DD#37: Venting

Oh my! Once again, I've let a day pass without blogging! What's up with that? How can I become so distracted that I simply forget something that's important to me? Well, OK, yesterday I was distracted by my anger.

When I'm angry I need to vent - to feel that I can say whatever awful thought I have and remove it from my brain so I can deal with it. It's very important to me - having a witness helps me make it real and sets it free from being trapped in my head where it constantly circles around and around and eats away at my peace of mind. It most certainly destabilizes my balance, and I feel pulled toward old acting out behaviors. I think and act in extremes when I'm angry - I become superlative -  no moderation in sight - "always" and "never" are the operative words in my vocabulary. I often say that I feel like I want to hit someone then take a nap, because it also exhausts me.

Now, while I've never hit anyone, I have fine tuned the creative art of venting. It's usually as simple as calling a friend and asking her for 5 minutes to hear my tirade - free of judgment - to just agree with me even if she doesn't. When I stop to take a breath, steam vented, anger subdued, I can see the humor in what made me angry and laugh about my perspective. It has produced a kind of catharsis that is concrete. My venting has given me insight and I can now address whatever it was that I felt angry about and my need to feel angry about it.

Co-operative venting is particularly satisfying. When I call a friend to vent who says she also needs to vent, we become partners in recovery. We can see each other's silliness and laugh. The real value of venting is not in the harsh words I need to convey loudly in colorful language - the benefit of venting is the laughter. As I hear myself I begin laughing and it is healing. We can laugh at ourselves and at each other. What a gift. Anger to laughter in 5 minutes. Why haven't they written volumes on this? (Maybe they have and I just haven't looked for them?) In life (my ongoing learning) I am presented with the gift of hearing and seeing myself - and oh, what a vision that is when I'm banging on my high chair tray because, once again, I didn't get my way...

DD#36: Ready...

Here's Monday again. This Monday doesn't feel like a "monday", full of irritation that I have to work at my job another day. Feeling depressed and angry that I even need a J-O-B. This Monday feels full of hope - the 1st day of the rest of my life, to use an old cliche'. 

I'm excited about a new phase in my life that is taking me closer to supporting my healthy, prosperous life doing what I love. How can anything be better than that? (OK, I can think of some things that are JUST as good like, love, good health, happiness, connecting with others, but this is a life-long dream for me, and feels attainable - for real.) I'm looking forward to sharing this as it unfolds - more will be revealed because this student is ready!

DD#35: Waiting

It's Sunday and I didn't blog yesterday - not because I didn't remember (which has happened the other times), but because my day was consumed with waiting. I do waiting pretty well up to a point, then it becomes stressful for me to continue to wait. I want action. I want answers. I want results. I want to see the Rule Book. Waiting past my threshold makes me irritable, impatient, angry, restless, and ready to point my finger and blame anyone and everyone who is causing me to wait beyond  my tolerance level. 

Yesterday my day was pretty well planned out: I intended to visit Mom then do my grocery shopping, arrive home, fix my lunch, and generally do my weekend chores. I arrived at the facility where she has been receiving care for the past 3 weeks at about 11:15, well within my schedule. I walked to her room and the bed was made but she was nowhere in sight so I began searching the hallways knowing that when they get her in her wheelchair she often wanders around finding others to talk to. 

As I rounded the corner, just past the nursing station, there she sat - slumped over, legs akimbo, with her left arm dangling over the side of the chair looking like she'd fallen asleep. I approached her and touched her shoulder while asking her if she needed to go back to her room for a nap. She didn't respond, so I spoke a little louder, "Mom, it's Toni. Are you OK?" Still nothing. I was terrified and thought the worst - maybe she'd died out there in the hallway without anyone there to hold her hand and comfort her! I shook her shoulder and spoke to her again and she opened her eyes a crack and mumbled something.

I called a nurse and said I'd never seen her like that before - what was wrong? The nurse tried to rouse her and we got her back to her bed, thinking she was just sleepy. The nurse kept reassuring me that she'd just seen my mom passing the nurses' station about 10 minutes prior to that and that she'd been wandering around the hallways most of the morning. When we got to her bed, the aide, a big strong man, physically lifted my mother out of her wheelchair and placed her on her bed and they began taking her vital signs and continuing to speak loudly to her trying to rouse her from her stupor. She wasn't responding coherently and mumbled infrequently, just fluttering her eyes and drifting off again.

