May 2020 – micheleplumbstowell.org

66. Pain Interpretation

Do you know what hurts most? Medical tape. Ripping off the tape. Swear words spoken in every language stream across consciousness when the tape comes off.

The system in the body that interprets pain is insane, crazy, and just makes no sense. I don’t have human control. Jack Schwarz had human control. He could stop the bleeding. Control the pain. On television, they drove a sail needle (like a thick nail) through his flesh. Not a flinch, not a drop of blood.

My receptors are off their rockers, dancing with the Minnions, way past Looney Tunes. If I was doing another half century on this ride, I might explore more. You can do it for me. You can have the skills that Jack had. They are inside the Universal capability.

For me, I will observe. Do you know what hurts most? Medical tape. Ripping off the tape. Swear words spoken in every language stream across consciousness when the tape comes off.

Adhesive blisters. I have a couple of blisters that formed under the tape around my port. The port is that Borg device under the skin on my chest. When I stepped in the door, home for the first time, they burned and throbbed. What about the four inch zipper in my lower abdomen? Nothing.

Blood draws and IV placement in the back of the hands. The worst. And my hands hold memory. They will complain for months. They were still nagging about the last time in the hospital. Sharing their memories. Causing echo pain. And today the new bruises span from middle finger to pinkie, purple and sad. Sigh. There will be a lot of apologies and discussions with the hands. For the record, I did ask to protect them. I did try.

And the new colon opening in my upper left? Quiet.

65. Forgetting

I probably assured people by phone and text that, yes, I am alive… again, still, miraculously. I went in thinking that I would probably come out. The Divine has its own plan.

Today will be the second day at home, the Saturday after the surgery. The surgery happened in the not-yet-to-be-called morning hours of Sunday.

I am forgetting. I can’t remember the details. I am not sure that any story I tell from this week has an ounce of concrete truth.

Is it the mind or the body that has this necessary and indecipherable skill? Part of me knows every detail of the surgery, of the words spoken, of the incredible undertaking and dance that both body and surgical team traversed.

Part of me remembers the inability to open my eyes, or the first time to stand, or the rise and fall of the initial pain. But it is fading so rapidly. When I type, it comes out in tears that make no sense. The tears are the unprocessed pain, the emotional response that has to pass through.

It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t supposed to make sense.

The first two days in the hospital are a blur. I know the drill at this point. Every few hours, the team checked vitals, drew blood, listened for the alarms. There were a lot of alarms. This IV had completed. The pulse oximeter suggested oxygen. Occlusion in a line. People in and out.

And I did my part. I walked the loop. I sat in the chair. I took shallow breaths that were as deep as my lungs would go. And I slept. And slept again.

I probably assured people by phone and text that, yes, I am alive… again, still, miraculously. I went in thinking that I would probably come out. The Divine has its own plan. I wasn’t fully certain. But I am a very logical person. This isn’t logical timing.

Shante and Mark are moving north in less than a month. Rosanna’s sloth baby shower is in the making. These are important, deeply loved people, doing enormous, complex, life altering things. It’s the wrong time to die. Logical mind says so. And God, smiling at my childish, human wishes, allowed it to be so.

50. Sunset

We are dying. Our cells are dying. Our beliefs are dying. Our world is not the same from moment to moment to glorious next moment.

We are only half way through Page 93 of the “Medicine Woman Inner Guidebook”.

“Like the setting sun, I am death to that which has been of this day; yet I promise renewal. (Good news, that aligns with my idea of the pain moving on.) When there is no way out, I come. I am kind. Only I can offer the opportunity to leave behind the unsolvable problems. I am firm. There is no return to what has been. Through me, you are called to the Creator. You are called to listen once more to the Great Plan and the part you must play in it. I am the end of life as you have known it. I am the beginning of what you have not yet imagined.”

I didn’t search for this chapter in the book. I opened the page. I typed the quote, reread it. Reread it again.

“Like the setting sun, I am death to that which has been of this day; yet I promise renewal.” Carol Bridges

We are dying. Our cells are dying. Our beliefs are dying. Our world is not the same from moment to moment to glorious next moment.

We are being reborn. “There is no return to what has been.” Our cells are shifting and changing. Our minds and spirits are growing in leaps and bounds, never the same the next day or the next.

49. Chemo: Round 3, When It Sucks

I am drinking lots of water, even now, to help clear the chemotherapy, and whatever else I have mucked up with my choices. And the pain will teach me. And it will move on.

It’s Cycle 3, Day 4, 2am. All week I have been looking at the wonders of my world, at how ideally my body, mind and spirit have been living. Ideal, ideal, ideal, crash!

