowels, but for everything.  I would say it's my number one recovery advice.  
• Reflux:  speaking of food, it's good to have some kind of treatment for indigestion, especially in the beginning where I'd be napping or lying down after eating, which contributes to reflux.  Now I try to sit up for an hour or so after eating and not eat too close to my afternoon nap or bedtime.  
• Pain meds:  I'm a firm believer in pain meds, in staying on top of the pain.  I don't worry about addiction, but then that's never been one of my challenges (my addictions are digital and edible, separately of course.)  I've been told that if you really need the pain meds, you can't become addicted, but I don't know.  I find it's best to keep a list of the times I take pills; otherwise, day in and day out, I forget when and what I took (I also sometimes just email Mama so that we're both keeping track.)  In the beginning, I took them as often as I could.  Then, I got the heavy dosage of Percocet down and switched to something less powerful, Vicodin (which I didn't know was less potent than Perc.)  Right now I'm on one a day, midday, when I'm tired and achy, to get me through the evening hours with the family so I don't hibernate upstairs in pain.  When the Vicodin is too much, I'll move to Tramodol or Tylenol with codeine.  Interestingly, I don't always recognize that I am hurting; I do notice that I get grumpy or snippy or sad or anxious, and THEN I notice that I've been hurting.  I try to take the minimal number of painkillers I need to stay comfortable, but sometimes I figure incorrectly (take too few) and hurt anyway.  It takes a lot of awareness.  I find I move more and do more when I'm properly medicated so it really is a major part of my recovery.  (When I was under-medicated for my back pain, I didn't/couldn't move much at all and that was a disaster.)
• Meditative Tools:  To supplement painkillers, utilize your own familiar, personal technique for relaxing, being mindful, etc., be it a "happy place," meditation, or the like.  I found Toni Bernhard's How to Be Sick to be the most helpful thing I've ever read regarding pain management and mindfulness.  (See also here.)  Counting my breaths, acknowledging that all things change, focusing on the present and not worrying about the future, have gotten me through so much pain and, I truly believe, actually lessened my experience of the pain because I've minimized the suffering.  (Pain being the physical sensations, suffering being the mental thoughts about pain.  But others explain it better than I do.)  When I am not mindful, my mind goes to my deepest fears and anxieties about loss, illness, and death.  It is best to stay in the present.  But it takes practice and you will have days where it is hard to stay present (I'm having one of those days today, hence posting on my blog!)
• Meals and errands:  Some people find it very hard to ask for help.  I've gotten better at it over the years and realize how much it really does make a difference.  I cannot begin to tell you how helpful it is to have people bring meals.  We have been on the receiving end of meals now maybe six times, beginning with the birth of the babies, and it is amazing.  Not only is it physically nurturing, it is emotionally uplifting to be embraced and enveloped by generous friends.  Even if you get a lot of pasta!  Besides, pasta is versatile, easy to reheat, and almost everyone eats it.  I've organized meals for others several dozen times, first using clumsy old email lists and now beautifully streamlined with my favorite site, Food Tidings.  There are other sites, some that even do errands and such, but I like this one, probably mostly because of my familiarity with it over dozens of uses.  But I have already written about organizing meals.  Being on the receiving end just helps immensely.   
• Distractions:  Books might be too heavy or require too much concentration, though the heft  problem can be fixed with an e-reader or magazines.  I had fun going to the store to choose magazines for Mama before her surgery--lots of different titles she would otherwise never have read--civil war history, photography, cats, British travel, etc.   I also opt for constant internet contact--I can lose myself in Facebook and Pinterest for hours--as well as television.  Nothing like bingeing on Netflix.
• Visitors:  Long recoveries reveal some uncomfortable truths:  some people just are not comfortable with illness or injury.  I won't say I've lost a friend over my back injuries or surgery; I've just noticed which ones aren't bothered by it and which ones are.  I like to have visitors and am thrilled that I can sit downstairs and receive friends.  It helps when I can be honest with them, if I need to keep it short or need to lie down in the middle or run to the restroom.  I'm usually tired afterwards, but with spirits lifted, it is worth it.  Friends make getting better so much easier.

That's all I can think of now, but I will add to it as more comes to me.  If you face similar circumstances, I wish you the best of luck, with quick and gentle healing.  Get well soon!

Monday Blues

It's chilly and blustery here, pouring rain, more like New England spring than yesterday's 70F.  But we need the rain.

I also think of it as the weather sympathizing with the kids being back in school!

