rosemary phelan
  • welcome
  • contact

blueprint

2/13/2012

3 Comments

 
Picture

Today we walk in bright awe through silent woodland cathedral, Sanjee and I.  A deep cobalt sky pierced with sunlight ignites blinding sparks in fresh snow. Twisted oaks rise, dark latticework against the vaulted arch of heaven ringed with evergreen  spires.  All is hushed.

Snow, everywhere snow.  How many flakes in this meadow, in that stand of poplars? And each one unique, this we have been taught, and indeed it has been studied and proven.  The thought is mind-boggling; it’s a concept that can only be processed by the heart.

Now, we also know that every single perfect crystal begins life looking exactly the same as all the others – exactly. It is the journey that changes them. No two crystals will follow precisely the same path from clouds to earth, be met by the very same winds and   obstacles, have the same speed of descent. Each will be shaped by its journey, to end unique among snowflakes.  And the consummation of all this traveling is a seamless interlocking with numberless, distinctly different others in a radiant winter blanket, insulating, and later, melting to nourish the greening earth.

By the end of its fall to earth, each snowflake will have attained a new kind of perfection. From the original blueprint of its creation (and in keeping with its inherent symmetry), it will have forged an exquisite new design that can never be duplicated. Singular beauty and purposeful function are equally present; wonder and practicality walking hand in hand.

Snow.  Another roadmap in nature’s travel guide, for those times when we lose our way.


3 Comments

surprised by love

2/2/2012

5 Comments

 
Picture
Dear Traveler,

Some of you are well-acquainted with our health care system's well-oiled (or in some cases, not so much) cancer care machine. If you become a patient, it goes like this: symptoms -> tests -> diagnosis -> plan -> treatment -> follow-up -> follow-up -> follow-up. Once you're plugged in and on the conveyor, if you're at a large medical centre you may meet a dozen people who will be involved in your care. Most of them will be excellent at their jobs (if a bit tired from overwork) but rely heavily on the rote method of dealing with your "intake" and "processing"  through all the phases of your care. With true respect and sincere gratitude for how hard these people work: there are very few original thinkers in the above-described  scenario, and even fewer true healers. No matter how well-intended, the system does not allow for any deviation. If you're fortunate, you'll feel a real confidence in your oncologist as a good diagnostician and excellent technician, and have a crackerjack nurse you can direct all your questions to. This is a wonderful thing, a great privilege in this world, and the best we can hope for. Yet there are rare individuals working in the system who manage, by some grace, to bring a bit of something special to the table. In all my years as a nurse I'm reasonably sure I can count the ones I've met on two hands. I met one of those, an oncologist, the other day.

I accompanied my friends Andy and Helen to their first clinic visit on the road to Andy's healing from colon cancer. We attended a beautifully appointed free-standing cancer care centre and it was a confidence-inspiring setting to be in, if a bit impersonal. We awaited Andy's care team-to-be in a small examination room, and eventually the junior surgeon appeared and stayed for a lengthy visit. I can say without a doubt he was, as surgeons go, the best teacher I have ever met (and I've been to scores of these first appointments). I was grateful for his communication skills and transparency; I had to ask very few of the hardball questions I was there to ask, as he explained things so beautifully. And, I was thrilled for my friend Andy to find himself in such good care. But the best was yet to come. Dr. A eventually left us to make some inquiries about Andy's case, and he returned with the chief of surgery for this division, and the rest of the team. The primary nurse/case manager made a huge impression on Andy (rightfully so - she is a gem) and he developed an immediate rapport with his new medical muse. But I was struck by the chief oncologist. His presence - and he was SO VERY present - was outside the box in some way. I studied him as he spoke with Andy and Helen. He was relaxed. He was all there. He was not dragged down by the system and its overwork, though he was an older man, and a professor as well as chief surgeon (and who knows - maybe a family man as well). Then he said some things that were very much not part of the usual script. He said he doesn't believe in predictions; he is very much a one-step-at-a-time kind of guy. He said he isn't fussy about certain things (and mentioned a few things that other docs are typically very fussy about). He radiated a peaceful confidence and authority that came from the wisdom of experience. But there was more there: love. As unlikely as it seemed, this man was anchored in it, unshakeable. As he wrote up his paperwork he asked me about the nature of my relationship with Andy and Helen, and we responded that I am a friend. Still looking down at his papers, he said gently "oh? then you're not in the medical field in any way?"  Busted. (How do they always know?) I responded that I'm a nurse, but was there as a friend and fellow cancer survivor, ovarian, to be specific. He asked kindly who had cared for me and I told him; it was someone he knew. Moments later the session wrapped up, and the team all shook hands with each of us. As Dr. S, chief of surgery, left the room, he stopped ever so briefly beside my chair and laid his hand on my shoulder. Acknowledgement and compassion flowed from his hand. I was stunned to recognize the touch of a true healer. A healer who is surviving as such in a system that seems designed to make such a feat impossible. It was a bright, unforgettable moment, filled with hope.