I realize that the crash is just a bunch of moments that will pass. But there is pain! I am not a fan.

This is what landed me in the hospital. The pain. It is unnerving. It makes all of my compensation skills puzzle. I am not a medication person… and I have the option of hard narcotics. I don’t take them (yet?).

I walk. I do yard work (not at 2am). I play games with my mind, asking it to notice what is this pain. Is it heat? Is it a message? Who is speaking, colon, liver, kidney? What should I do differently (perhaps the Bailey’s Mousse was an over the top choice at Woodfire Grill. Maybe the alcohol was not cooked out. No alcohol.) Distraction.

Distraction. When I type, the mind focuses here. I can split my focus and feel deep, nagging, throbbing sensations in my colon. Or I can stay up in the head and down in the fingertips, and not feel it at all. Pain is weird.

Yes, I took Tylenol. Yes, all of the normal drugs and supplements are on board for today too. I am drinking lots of water, even now, to help clear the chemotherapy, and whatever else I have mucked up with my choices. And the pain will teach me. And it will move on.

47. Miracle People

And you are a Miracle Person (intentionally redundant). We are honored by your presence. We rejoice in your breath. We appreciate every heartbeat. You make a difference, just by being yourself, just by being in the present world. It is very individual to me right now, and hopefully I can share how you have changed my life. I am so honored and touched!

Everyone is a “miracle person”. We don’t beat our hearts, regenerate our cells, breath our breaths. Whatever does that is a miracle, no matter the spiritual/religious/scientific principle that rules the mind.

But when I think of Miracle People, I think of those who have defied the odds. A lot of you have done that, and either recognize or do not recognize it. I lived through a brush with death in 2007, when MRSA pulled my body to the edge.

Mom was (is) a clear miracle. She lived 13 years after a Pancreatic Cancer diagnosis. Who did that? No one did that back in the early 2000’s. Mom was stitched together by doctors, prayers and a Divine editor of some sort.

person in red and black plaid dress shirt sitting on brown log near body of water

You are a miracle!

I apologize ahead for this, because Wendi is a humble person. But she is a grand Miracle Person as well, having lived after being literally dead. I’m glad that choice was made by All that Is, ’cause I can’t imagine a world without her, and the gifts she shares, and all the gifts of history to young women in the Scouting community!

I could list so many of you. Christine could have popped off the planet this last winter, struggling with, what I never heard her call, advanced pneumonia, coupled with a second term miscarriage. Crazy! And we are all honored by her, and how she touches hearts with contributions smattered throughout our universe.

You are a Miracle Person. Maybe a quick save from death in a car collision. Maybe an obvious battle with addiction. Maybe a long medical battle, or a short mental one where you didn’t pull the trigger. You might have come through unspoken abuse that didn’t quite make it to death. It’s a long list.

35. Spiritual Ancestry

White Buffalo Calf Woman came to the People, and taught them as Jesus did. She taught the mystical, the spiritual, and the practical. And she left an assignment to continue her legacy.

Anytime I talk about religion, I feel compelled to mention that I do not have “one”.

Oxymoron: a figure of speech where apparently contradictory terms appear in conjunction. Am I devoutly nonreligious? That causes confusion. The devout part is definitely true when standing alone. I am not devout in being nonreligious, I am non religiously devout.

In the last couple of years, I have had the honor of stepping into the lineage of the Cherokee ancestors. As I have studied and learned and cried with deep humiliation for my part in white ancestry. I have also embraced my connection to the same Great Spirit that has always been my God. And with that has also been a grounding to this existence, being on this planet, a part of the intertwining of all life.

A Cherokee who lives in the Pacific Northwest, White Horse Woman, sought to teach her children and grandchildren the path of their elders, but they showed little interest in the ways of the medicine woman. Starfeather appeared, willing, excited, and ready to absorb a Truth that already ran through her veins.

The ancestry evolves like this: White Buffalo Calf Woman came to the People, and taught them as Jesus did. She taught the mystical, the spiritual, and the practical. And she left an assignment to continue her legacy. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren continued the practices and passed the teachings. White Horse Woman is still living, but is close to transitioning from the planet. Starfeather is her spiritual child. And, in effect, I am White Horse Woman’s grandchild. Anyone who learns a “native principle or teaching” from me, if we sat somewhere as I told the story of the dreamcatcher and we wove the threads on the cedar ring, that classifies you as White Horse Woman’s spiritual Great Grandchild.