I'm home, my first full day at home alone, though I had practice doing several hours alone already.  Fighting some mental boogeymen today.  When I start to have normal aches and pains that come and go, I begin to worry that something bad is happening all over again, though I don't meet any of the criteria set forth by the doctor:  no vomiting, no nausea, no fever, no pain (meaning persistent or unresponsive to meds), no lack of gas or bowel movement.  I'm healing, doing well. Even the infection is drying up. But I still feel relatively mediocre, some days more than others, depending.  I think I've been undermedicating.  I was trying not to need pain pills--perhaps proof that I was healing--when instead it just overwhelmed me to be uncomfortable.  So I'm going to be more diligent about them, to recognize when my body is tired.  And, no, Lambeth, I'm not overdoing it.  No carrying, just walking, can't bend to pick stuff up, no cleaning, no cooking, no chores.  But, even so, it was major surgery and I still hurt sometimes.

It takes some getting used to.

And sometimes, like today, it taps into my deepest fears and anxieties.  Then I have to use all my mindfulness training not to fret about an unknown future, to stay in the present . . . . and sometimes I'm better at it than others.  Which is why I watch a lot of tv!  (Right now, AMC's Revolutionary War show, "Turn.")

"Keep calm and carry on," one breath at a time.

On Retreat

My weekend was marvelous.  And I'm not even sure where to begin, knowing that the typing up of it might dull the glow that I've carried with me.  I'd actually never been on an overnight retreat before--it's not quite like an academic conference because it's totally lacking in "political" networking or posturing.  It was 48 hours of being completely cut off--I even deinstalled various apps from my phone, so that I only connected with Mama a couple of times a day to check in.  Otherwise, the only part of the outside world I knew about was the snow I could watch falling from inside!


Monastery
Held at one of the largest Catholic retreats in the world, the retreat--sponsored by Copper Beech Institute, a mindfulness non-profit--was surrounded by symbols of Catholicism.  Bud even worried as they dropped me off, "Mom, it looks so religious!"  Yes, indeed, in that post-war, wood paneling, 50s sort of way.  I've stayed in another monastery--one in Rome that ran a hostel that housed my summer school abroad--but that was less-dated looking, though probably older.  The monks were rather the same, though--robed, friendly, very quiet.  No surprise that Rome would have more ambiance than Connecticut!

My room itself reminded me of Agnes of God--a bed, a desk, a chair, a nightstand, and that all-important waste-paper basket.  Whites, browns, red curtain and bedspread.  No Bible, though.  Only a print with a Wendell Berry poem for decoration and a gorgeous view of a snow-covered landscape with gumball tree and statues.

The hall, with numerous other doors leading to replicas of my own room, had that old-college dorm feel, especially with the communal showers and toilets.   Though, there was art on display made by local artists, including one mixed media canvas entitled Silent Weavers by Elisabeth Moss, which became my especial favorite.  I would intentionally pass by it so that I could study it every chance I got.  I saw a veiled woman, possibly an angel with wings, and a little owl (with beak and wing); I emailed a photo to Mama, who saw the Host and Chalice, given its Catholic context.  One of my co-retreatants saw the Virgin Mary.

The rest of the center was huge--three big buildings and practically two of everything (chapels, dining rooms, elevators).  In fact, there was another retreat of about 80+ Catholic men and we rarely ever saw them!  But it was all inside so we never got snowed upon.  I especially enjoyed the little bookshop with sweets, gifts, and books, where I picked up a few things for the family.  I also liked the Solarium, a long thin hallway with seats and cushions  . . . and potted pink geraniums on the sill overlooking a snowy expanse.  There is a labyrinth on the grounds, with a beautiful rock sculpture in the center but, alas, it was under two feet of snow.  No one ventured out to find it.  I'll go back on another retreat and walk the path.

Food
It's a rare place that focuses on vegetarian food, with an animal protein as an after-thought, but such was the case with this retreat.  Lentil salad, porcini risotto, arugula salad, spinach salad, parmesan cheese grits, broccoli frittata, chickpea stew, kale and white bean soup, potato pancakes, scrambled eggs.  So much goodness to eat at every meal.  And it was local and sustainable when possible.  The baked goods were a treat too:  pb cookies, this rich sweet zucchini bread/cake, and these fabulous lemon poundcakes. Snack one day was bowls of sunflower and pumpkin seeds and marcona almonds.  Mmmmmm.  Plus abundant tea and coffee.  And I bought chocolate at the little shop.  What more could I want?  There were some retreatants who snuck over to the buffet line of the Catholic men's retreat--they had meat and potatoes; and it was all okay to choose what you wanted to eat!