After checking her vital signs a few times to determine that all were well within normal limits, they called 911 to have her transported to the hospital - this was going to require much more than they could provide at the facility. I was in tears and couldn't stop myself from thinking this was the end - that she'd made a decision to depart. Even though it's always a possibility and even more possible given her age (almost 87) and condition there was a part of me that wasn't ready - perhaps would never be ready for her final transition.

As always, the firemen and EMTs that arrived were so gentle and kind and efficient, working as a team to determine her condition so they could take their next action. One took her history from me while the others worked around the close quarters of her bed, trying to get a response from her, calling out her vital signs and generally doing their jobs. 

They were going to transport her to the emergency room of the hospital she'd left exactly 3 weeks ago. The one who was taking information from me asked me if I was OK to drive and it hit me that he recognized how emotional I was and was concerned for my safety in the middle of all this smoothly run chaos. I couldn't stop crying but told him I could drive and would meet them there. 

When I got in the car, I called my sister, who was in class all day. Thankfully it was close enough to lunch time that they were on their break and she could talk. We're so fortunate to have each other to share the responsibilities and emotions that are associated with this situation. I poured out my fears while reassuring her that I'd call her if she were needed, but to continue her class and let me know when she was on her way home and I'd give her an update.

We arrived at the emergency room at 11:50AM and began the waiting. More history required along with the vital signs and various pokes and prods for lab work. I cried as I watched her react painfully, crying and pulling at her arm to stop the pain from the needle being inserted for her IV. I thought of when my daughter was little and didn't understand and couldn't express in words when she was in pain. Her startled reaction when she felt the sting of the needle for an injection or blood drawn. How horrible it was to watch and want to protect her but knowing that what was being done was necessary. Here was my mother, helpless, not aware of her surroundings - being stuck, and moved, and invaded in so many ways - it broke my heart. Strangers were calling out her name and talking to her and all I wanted to do was tell them to get out and leave her alone.

Her assigned nurse came in with the computer stand and we went through yet another session of history - current meds, medical conditions, past surgeries, allergies and more, more, more, as I worried about whether I had missed anything important. (Let me warn you, learn all you can about your family members. If you accompany anyone without a full knowledge of their medical history there are too many "unknowns", and they'll hesitate to proceed or take many more tests than necessary just to be safe.)

More needle jabs as they needed even more blood for tests. More witnessing of her crying out automatically reacting to the pain even in her semi-conscious state. More waiting. More waiting. More waiting. Finally the ER doctor determined what had caused the episode (a TIA) and what the possible options were, but nothing was resolved until the results of a urine sample were available. More waiting.

 I sat by her, holding her hand, talking to her as if we were having a conversation. I reminded her of the time she held my hand the whole 48 hours I was in labor with my daughter. How, with every contraction, I had squeezed her hand so much that it was painful for her to move it for days afterward. How she had said it was absolutely worth the pain because she now had a beautiful granddaughter. Remember, Mom? What a wonderful Grandma you've been to Jenn and how much she loves you. How much happiness you've given your Granddaughters Hallie and Mary Joy. How your Great Grandson, Christopher gives you a hug when he sees you. Remembering all of the good stuff - the happy times that would remind her how loved she is.

More nurses, lab people, pokes, finishing the history, and more waiting, waiting, waiting. Seeing her lying helpless, in pain, and not knowing how to help kept reminding me of how little we control in this crazy world. By this time Mom had begun a series of muscle spasms in her legs and feet that were causing her to arch her back and grimace as she jerked and twisted on the gurney. It was as if she were having a seizure and it was appalling to watch helplessly. They didn't seem concerned that it was due to a medical condition and I wanted to scream at them to do something to relieve her discomfort. Couldn't they see that she wasn't resting, wasn't calm, was probably in pain as she moaned and cried out.

My sister arrived at 5:30. I'd now been here 5 1/2 hours and my tolerance for waiting was nearing its end. When the lab results came back positive for a UTI, the doctor decided to admit her for treatment there. I could stop the sensation of free-falling - I had the sense of a safety net to catch me. A decision had been made and I knew what would happen now - more blood drawn and more waiting. 

