I am having massive resistance to writing about my hospital trip two weeks ago. Partially because going back there in my mind is like making a voluntary trip to the tepid halls of purgatory. A place of neither life nor death. Just white walls and a large, dirty window revealing a capricious slice of spring sky. A bed of thin foam coated in thick plastic, dressed with stiff, unfriendly sheets. Tubes and needles dripping into open veins. A panoply of nurses with varying attitudes and levels of tolerance and kindness. At the time it was tolerable. In retrospect, the impressions are bitter.
But it was a distinct pivot in the story of my Life, which is what I am here to tell. And even if I must endure the reliving of feelings I’d rather leave behind me, I feel that I must show up in service of this haunted recounting.
Two weeks ago friday, I got this intense, debilitating stomach ache. It started right after lunch… and in retrospect, I think it was the expired goat cheese I spread on my whole grain rye toast. But that didn’t occur to me until way retrospect. In the moment, all I knew was constant, unbearable pain that lasted all night. (It aroused memories of a year and a half ago, when my colon was blocked and I spent four days in torturous pain before I finally braved pilgrimage to the hospital and had a chunk of my colon sliced out.) In the morning, fielding the kids’ needs was a hellish romp on an open nerve. I could barely move, let alone hold space for Forest’s fiercely autonomous need to actively participate in every step of making his “chocolate latte”. Nor could I endure the ensuing tantrum when I did it myself so that I could melt back into bed and return to the dark meditation of my physical suffering.
I considered going to the hospital… but instead opted to send the kids downstairs to Nonna, solicit some veggie broth from her and rest, after a near sleepless night. God, yeah I hate telling this story. Living it once was more than enough. I drifted in and out of sleep until 1pm and then at my ex-nurse friend’s guidance, opted to hitch a ride to the Perugia hospital. (A different hospital than the one where they had previously cut me apart, as I am still healing residual trauma from that experience.)
No. I can’t even write about this. All I will say is that they admitted me. Gave me a deep enema. Did an xray and some blood tests. Kept me for two nights. And even though my overall impression is a haunting one, I DID appreciate the retreat. The clean white walls and mostly empty space was a profoundly welcome contrast to the endless clutter of toys, self-propagating messes, dark, perpetually dingy tile floors and shadow strewn scapes of home. The sprawling uneventfulness and zen ambiance was a divinely appointed reset. My overnight hospital trips always feel like vision quests. This time the only thing they fed me was sugary “cafe d’orzo” and bottled water. So it was also a supported fast, which at first I fought… but eventually embraced. Though my belly still felt tender to the touch, my hunger was menacing.
I lamented that I had brought nothing to read…. So I opted to listen to Autobiography of a Yogi read aloud on youtube. It had been nearly twenty years since I read the book. I was hungry for spiritual sustenance. Even if my body was starving, my soul did not go without. I let it take me deep.
Another noteworthy detail is that Serena took an active stance to stay with Giordano and Forest while I was away. This surprised me a bit… as from my perspective, she doesn’t get the highest quality attention in that arrangement. But I guess she craves inclusion in a family structure. And that is the only option on her menu at this time. Forest has a father and a nonna, and a satelite network of semi-shady yet wholly loving characters. Her heart longs for the same. So at her fervent request, I asked G if he would keep Serena as well as Forest. He was caught off-guard and resisted at first, but in time, he warmed up and agreed.
She spent the days with Forest, Leone (G’s 10 year old son), Gemma (a 4 year old cousin whose birthday is the day before hers) and a peanut gallery of wacky adult characters. The house she stayed in (in the nucleus of Assisi) was a polar combination of cigarette smoke and imperfect human love. She seemed mostly happy, though I worry about the deep, complex world that swells and swirls from within her soul.
On the morning after my second “sleep” (hardly to be considered a sleep) in the hospital, I was determined to leave. I eagerly awaited the doctor’s morning round, so that I could get the lowdown and get the hell out! He finally showed up around 10am. I was surprised by his gently, elfin facial features, kind eyes and trendy upper ear piercing. With a compassionate, steady gaze, he regaled the news that my condition was worsening and I “should” start chemotherapy immediately. Naturally I panicked.
Did the above words convey the actual experience of panic? Because it’s not just a five letter word beginning with P. It’s a deeply unsettled, heart racing, climbing the inner walls experience. I reached out to trusted guides and allies to remember other, more resonant courses of thought, belief and action. Slowly, over time, I returned to my personal groove of sanity.
As much as others may tout the legitimacy of the conventional path….
IT IS NOT MINE.
It’s just not.
But… I got a lot out of my pilgrimage to medical purgatory. Namely that I must stop trying to be the Wonder Woman who heals herself while being a full time single mom, and GIVE IT ALL TO ME. Now is my moment. To “selfishly” stand for my Self and save my own life. It’s better to let go of the primary responsibility for my kids for 3-6 months… and LIVE… Than to cling to a job I am honestly not capable of in this moment and kill myself and leave them forever.
I know, I know, I’m making it sound so damn black and white. A reduction of the wild, feminine chaos that is Life, to a few paltry sentences…. Totally ridiculous. But suffice to say, I feel that my best shot at living through this is to cut loose all distractions from my daily commitment to healing and GIVE IT MY ALL. I am taking some powerful medicines now. And I am starting work with a practitioner of German New Medicine, who will help me dig to the root of my specific illness, so that I can resolve the inner conflicts once and for all. Can our “tried and true” friend chemotherapy boast such fundamental integrity? No! Mainstream people imagine that merely killing off droves of their own devoted cells will save them… but they don’t look WITHIN, to the roots of illness still a-twist within their broken psyches.
I’m confident that with God’s Grace, and my own whistling elbow grease, I will get through this trial. The sheer and utter Miracle, is that my “village” is willing and ready to support this next phase. Saint Rosa will keep Serena. And Giordano and his illustrious mother will care for Forest. And there will also be plenty of overlap, so the kids can be together. And I will see them sometimes. But not with the unbearable weight of full responsibility for their 24/7 care.
As terrible as I have imagined Giordano to be…. I confess that he was “awake and ready”, as devotees of Yogananda affirm in the face of all that Life demands… When the rubber met the road, he was standing as solid as the volatile personality that he is, possibly can. He said he would GIVE HIS LIFE for the children, and I felt him to the core. Imperfect? Fuck yes. Devoted? Totally. And this must be enough. It must be what I choose to focus on. This is part of my healing.
Another difficult gift bestowed on me by this hospital pilgrimage, was the felt sense that my kids truly do NOT belong to me. They really are God’s. Yes, I was very blessed that they came through this body. But the belief that they are “mine” is not helpful, let alone true. Life is asking me to release them back to Her. And to trust Her to care for them in the best way. This is an epic surrender. And certainly not easy. But I see them happy with all of the loving beings who are showing up for them. Especially Forest. And, as I relax into this new arrangement, I see Serena mirroring the same surrender. We have manifested our Village. Too bad it took such dire measures! But heck, I’m grateful nonetheless. We are interwoven with a brilliant garland of souls, and I feel we are all lifting each other higher into the Light of our unique yet interdependent destinies. Hallelujah!
Athena Graceland 