Drawing
Of course, the purpose of this retreat was something called Zentangle, a meditative drawing technique that focuses on process as much as output.  Before it was copyrighted, you would've just called it doodling.  I had discovered Zentangle officially some months back when I noticed various drawing pins on Pinterest and also an article in UU World about a doodling minister.  I started playing around with it myself, as you've seen in several posts, and this retreat was my chance to learn more techniques.

We had a whole room to ourselves, stocked with an Art Bar full of materials and tools, numerous displays of the teachers' own work, reference books, and snacks!!!  It was a grown-up candy store.  We even each got a lot of our own goodies--pens, papers, a sketch book, various project materials, and a door prize--mine was a wooden frame that I can decorate.

The initial session was a basic intro to Zentangle--the dots, the tile, the strings, the tangle patterns.  We also discussed embellishments, etc., and some of the concepts--childlike curiosity, awareness of breath and body, staying present, lack of judgement, no erasure, nothing is a "mistake" (just an opportunity!)  I'm more into it for fun, but some of the people are obsessed Zentanglers, who hold meetings and complete weekly challenges.  One woman even flew in from Ohio to take a class with a specific teacher.

Some of the other sessions were beyond me--I wasn't quite ready to design my own unique Tangle pattern and I wasn't that interested in making several paper books to be platforms for my own tangleations (yep, there's this whole lingo.)

In fact, the last session was my favorite:  we learned how to Tangle labyrinths.  We drew four types--basic, the interior of Chartres, the labyrinth at the retreat center, and a concentric circle labyrinth--and discussed all the various patterns that lended themselves to labyrinths.  I had enjoyed drawing labyrinths way before I knew of Zentangle; we used to make them out of painters' tape on the floor!  I hadn't thought to Tangle them before.  I know I'll be filling those little books with labyrinths.

Other Offerings
When I wasn't drawing, I was taking advantage of other retreat offerings.  The first night, I had a thirty minute Reflexology session.  While I've had my chakras cleansed, accupressure, accupuncture, and fascial release, I've never had reflexology, which is focused on energy conduits in the feet (same system as accupressure/puncture, but different "entry" point.  The whole thing was relaxing--dim lights, soft music, sweet lotions and oils--but I couldn't say if the effects were from the qi manipulation or just the rest.  And I'm not sure it really matters.  (Yes, I have become much more open to alternative healings since my back injury, which was mostly helped by Integrative Manual Therapy not traditional meds, injections, etc.)

I also attended an early morning mindfulness meditation session, just like a few I've attended before.  The director (who is the husband of a new friend of mine) led the meditation and has one of those soft, NPR voices and such a calm manner; it reminded me of everything that I love about mindfulness meditation.  (Even though I was down on my mat on a very cold tile floor!)  I liked his metta phrases at the end, "May all beings be happy.  May all beings be peaceful.  May all beings be free from suffering.  May all beings be healed."  I really liked the "healed" part.

I also went to a yoga class!  I don't have much yoga experience, mainly prenatal at home alone with a DVD a decade ago.  Again with my mat on a cold floor, I listened to the soothing voice of the teacher, who chanted beautifully, and followed gently each of her moves to the best of my ability.  I of course especially liked the long rest and then meditation at the end.  I'm not sure yoga will be my thing--stretching is fraught with the possibility of injury for me--but I'm glad I got the chance to try.  I also liked chatting with her and the other students over tea (Big Y's "calming" blend of chamomile and lavender--organic, even--who knew.)

I also went to a music concert the second night, a couple playing guitar, flutes, and singing bowls.  Nice music of a type, but I was so exhausted from sitting all day that I didn't last long.  I wish I could've though; it was tranquil.


I was ready when the weekend ended, even with the good food and opportunities for learning and relaxing.  I wondered how Mama and the kiddos were--with their gaming (mainly Disney's Infinity, and trip to the Winter Festival for ice fishing (they didn't catch anything but got to eat some of the fish someone did catch!  They said the ice was a foot thick.)   Mama's grandfather is dying, which is hard for the whole family (we're getting updates from her parents, who are other in Thailand with him.)

And so, with a snowstorm on the way, I headed back to reality and the grocery store and home, which needed some attention, and now today's snow day from school.  Re-entry is never really smooth.  But I'm glad to be back with the family . . . and I can always take a mini-mental retreat with my sketchbook when I need to.  All told, it was a marvelous experience.

And the painting of the woman with wings hangs in our living room as a reminder.