At 6:15 I watched the lab tech go to another room to get samples after the nurse told him he needed to draw blood before she could start the antibiotic for Mom. I was furious with him for not rushing to my mother. Didn't he know we'd been here since noon! How could he calmly go to another room when his lab work was all that was needed to get the healing antibiotics coursing through my mother. It was like watching someone else cut in line ahead of us and I was way past my patience level and into the blame zone. It was his fault if my mother got worse! The nurse didn't insist strongly enough! Who was to blame for this whole thing anyway? I wanted to take names and kick a---!

Mom began a whining sound and was trying to find her way through all of the wires that connected her to the monitor so she could rub the area around her IV. We saw a dark red streak running up the vein from the IV and called the nurse. She was having a bad reaction to the antibiotic, so it required more consulting with the doctor and, guess what? More needle jabs and more waiting. By now Mom was sporadically able to respond, not always coherently, but she acknowledged the spasms were painful and hurting her back. We waited, and waited. I was hungry (hadn't eaten since breakfast at 8:30AM), tired, and pretty close to hostile by now. My sister was tired, hungry, and patient - how does she do it?

They finally got all of the paperwork done to admit Mom and the young man arrived to transport her to her room. (Here's where I want to insert how loving and gentle the caretakers are in these places. I'm amazed and grateful for their compassionate treatment of their patients.) After she was settled into her bed, the PM nurse came in and said, "Oh, she's here. Are you family?" My sister and I both nodded yes, and then she said the words that put me over the edge. "Good, while you're here I can get some history from you." 

I shot a look at my sister and she said, "Why don't you go home so you can eat and get some rest. I'll take it from here." I argued that it was just as much my responsibility as hers and that I'd stick it out until Mom was resting. She reminded me that it didn't take both of us to do what one could do, so leave. She wasn't hungry, she was tired, but was OK with staying and giving yet another history. I knew that if I had to give another history I'd probably be an a-- to the nurse and alienate her. Of course I wanted Mom to get the best possible considerate care, so the last thing I wanted to do was have her nurse pi---ed at me and dislike Mom because of it. I left.

As I walked to my car I looked at my watch and it was 7:25PM and I was completely exhausted. I'd left my house at 11:00AM with all of the best intentions to have a nice Saturday - getting all of the things on my "To Do" list accomplished and then possibly spending some down time watching a good movie after dinner. I had no other plans, but life interrupted and scattered my intentions like litter. I spent the day on an emotional roller coaster because we never know where life will take us. Can we ever prepare for these interruptions? I'm not sure, but I think the best we can do is ride them out like a surfer who's unsure of the wave, but has practiced enough to know his board and what it will do. I've invested the time, energy and practice to know myself  at least as well as that surfer knows his board - pretty sure of my assets and my limits. Knowing myself is the only possible preparation for when life interrupts my plans. Like the surfer, it's amazing when I catch a good wave and it's a learning experience when life comes along and wipes me out. While on some level yesterday was a wipe-out, on another much deeper level, it was another good teaching wave...

DD#34: Co-creativity

I'm here to learn - learn whatever I can, wherever I can, from whomever I can. Some things interest me and I seek voluntarily to learn more, some things I have to learn to live, but the best learning is the gift of a freely offered nugget from someone I respect. Now THAT'S learning for real. 

Over the holidays, I met a man with whom I made a fabulous connection. I was "in love" with all of the exciting possibilities from my connection with him. We felt like two sparks of electricity charging each other in a dynamic, energetic connection. Zap! Zing! Zowie! It was love in the nth degree! (Can you tell I was pretty "charged" about "us"?)

Every time we would talk, it was like I'd plugged into an amazing source of energy and I felt expansive, loving, joyful, animated, dynamic, powerful, and amazed that I could feel so alive. I had pretty much resigned myself to living without the thrill of first love ever again.

While that didn't last (and neither did the guy:>)), I considered it an incredible gift from the Universe, letting me know that I was still here, still alive, and still a desirable woman. He was gone, but he left me with such gratitude for what he'd opened in me. So I thanked him and thanked the Universe and moved along with my life.

