"...along with this longing and this sadness and this tenderness, there's an immense sense of well-being, unconditional well-being, which doesn't have anything to do with pleasant or unpleasant, good or bad, hope or fear, disgrace or fame..."
Pema Chodron,START WHERE YOU ARE, 1994
I had to have another blood test this week. A regular event every few months, monitoring blood pressure meds, cholesterol levels, all the usual stuff. Like most everyone, I hate going to any medical appointments. Because my sister, the nurse, takes care of most of my parents medical meetings (as their proxy), most of my hospital "visits" are on the front-end of an emergency situation--or the back-end of one, visiting. I handle my own med situations, solo. I've been "private" for as long as I can remember. Even when friends and lovers offer, I usually manage, solo.
The hospital, with its raw odors, revolving staff, curving hallways and fluorescent lights, makes me feel as if I'm on a spaceship with humans, and friendly aliens, working together.(It isn't exactly "abduction flashbacks", but it isn't a roller coaster at Magic Mountain, either.) Even for the fairly banal check-in for the bloodwork, I can feel my blood pressure begin to rise.
The entire operation is over in less than fifteen minutes. I arrive the moment the lab opens and park in a fairly empty lot, closest to the main entrance of the hospital. I usually get the "end of shift" nurses taking last specimens of their night. That's cool. I kid them about my sister being a nurse and working the graveyard shift in Worcester. I even forgive the sometimes "pinching" stab that a weary technician can administer just before taking off for the weekend. For me, seeing the blood pumping via my heart's own efforts, into the vial, means that I'm alive and I've taken responsibility for the contractual agreement between me and my doctor. (The "hard part" is the follow up visit, next week, facing a cute practitioner who is half my age.) Her advice is smart, well informed and to some extent, "caring". (Of course, I have to believe this...) On the other hand, she is young, a bit cocky, sleek, toned, tanned and has most likely been that way all of her life. I wonder what she truly "gets" about closing in on 60--let alone being " a rebellious writer"? I wonder if she's ever experienced losing everything, more than once--including relationships that were meant to be lifelong-- or having to rebuild, in extreme humility. (Even these visits are humbling.) Has she ever been in a place where, educated, knowing what one "should do/need to do/mean to do" gets t-boned by life's unexpected demands: professional, personal, familial, emotional, spiritual?
Our discussions about pharmaceuticals and side-effects: possible death...Her answer: "Well, every drug has side effects--you have to look at the statistics and insurance warnings!"
Yeah.
But what of the thousands of words I've read regarding conspiracy theories and control of the drug companies by a military industrial complex led by the wealthy families "at the top, forever"? What about the spiritual risks and considerations of not accepting one's life for what it is: mortal? What about the stress of stress-reduction activities forced upon one's life when one simply wants to simplify? Or the feelings of judgments and failure when one doesn't comply, completely?
Back home again, my father receives a notice of his upcoming eye surgery for cataracts. My mother, ever the "worst- possible- scenario keeps you prepared" believer (though it makes her a crazed banshee, while she runs around the house arguing and fighting with anyone present, later explaining it all away by: "that's my way of relieving stress!"; never owning that this makes life miserable for the rest of us, while she is engaging in such activity) freaks out, believing my father does not know nor understand the compliance form he is signing. And while the letter clearly invites Dad to call the doc's office and get any of the questions "they" have, cleared up, Mom insists on going to the worst outcome: Dad will be rendered blind. (She will have to take care of him...) Of course, HER recent cataract surgery went fine, and now she is bragging how she doesn't have to wear any glasses, even to drive! But Dad has chosen laser surgery--which was not Mom's choice. And so, some of her "triumph" and "I know more than you" braggadocio gets deflated, because he has chosen the more "risky" (in her mind) procedure. Also, her own dark night fears projected upon him...(When I remind her that if SHE went blind, Dad would take care of HER-- all of us are around to help, if either of them would need that care--I get a big roll-of-her-eyes and sarcastic- exhale- of- breath. (I know this translates into: what could YOU do?)