For the next day and a half, I was a bit undone. I cried easily, with no clue as to why. Then I realized: it was that compassionate touch by a knowing stranger, that acknowledgement of what I had been through, delivered with love and understanding. After such a long spell of being strong, of steering the bow straight into the waves in the storm, I cried over the immensity of it all. And I cried for joy that this was the man who would be looking after my friend Andy.

Dr. S has, I'm sure, no clue of his effect upon me, and probably upon others far too numerous to count. He was just being himself. That's the power we have. A good reminder to me to *always* be my best self, 'cause you never know what the ripple effect might be.


5 Comments

a time of vision

12/31/2011

0 Comments

 
Picture
Dear Traveler,

It's been a while... here we are, poised on the threshold of a shiny new year. I believe it will be a year unlike any we have ever seen, filled with hope, progress, new vision, and greater understanding. We live in wondrous times.


Last summer, I was extremely honoured to be asked to contribute a feature piece for publication in Ars Medica: a Journal for Medicine, the Arts, and Humanites. The piece was published in the Fall issue, and I just received my copy a week or so ago. Many of you have asked to read the article, and since Ars Medica doesn't currently publish an online version, I thought I would post it here for you (just click on the file below to read the word.doc.)

Thank you for all your lovely emails and kind support during 2011. May your road this year be more "wild honey", and less "hardscrabble."    :) 

With love and a deeply felt wish for many blessings in 2012 ~  rosemary

arsmedica.doc
File Size: 72 kb
File Type: doc
Download File

0 Comments

what's in a word?

6/20/2011

2 Comments

 
Picture
cure [kyoor], noun: successful remedial treatment; restoration to health.

remission  [ri-mish-uhn], noun: abatement or diminution, as of… intensity, etc.

Dear Traveler,

The medical community does not use the word “cure” in relation to cancer, but prefers the term “remission”. Why is this?

Dr. Ed Zimney, M.D. tell us: “… even when a person is in remission, there may be microscopic collections of cancer cells that cannot be identified by current techniques. This means that even if a person is in remission, they may, at some future time, experience a recurrence of their cancer.” (Bold letters mine).

Hm. By this logic, it would seem we should all consider ourselves “in remission” from chickenpox (which may later re-emerge as shingles), TB (which bacteria nearly all of us carry in a dormant state), and for that matter, the common cold. After all, if these theoretical "microscopic collections" of cancer cells are so microscopic, our bodies have a very good chance of cleaning them up (and the more we can do to help facilitate this, the better).

The word remission conveys the notion of a temporary lull, and hints at inevitable recurrence. Here lies great danger; the danger of inciting chronic fear, dread, hopelessness – and so, at the very worst, self-fulfilling prophesy.