A few days ago a friend who had witnessed my excitement during this period was reflecting how enlivened she'd felt from just being an observer of these interactions - a vicarious participant in my new love. She wondered why we couldn't feel like that all the time. Why can't we just decide to feel like that every day? Well, at first it sounded like one of those eternal questions about wanting to be happy all the time. But I pondered it and wondered the same thing - why can't I just wake up every morning choosing to feel "in love" with my life?

After a few days of rumination (and a little bit of self-blame about not doing it "right") I spoke about it with my sponsor. She's a wise woman and gives her wisdom with love and compassion and I am so grateful to be the recipient of her gems. I asked her the "why" question and for the first time in my life of wondering about this very issue she gave me an answer that I truly understood. Are you ready? Here it is.

It's about complementary energy. Two individuals are perfectly whole in and of themselves and when they  meet they create something new. A hydrogen atom is fine alone and an oxygen atom is fine alone, but when they meet they create water - it's chemistry! The chemistry of life. It can create something phenomenal or it can create something unworkable, or it can create something unstable or it can create something stable. It can only happen when two (or more) meet. 

I started thinking about each of us as an atom floating around doing just fine - we're doing what we're here to do and life is good. Occasionally we bump into another person (atom) and that meeting creates something new. Sometimes the something new is expansive and sometimes it's diminishing, but it's always different than either one was on its own. Sometimes it's not another person, it's God/Goddess, art, hobby, work, or an idea that we bump into and the complementary energy creates something new. That expression of complementary energy defines co-creativity.



We co-create with others, we co-create with ideas, words, tools, and inspiration. In all of this the Divine is the ultimate Co-creator, bringing the floating atoms into our field, within reach, so we can effortlessly expand and co-create...

DD#33: 4 Letter Words

Cursing, cussing, whatever you call it, is profanity. I remember when the use of any 4 letter word was considered taboo in polite company and a lady NEVER let one of those words pass her lips. In more formal times, it was considered acceptable for men to use these words freely in the locker room - or any all male domain, I guess - but not in front of ladies and certain other higher status men. (Our proud heritage of a classless society of equality among men conveniently overlooks the fact that those words were mostly written and enforced by men considered to be the cream of society. They were privileged and had wives, slaves and/or servants who were definitely NOT considered equal, but I digress.)

As a child I heard plenty of these words but was admonished if I used one within the hearing of an adult. I secretly used them - was even brave enough to use a couple of them in the company of my peers. We would whisper them and giggle with our hands over our mouths as if to prevent them from passing beyond our little group and into the world where we would be in big trouble for saying them out loud. The very act of speaking them was the beginnings of our rebellion against the rules. We had no idea what some of them even meant, but they were forbidden so we had to use them.

When I started my freshman year at San Jose State University, I had been working since high school to save enough money to help me pay for my expenses and live on the income from a part time job. At 20 I was older and somewhat removed from the typical teen rebellion of sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. I'd had a different kind of rebellion. As soon as I left my parents' oversight and began living on my own several hundred miles from home, I made up for all the time 'lost' while living under the considerable control of my family. I acted out a lot doing crazy things, but always showed up for work and earned my way. I was responsible through and through, but the seeds of rebellion were planted. I tasted plenty of forbidden fruit.

Suddenly at SJSU I was surrounded by young people who were determined to break every 'old' rule and create their own new ones. I embraced my rebellious self and embarked on my long voyage of questioning everything.I was applying the philosophy that rules were just guidelines, some were to be bent, some to be ignored, some to be broken and some to be applied. I selectively decided which ones were mine and which ones weren't.

The old rule of cussing went out the window and I remember the thrill of seeing the shock on some faces the first few times I brazenly spoke the "f" word in mixed company. I felt so elated, so free, so intoxicated that I began using ALL of the 4 letter words I could remember, independently or in inspired groupings of my own creation. Oh, I was the mistress of 4 letter words - alert for looks of disapproval or shock from anyone within hearing range. I loved this new me. No more "f---ing" rules for me! No more "f---ing" good girl image. I was a "f---ing" rebel without a pause spewing obscenities in every direction. I was "f---ing" powerful and "f---ing" invincible - nobody could stop me. Nobody dared - I was a 4 letter force to be reckoned with.

