I tutored with a teacher who worked with younger elementary students. She was hilarious, and she always said, “Add ‘doom’ to anything; it makes it more powerful”
There is a note next to the computer. It’s from Kwami and it reads “Vortex of Craziness!” Just one exclamation point. I think three would be appropriate, just because it IS the summer of 2020.
I tutored with a teacher who worked with younger elementary students. She was hilarious, and she always said, “Add ‘doom’ to anything; it makes it more powerful”. She also inflected the statements to shutter, extending the length of ‘doom’ to several syllables. The Summer of Dooooooom. Virus of Doooom. Mosquito of Doooooooom. It works with just about anything.
And it adds laughter and lightheartedness where we need it most! I saw Melissa, the teacher, a couple of years after tutoring. While moving, I donated a lot of my elementary teaching supplies to her classroom. “Boxes of Doom.” She had forgotten her old standby and was thrilled for the reminder.
The colon stump has been messaging the brain. It thinks there is still a connection with the digestive system, and it believes it has work to do. But it’s just a wee stump. No job. Retired. Maybe a little gas escapes that way, just for old time’s sake. But the ostomy has taken over.
If I lost a toe, I might perceive the toe. Similarly, the absent colon is calling from beyond.
There is “organ” music, and I hear “The phantom of the colon is there, inside my mind.”
Alison Armstrong mentions the “listening” element as “holding the bucket”. Her training advice is that if you want someone to listen and not offer solutions, let the person know, and set a time limit for your download. People can only hold the bucket for so long and no more.
When I think of going to counsel, I picture people sitting together. Pondering. Sharing. Solving a problem, large or small. I think of stiff chairs around a huge rectangular table, or of a group sitting casually, cross legged around a fire.
A person I know said, as if it were a secret, “We started to see a counselor”.
We should all be seeing a counselor. And it shouldn’t be embarrassing, something to hide, or really even something to talk about with others. Just a part of life. Boring. Normal.
Most people do sit in counsel, with someone. Someone hears the words, listens to the stories, knows of the other’s pain, sorrow, and accomplishments. But does everyone receive counseling?
And is the definition of counseling “being heard”, or is counseling “solving a problem”?
It would take an entire book for me to list the faux pas made by paid counselors in my world. They are human too. Sometimes too human. It is important to remember that, especially if you subscribe to my idea that we should all be seeing them.
I have been a huge proponent of ongoing marriage/relationship counseling. If we had someone in our world that checked in with us a couple times a year, think of how much healthier all communication would be! And how small issues would not grow into huge explosions, left unchecked for too long.
Seeing somebody with the title of therapist? Know your goal. Know the role you want a counselor to take, and be clear. Most of us want to grow, to move beyond old stories.
Ram Dass mentioned that, at Harvard, he didn’t really want his clients to heal. His ego wanted them to be sick so he could be the one who was well. And, he wanted to keep his clients, not be continually looking for new ones. That is self realization. He knew himself well. A goal for me.
A couple decades back, Cathy mentioned a method of counseling that her coworkers used. It was a set number of sessions, six I think, and brought people through a process to solution. My kind of counseling! Tackle the goal!
For people who are using friends, it might be worth recognizing that. It will keep you out of a pickle. Alison Armstrong mentions the “listening” element as “holding the bucket”. Her training advice is that if you want someone to listen and not offer solutions, let the person know, and set a time limit for your download. People can only hold the bucket for so long and no more.
If you are looking for guidance and solutions, ask for those. Ask for listening, then ask for ideas.
We are not taught these things. Why are we not taught how to communicate well? And people are different. Each person needs something unique.
Oh, how I wish for us all, my perfect image of the counsel.
Although I am considered vulnerable, the odds of me bringing the virus back were higher than the odds of someone bringing it to me.
I woke up with the song running through my head, Bette Midler singing Julie Gold’s words.
From a distance we are instruments Marching in a common band Playing songs of hope Playing songs of peace They are the songs of every man
The poetic lyrics are a tribute to the Eternal One. And there is some irony that this is a time of social distance.
I ventured out to craft day. Usually, we pray and create indoors, or both indoors and outdoors on a nice day. This was the first social adventure that I have tackled, one with people that come from “a distance” or those I do not know. It was a group of five.
Since Covid 19, one of the easy thoughts for me is that I could carry the virus to others. I use masks. I wash my hands. What was most noticeable months ago is that I spend so much time in doctors’ offices. I have had weeks with four appointments. Each person has potential to spread virus, but sick people hang out with medical professionals. And although I am considered vulnerable, the odds of me bringing the virus back were higher than the odds of someone bringing it to me.
Now, in mid summer 2020, at pandemic level, the spread four times the rate during spring, it is far more likely that anyone could be carrying (and without a concealed permit).
I wore a mask when I would be within six feet of anyone or when I went into the Lodge to use the restroom. Every time I washed my hands, I then used a barrier to touch doors and knobs. Temperature in the high 70’s, we were spaced at least 15 feet apart at separate tables in the yard. But those are the easy parts.
Two of the people have hearing issues. I noticed that conversations brought them in close, moving forward as I backed away. One needs lip reading to accompany the assistance of a cochlear implant. That cannot be done with a mask in place! She wears a shield.
The temptation to hug or touch one another is incredible.
I can totally understand the high spread of the virus now. People are social beings! They do not live in blessed situations like I do, with a house full of peaceful family. Some need a chance to get away from their cohabitants. And those who live alone need to see a face other than the pointy eared cat on their chest.