“Sacred Buffalo” by Gretchen Del Rio, original watercolor, 2013

It’s a construct. I made it up. But I think it honors the tradition. It honors the legacy of White Horse Woman. It connects the ancestry; it connects the cultures. There is a gift that is begging to be received.

33. Naked

I see myself as the elephant. People hold various parts and describe truths of how I appear in the world. But each evolving picture can only reference its own experience and interpretation. I stand naked.

Kwami is circling the wagons, all of the people of contact, all of the mutuality of paths and cross connection, all of the realization that we live elements of one life… I stand naked.

DeeDee asked if the unfolding felt comfortable, if I am okay with opening the journey to others in a group. I wondered why it could be an issue. I tend to believe that I am straightforward and honest, that what you see is who I truly am (in this character). Right now, the reality is unveiling itself. I stand naked.

The story of the blind men and the elephant comes to mind. Google it if you don’t know it by heart. I synopsize it like this: There is an elephant. A bunch of blind guys are touching the elephant. One holds the tail, another strokes the ear, yet another hugs an enormous leg, and so on. The men are then asked to describe the pachyderm. Ya, not similar descriptions, not similar at all.

The blind men and the elephant
(wall relief in Northeast Thailand)

So now I see myself as the elephant. People hold various parts and describe truths of how I appear in the world. But each evolving picture can only reference its own experience and interpretation. I stand naked. Luckily what you are holding is a toe, ’cause the options get dicey!

With the creation of a group, there is creation of cross referencing and hearing about other parts of who I have been or am. There are spaces and places that some have never considered, that just haven’t come up, that you just don’t know about me because, well, why would you? I’m on that pyramid, staff in hand, I stand naked.

So there is an odd discomfort. You have been holding my toe, and now you will have to consider that I have a nose (and there are boogers in there). And I have a plastic port for chemo under the skin on my chest, and it has left scars. And my feet stand apart from one another and hold me firmly to the ground, but as you hold my toe, did you know I had feet? And my spirituality runs an undercurrent that overwhelms the moon and stars, and makes my brain spin, and my body shiver with Kundalini energy. And I use the bathroom. And in honesty, I dislike the flavor of peppers. There is a lot of elephant. And I stand naked.

29. Echo

Gurgling intestines. Movement in the lower abdomen. Energy focusing to the area of the liver, the area of the masses… Fear?

A photo of a child full of fear describes how the author feels about her pain. — Fear from the pain of cancer is like a child full of fear

In the last day, a reminder, an echo, is passing through my body. The mind sees the similarities between the current body and the moments or days before I went to the hospital. It is not classic pain. I do not perceive most of the body interpretations as pain, not how people would think of it.

But it is a noticing. Our bodies are designed to react like this. If I put my hand on the hot stove one time, and suffered a burn, the body sends out a warning plea whenever I am near a hot stove. It means nothing. But there is a perception, a fear.

Fear is a child. It needs love. It needs comfort. It needs to be acknowledged and reminded that all is well in God’s Eternal realm. The journey is unfolding. All is well.

27. Terry Pratchett

Mr. Pratchett received a knighthood in 2009 for his services to literature. IAN NICHOLSON/AFP/Getty Images

Did you read the Tiffany Aching books yet? Did you start with Wee Free Men, work your way through, and finish with the Shepherd’s Crown, his last book before Death walked him across the black dessert to the Eternal?

First 4 Tiffany Aching Books by Terry Pratchett

Sometimes people wish they had asked for advice from someone before the person died. I’m obviously giving it as I write, regardless of request.

Reading any Disc World book will evolve you. It will bring laughter and light and fun to those who need it. Depth, insight, and “ah ha” moments will come to those who are looking. And for me, spirituality, interconnection, and peace ooze between every Terry Pratchett cover.

Shepherd's Crown by Terry Pratchett

My advice, don’t miss this part of earth life. Read the beloved English Knight.

(Terry was knighted for “service to literature” in 2009 and commented “I suspect the ‘services to literature’ consisted of refraining from trying to write any.” Serious literature, that is.)

25. Hair

New baby hairs are constantly popping up on the scalp. The hair is new, different, maybe grayer or more auburn. It’s growing in. It’s always been growing in.

Chemo makes hair change. The types I am on are not supposed to leave me bald, although it isn’t a big deal if it does. As much hair that I have, I am not attached.

I notice focus though. I see the amount of hair I pull out of my brush. I spin the hairs on the shower into a ball and toss them in the garbage. A lot of hair. It’s falling out. It’s always been falling out.

woman wearing white top — Photo by Garon Piceli on Pexels.com