Like anything new, the shine eventually wore off and I began to ease away from the gratuitous use of 4 letter words. They still crept into my language, but had lost their power. Now I simply used them for emphasis - to hammer home my point. They continued to represent my need to rebel against anything or anyone I considered an obstacle to having what I wanted. They became my angry words, my emotional descriptors. I could express myself with them when I didn't have words to define my feelings. 

The 4 letter words are quite passe' now - most people use them regularly. I still use them, but they're just another remnant of the old habit of pre-awareness expression - before I could put words to my feelings. As I learn more ways to express what's going on inside me, I can let go of the need to use 4 letter words. I don't release them easily - they still hold power for me and who I am - a rebel charting new paths, whacking down the old growth, on the watch for someone who's offended by how I chop down what obstructs my search for "f---ing" meaning in my life...

DD#32: Sleep

Another day almost got away from me without blogging, but this time I remembered just as I was settling in to that relaxed, warm place I hope for as I wind down from a busy day. That transitional place that takes me from the full-on energy of my day to the soothing gentle energy that precedes a restful night's sleep. I usually need about an  hour so, like an old woman, I toddle off to prepare for sleep allowing ample time to do my night time rituals and slip into drowsiness.

Most of my life I took sleep for granted - one of the lucky ones who fell asleep within 5 minutes of my head hitting the pillow and sleeping straight through the night. I didn't even move much so when I arose in the morning, the bed was barely mussed. Just a quick toss of the covers and it was made. 

Over the past 18 years I have learned to appreciate the rare restful night's sleep. I know the difference now - what it feels like to have delayed sleep, sporadic sleep, insomnia, restless sleep, poor quality sleep. I've experienced too many mornings feeling tired due to lack of sleep - or at least restful sleep. 

I remember fondly the years "before" - before sleep became elusive. Before I had to fight to stay awake during a quiet afternoon working at my desk. Before nodding off in front of the TV at night or while reading a good book. There are times when I think maybe tonight will be different and times when I just accept that it is what it is and I'll have to live with it. 

Prior to "before" I can't imagine ever thinking that I'd have sleep problems - at least not until I was really old and completely inactive. Actually, I don't consider my poor sleep as a result of being really old and inactive now, but back in those days, I thought the age I am now was old. No wonder my poor body is confused...

DD#31: The Power of Words

Aarrrgghh another missed day of blogging! I can't believe I did it again. This time I didn't even realize it until I was eating breakfast this morning and thinking about my day. I looked at my notes from yesterday and there it was: Blog! How can I get so distracted by other things in life that it completely slips my mind? I suppose that's why they say it takes 90 days to create a habit - not 30. So this is 90 blogs in 93 days as of today.

I want to beat myself up about it but after my miss on Saturday, thankfully, I've admitted that I'm not perfect so that's not an overwhelming need this time. (Although the Fraud Cops are still hanging around in the shadows waiting for a new situation to occur so they can catch me:>)) 

But Wait! There's more! The other part of this is that I now have a different recurring thought, "What if I become too relaxed about my commitment?  Like a rat chewing its way into a package to get at the food, doubt is nibbling at me. What if, in reality, I'm a lazy, dishonest, flake?" 

Doubt creeps into me and disrupts my sense of peace and serenity about my creativity. It smothers the joy I feel about expressing who I am - embracing the courage it takes to reveal myself to others. It makes me wonder if, in revealing myself, I have simply exposed myself as I really am instead of who I want you to think I am. Doubt twists and distorts my willingness to be vulnerable and trusting and makes me feel fearful and anxious. Doubt is driven by my ego - when it's all about me. Willingness, vulnerability, and courage are guided by faith when it's all about God/Goddess. How interesting that even the verbs used to describe the actions illuminate the nature of each: doubt is driven and faith is guided.

For me, this is part of the beauty of blogging. It's a way of learning about where my head goes so I can get out my tool kit and continue my internal remodeling project. My writing flows through me from my higher self and puts words to formless ideas and notions that float around as vague unidentified feelings. Now there are words and with words comes a clearer view of what's happening. My head now knows what my gut has known all along. With words comes the opportunity to create a new vocabulary - my internal dictionary can now expand with new meanings and language. The power of words has always fascinated me and I'm grateful that, like a 3 year old who's encouraged to used their words instead of their fists, I can stop flailing around at shadows and use my words to shed light on them. Let the power of words continue to guide me faithfully to being the person I came here to be - my I AM.