Dad continues to squint and read aloud the final compliance form.
It seems to me that it is a form that covers three alternative approaches and Dad understands this. He also says he will call the office to get clarification--as well as call my nurse-sister. He is clear he is picking the laser procedure. (It is also clear my mother is pushing for him to stay with the manual operation--which she had--though, at the time, she was almost as unreasonable about that operation...) I remind her (stupidly, fruitlessly, angry with myself for not just swallowing my opinion, though, when I do that, she accuses me of "running away from the conversation"--- there is no winning and no participation, either way) all she can do is fire back: "You are too much like your father--you never worry about the worst- case; if you know the worst- case- scenario you can be prepared! Somebody in this house has to do that!"
Perhaps unbeknownst to my parents, I have spent my entire life, from childhood to adulthood, "preparing" for the worst- case of everything. Later, I went through the period of rejecting anything "negative"--including people whose outlook contained those scenarios. Neither approach made me happy; nor enlightened; nor even saved me; far as I can see. Both made me irritable and feeling a bit ridiculous.( Sappy. Uncool.)
Afraid.
(I have fought nightmares; demons; the idea of alien colonization of us into a penal planet; the death of everyone I love; the death of everyone I know; loss of an entire sense of who I thought I would be; the loss of the religion I'd bet on; even my own end. Worst- case- scenarios my parents would little dream of, have played in my brain, for decades. (Even found their ways into my published work!) Have any of them manifested, outright? Have they prepared me, in any way, except to suffer from increased stress?)
Now, it's time for the Middle Path. Time to breathe. Accept what I cannot change--except to have some small impact through kindness practice and tonglen. To honestly believe we are all, one breath away from waking up and remembering our reality--not this passing role in this baggy- skin- costume--but who we really are. Time to be brave and just sit, each day, being open-hearted and non-judgmental of self; being willing to touch the soft places inside; breathing out blessings.
For my doctor.
For my Mother.
For my Father.
For my siblings.
For us all.
Worst case scenario? I am The Fool.
Best case scenario? We are all perfect, just as we are, right now: believe.
Pema Chodron,START WHERE YOU ARE, 1994
I had to have another blood test this week. A regular event every few months, monitoring blood pressure meds, cholesterol levels, all the usual stuff. Like most everyone, I hate going to any medical appointments. Because my sister, the nurse, takes care of most of my parents medical meetings (as their proxy), most of my hospital "visits" are on the front-end of an emergency situation--or the back-end of one, visiting. I handle my own med situations, solo. I've been "private" for as long as I can remember. Even when friends and lovers offer, I usually manage, solo.
The hospital, with its raw odors, revolving staff, curving hallways and fluorescent lights, makes me feel as if I'm on a spaceship with humans, and friendly aliens, working together.(It isn't exactly "abduction flashbacks", but it isn't a roller coaster at Magic Mountain, either.) Even for the fairly banal check-in for the bloodwork, I can feel my blood pressure begin to rise.
The entire operation is over in less than fifteen minutes. I arrive the moment the lab opens and park in a fairly empty lot, closest to the main entrance of the hospital. I usually get the "end of shift" nurses taking last specimens of their night. That's cool. I kid them about my sister being a nurse and working the graveyard shift in Worcester. I even forgive the sometimes "pinching" stab that a weary technician can administer just before taking off for the weekend. For me, seeing the blood pumping via my heart's own efforts, into the vial, means that I'm alive and I've taken responsibility for the contractual agreement between me and my doctor. (The "hard part" is the follow up visit, next week, facing a cute practitioner who is half my age.) Her advice is smart, well informed and to some extent, "caring". (Of course, I have to believe this...) On the other hand, she is young, a bit cocky, sleek, toned, tanned and has most likely been that way all of her life. I wonder what she truly "gets" about closing in on 60--let alone being " a rebellious writer"? I wonder if she's ever experienced losing everything, more than once--including relationships that were meant to be lifelong-- or having to rebuild, in extreme humility. (Even these visits are humbling.) Has she ever been in a place where, educated, knowing what one "should do/need to do/mean to do" gets t-boned by life's unexpected demands: professional, personal, familial, emotional, spiritual?
