Breathing Underwater

Dear Universe,

This poem was read in chapel today, and it spoke to my heart. I didn't want to forget about this gem, so while I have little to say right now, this much is true: I'm learning more and more how to breathe underwater.

I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you,
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbours.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences,
respectful, keeping our distance
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always the fence of sand our barrier,
always the sand between.
And then one day
(and I still don't know how it happened)
The sea came.
Without warning.
Without welcome even.
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight, and I thought of drowning, and I thought of death.
But while I thought, the sea crept higher till it reached my door.
And I knew that there was neither flight nor death nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stoop being good neighbours,
Well acquainted, friendly from a distance neighbours.
And you give your house for a coral castle
And you learn to breathe under water.
--Sheila Cassidy

Love,
Sarah

Have to Start Somewhere....

Dear Universe,

I’ve finally decided that it’s time to start communicating with you, through some form that serves me best.  Don't worry -- there were still be some occasional fist-shaking accompanied by my yelling, and there will also be deep breaths of contentment when I don’t have the words for “thank-you.”  But there will also be this – a space to share my thoughts, as publicly as others want to make it, with you, dear Universe.  You inspire me and confuse me, make me weep and make me laugh. Our relationship is imperfect and inseparable:  I might as well explore it to the fullest, and share my discoveries in the meantime.

Over and over I’m told: “You should write a book.” For now, I’m still relatively convinced people are either a) kidding or b) unaware of exactly how much time and energy and commitment that takes (all three of which I haven’t been experiencing in abundance as of late). It’s both flattering and intimidating that others find my life fascinating enough to want to use their brain cells to transpose words I would write on a page and attach their own empathy that always occurs with the protagonist of any story, good or otherwise. Most days, I don’t find myself that permanently interesting enough for ink and pages and a cover and an illustration and title and reviews and a foreward and a list of thanks and…. to be placed on a night stand or a bookshelf or handed off between friends with a note scrawled on the cover page. I mean this sincerely and humbly – I don’t know why complete strangers would pick my name out of all the others on the shelves of their favorite library or bookstore (on an online search engine). So instead, I’m just going to start writing, for me, and see what happens. I’m pretty much planning on some self-awareness and a few memories more permanently embedded, but we’ll see.

Since I think I'm just supposed to start somewhere, we'll start with the present. 

 

Currently, I’m a not-so-secret shopper at one of Columbia’s hospitals, fighting the most recent colonization of bacteria that’s taken up residence in my bladder. Eviction notice has been served, compliments of an IV antibiotic and PICC-line, but there still isn’t a formal closing date. And as I’ve sat here, bored with the London Olympics (gasp! Did I really just say that? Yes, yes I did), half-watching another Law & Order: SVU marathon for the 1486^th time in my young adult life, I got to thinking about the world that is “hospital.” Maybe I watched Mean Girls too intently last night, and took the comparison of Jungle-life to High School-life too seriously. But – here’s a few random thoughts about how to make it in the land of sterilization and syringes.

1. Medicine is a Science is a Practice – always remember this. Drs, Nurses, Techs, Radiologists, and everyone in the medical field “practices” medicine. There are never any guaranteed or flawless answers. Sometimes even the best musicians hit a wrong chord; Drs will make incorrect diagnoses. An athlete never knows the conditions of the weather and other players and fellow teammates when starting a game – the intent is always to win, but sometimes other circumstances come up and surprise the hell out of everyone involved.  This leads to points 2 and 3.

2. This is still your body, your life, your time.  You might be stuck in a bed, or isolation, but it is still yours. Ask as many questions as possible. Repeat questions. Ask for details. It’s taken me a long to realize this. It’s easy to assume that every doctor and member of your care team has your best interest in mind – I mean, they do swear to “do no harm” – but they also have other patients, and charting, and phone calls and a pager and emails, not to mention outside lives, taking their attention, too. So if you don’t like something, make it clear.

3. Remember grace, and always say thank you, and say it for more than you ever imagined you could. “Thank you” for… changing my linens, turning off the freaking IV alarm, bringing me that nasty medicine that tastes like Tang made with sea-water, answering my question, helping me roll over, bringing me fresh water, taking time to ask me about my life outside these four walls. They might be “practicing” – but like anything you practice, practice is a choice. Nobody is forced to go into medical school, or take a class that teaches them how to wipe your ass, should you ever become too incapacitated to do so.

4. Be nice to the people who clean your room. No, really. They sweep in (literally) and mop out, of dozens of rooms per day. In your room, they’re cleaning up after a living patient, which is not always the case. If they’re humming, as so many of them will, do not be afraid to interrupt and ask how they are. Some of most spirit-filled people you ever meet in a hospital come equipped with trash bags and Lysol spray.

5. Hospital food sucks. It won’t kill you, but it usually doesn’t help. Eat what you can, and don’t be afraid to ask for outside sources. So many people ask “what can I do?” and I’ve learned that answering, “I’d really love a piece of fruit, or bag of chips” gives you a reward, and the non-practicing people in your life a sense of purpose. It’s more often-than-not a win-win situation.

6. If you have a roommate, it’s okay to write your own stories about them to entertain yourself.  When I was hospitalized for months as a small child undergoing chemo, I would have the same roommates for weeks – and often my parents found solace in their company as well. However, I have discovered as I’ve aged, the likelihood of getting a crazy roommate exponentially increases. It’s silly to pretend the other person isn’t there, but I also don’t recommend asking for a whole life story. Generally erring on the side of politeness with a hint of silence is the best option. And if there are two of you with one TV, well, good luck.

7. People are going to tell you some of the stupidest things you will ever hear while you’re in the hospital. Write them down. They make for good stories, poetry, and laughter later. Because no, having a bladder infection at the age of 27 and being tough about it really isn’t inspirational – it’s annoying. (And you’re allowed to be pissed – see number 8.) And no, water and apple juice won’t get you out of here in no time. Maybe you can pray the germs away, but if your chaplain sticks to the 10-second-prayer-rule,  it’s not likely.

8. You’re allowed to be pissed. Really, really pissed. But don’t throw things – your insurance will only bill you for whatever you break later. But don’t forget to say thank you – even if you’re pissed. 

I'm sure there's more, and maybe they'll be relevant in a post later, but for now, I'm off to cuddle with White Bear and call home to talk about nothing for a while.

Love,

Sarah