My mind is begging me to reshape this meal into a smorgasbord of possibilities. Lasagna, layered salad, and parfaits. Let the fear be transformed. Fear is not in the moment. Fear comes from living in a nonexistent future.
When Donkey spoke with Shrek, he didn’t bring up lasagna when speaking of the complexities of being an ogre. Layers.
“You know what else everybody likes? Parfaits!”
When I was a child, Tupperware sold parfait cups. The site of those shapely, gray (why?!) plastic containers meant pudding, cream, and crushed cookies! Kid heaven.
Tupperware Cups
If we twist the challenge analogy away from lasagna, does that make the entire experience of 2020 more edible. There is no tomato sauce in a desert parfait. And if that is where the fear hides, if we make a nice chocolate parfait, we escape the perception of fear.
Rename it. Rebuild it. Mold it into a new dream and a new version of reality. My mind is begging me to reshape this meal into a smorgasbord of possibilities. Lasagna, layered salad, and parfaits. Let the fear be transformed. Fear is not in the moment. Fear comes from living in a nonexistent future.
Look for the gratitude, for love, for the beauty and the meaning in the current moment. Experience the entire meal.
Shining the light back there, the news could be extraordinarily miraculous. “There is no site of cancer in your body”. The news could be extraordinarily perplexing. “There is so much cancer. We don’t know how you are still alive.”
It’s not the first. It’s the first CT scan after major surgery. The time line relates to the initial plan… but the surgery was a surprise. It has been long enough for six cycles of chemo, and I did three before the lower colon decided to exit the building. And since that time, the focus has been healing from the surgery, and not chemotherapy. No chemotherapy.
The New Normal
I feel “good” overall. Things in life are returning to a “new normal”.
New normal is all that anyone gets these days, as we phase through a tumultuous world. Covid 19 is more of a secondary challenge for most, where the top layer (the cheese) is losing their home, dying grandparents, financial difficulties, and a large variety of other personal layers.
The CT Scan
The scan was NOT a challenge. It didn’t even rank as an herb in the Challenge Lasagna. The Radiology department was running early. I walked in to a brand new recliner and a Pina colada. Well, the drink for the contrast was pineapple flavored anyway, not quite up to the standards of the beverage it mimics.
CTScan Machine
The machine was the narrow doughnut shaped experience. “Take a deep breath and hold it, 9,8,7,… Breath normally.” The bed slid through one direction, moved back. Then the dye was injected.
Flushing the Port
Good news – the port was accessed for the dye. Two birds with one stone. A person with a port has to have it flushed every two or three months. It happens far more frequently in chemo. But anytime the port is used, it has to be cleaned. Cat scan and port flush, all in one go.
To vomit or not to vomit
The dye is so strange. It courses through the veins, creating heat and waves of strange sensation. Decades ago, when they didn’t have it worked out in quite the same way, I told the man behind the glass, “I’m going to vomit”. He thought that was a really bad idea (it was), and told me I was not. Luckily, after an argument, he was correct!
Now, the person behind the machine says, “You may feel like you are urinating. You are not.” This has been my game three times in four months, nothing new. The dye goes in, and the process of going through the machine repeats twice. Painless experience, and with wonderful, healing people.
The results are immediate in the Urgent Care. But they take time in the real world of medicine. And so I am waiting.
Waiting for the results
I have been talking about fear, and this is hiding in the shadows of my mind. Shining the light back there, the news could be extraordinarily miraculous. “There is no site of cancer in your body”. The news could be extraordinarily perplexing. “There is so much cancer. We don’t know how you are still alive.” Equally miraculous. Somewhere in between: highly likely.
But there is an emotion connected to the result either way. Fear. Do I want to know? It does not change anything. It does not help in any way to keep the results a secret.
Emotions can have many names. Fear can be renamed. It could be anticipation, resolution, excitement…
It might be the sauce in each layer of the lasagna. Can we make Challenge Lasagna without fear, without the sauce?
How is it that there are eyes in this nation that do not see? Minds that cannot interpret? How is it that the repetitions of the past are playing out boldly, powerfully, and there are so many jumping in on the eventual side of “wrong”, of hate, of greed and power?
I opened Facebook, and looked at the box. I typed my thoughts and perceptions… then backspaced until the box was empty. I tried again, a different version of the same thoughts. Backspaced. It was as if I was out of politics into the fire.
Is there a point to expressing what I see? Preaching to the choir. Opening Pandora’s box to add my fear to mingle with the rest. Fear. I am pushing it away from every direction.
I have kids (in all forms). I have grandchildren, indirectly, and probably directly in time. Fear. Fear for them, for the future.
They are strong people. They are chosen people. There are no mistakes in omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence. There is only the misperception of my human mind.
But what about history? What about looping? What about the fate of a nation?
All around me, I quietly watch as the actions of dictatorship rise. I attended history classes. I even enjoyed many of the stories. Ima Weed was an Herbalist in Oregon Territory. I’m a Weed. I’ve always wondered if the term “weed” arrived in our vocabulary during her lifetime.
Some stories are not my favorites, because of the ramifications. And some of the stories are not my favorites, because they are fully twisted to suit dominant white supremacy.
How is it that there are eyes in this nation that do not see? Minds that cannot interpret? How is it that the repetitions of the past are playing out boldly, powerfully, and there are so many jumping in on the eventual side of “wrong”, of hate, of greed and power?
micheleplumbstowell.org 