Our discussions about pharmaceuticals and side-effects: possible death...Her answer: "Well, every drug has side effects--you have to look at the statistics and insurance warnings!"
Yeah.
But what of the thousands of words I've read regarding conspiracy theories and control of the drug companies by a military industrial complex led by the wealthy families "at the top, forever"? What about the spiritual risks and considerations of not accepting one's life for what it is: mortal? What about the stress of stress-reduction activities forced upon one's life when one simply wants to simplify? Or the feelings of judgments and failure when one doesn't comply, completely?
Back home again, my father receives a notice of his upcoming eye surgery for cataracts. My mother, ever the "worst- possible- scenario keeps you prepared" believer (though it makes her a crazed banshee, while she runs around the house arguing and fighting with anyone present, later explaining it all away by: "that's my way of relieving stress!"; never owning that this makes life miserable for the rest of us, while she is engaging in such activity) freaks out, believing my father does not know nor understand the compliance form he is signing. And while the letter clearly invites Dad to call the doc's office and get any of the questions "they" have, cleared up, Mom insists on going to the worst outcome: Dad will be rendered blind. (She will have to take care of him...) Of course, HER recent cataract surgery went fine, and now she is bragging how she doesn't have to wear any glasses, even to drive! But Dad has chosen laser surgery--which was not Mom's choice. And so, some of her "triumph" and "I know more than you" braggadocio gets deflated, because he has chosen the more "risky" (in her mind) procedure. Also, her own dark night fears projected upon him...(When I remind her that if SHE went blind, Dad would take care of HER-- all of us are around to help, if either of them would need that care--I get a big roll-of-her-eyes and sarcastic- exhale- of- breath. (I know this translates into: what could YOU do?)
Dad continues to squint and read aloud the final compliance form.
It seems to me that it is a form that covers three alternative approaches and Dad understands this. He also says he will call the office to get clarification--as well as call my nurse-sister. He is clear he is picking the laser procedure. (It is also clear my mother is pushing for him to stay with the manual operation--which she had--though, at the time, she was almost as unreasonable about that operation...) I remind her (stupidly, fruitlessly, angry with myself for not just swallowing my opinion, though, when I do that, she accuses me of "running away from the conversation"--- there is no winning and no participation, either way) all she can do is fire back: "You are too much like your father--you never worry about the worst- case; if you know the worst- case- scenario you can be prepared! Somebody in this house has to do that!"
Perhaps unbeknownst to my parents, I have spent my entire life, from childhood to adulthood, "preparing" for the worst- case of everything. Later, I went through the period of rejecting anything "negative"--including people whose outlook contained those scenarios. Neither approach made me happy; nor enlightened; nor even saved me; far as I can see. Both made me irritable and feeling a bit ridiculous.( Sappy. Uncool.)
Afraid.
(I have fought nightmares; demons; the idea of alien colonization of us into a penal planet; the death of everyone I love; the death of everyone I know; loss of an entire sense of who I thought I would be; the loss of the religion I'd bet on; even my own end. Worst- case- scenarios my parents would little dream of, have played in my brain, for decades. (Even found their ways into my published work!) Have any of them manifested, outright? Have they prepared me, in any way, except to suffer from increased stress?)
Now, it's time for the Middle Path. Time to breathe. Accept what I cannot change--except to have some small impact through kindness practice and tonglen. To honestly believe we are all, one breath away from waking up and remembering our reality--not this passing role in this baggy- skin- costume--but who we really are. Time to be brave and just sit, each day, being open-hearted and non-judgmental of self; being willing to touch the soft places inside; breathing out blessings.
For my doctor.
For my Mother.
For my Father.
For my siblings.
For us all.
Worst case scenario? I am The Fool.
Best case scenario? We are all perfect, just as we are, right now: believe.
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