As unpleasant as it is to realize, there is a “cancer economy”, and given that fact, it follows that there are certain parties with a vested interest in keeping tabs on the “cancer population”; keeping them “in the system” if you will.  But I won’t digress into that discussion here, and I'm not suggesting that those with a history of cancer shouldn't maintain vigilance in monitoring their health. I only wish to point out that it is not the patients who decide the terminology by which they are described and identified – sometimes for life.  Labeled (even by well-meaning physicians) as “cancer patients in remission”, we are never free of the taint of illness even if we have overcome it. How can this be good for our health?

Though the medical community may (for various reasons) find it too risky, there is no one to stop us – patients, families, friends, and loved ones – from exercising the right to use positive, life-affirming words to describe the successful recovery from one of the 21st century’s most complicated and insidious  illnesses.

Healed.    Recovered.    Healthy.    Whole.    Well.    Cured.

Let’s take back the power. Who knows… it just might lead to fewer recurrences.

With love ~  rosemary

2 Comments

Lifesaving 101: A Mini Booklist

6/8/2011

2 Comments

 
Picture
Dear Traveler,

During the first six months of my recovery from surgery and chemo, I read twenty or so very good books. A number of them related to the healing journey I found myself on, and of those, a few were truly noteworthy. By request, here is a list of some of the books I found extremely helpful in dealing with major, life-altering illness. I hope it’s of some value to you and yours.

With love,
rosemary

1)  Radical Remission
: Surviving Cancer Against All Odds
        Dr. Kelly Turner, PhD.

Dr. Turner's Doctoral thesis led to this groundbreaking work, ten years in the making. Finding 1000 cases of so-called "spontaneous remissions" in the medical journals, as a researcher she set out to find the commonalities between all the patients who had survived despite an extremely poor prognosis
--many of them after being sent home with mere weeks to live. Her approach is one of hard science, but she also allows the survivors to speak for themselves, giving us insight into their own, very human experience of cancer survival. This book tops my list for a good reason. Dr. Turner offers 9 steps that all the survivors have in common, something which had never been studied. To paraphrase Dr. Turner: if we're going to fight the war against cancer, we should take some cues from those who've already won.

2)  Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life
       David Servan-Schreiber, M.D.

This book is an excellent primer for anyone living with cancer. Dr. Servan-Schreiber is the voice of experience, having survived brain cancer in the 1990’s to go on and create a practical, wise, holistic paradigm for managing the illness that straddles both sides of the medical / natural healing fence. Though not against chemo and radiation when the severity of the situation demands it, he is strong on a natural, easily achievable approach. The DVD is also excellent. Paraphrasing my favourite passage from the live lecture: “Some people believe that I am spreading false hope by teaching that cancer can be managed, and sometimes even prevented, by natural means. I say the evidence for this is so strong that to NOT tell you about it is to spread false hopelessness.” 

3)   Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow
       Elizabeth Lesser

Truth be told, I’m not much of a self-help literature enthusiast; I typically derive my inspiration from other sources. But sudden, serious illness requires a fancy quick-step of internal reorganization, and this book came highly recommended by a wise friend. When we first fall ill, it’s truly helpful if we can get our thoughts and emotions organized without delay, and find some inner direction that feels constructive and positive. The stories in this book are the kind that can spark the reflection process and help you find meaning amidst the madness.

4)  The 22 Non-Negotiable Laws of Wellness  
       Greg Anderson

Although the title sounds self-help-ish, this is no new-age manifesto, but a beautifully moving treatise on twenty-two timeless values that, when understood, can transform an ordinary life into a magnificent one. Greg Anderson had advanced lung cancer, had already lost one lung, and finally was told he had about a month to live. While lying in his bed those final days, he undertook some inner work that eventually led to a full recovery. He wrote this book eleven years later, in 1995, and continues to write and teach to this day. That says it all; if someone who has done THAT wants to tell me how he achieved it, I’m all ears. It’s a truly meaningful book.

5)   The Gift: Creativity and the Artist in the Modern   World  - Lewis Hyde

If you are an artist of any kind, this book is very life-and-purpose- affirming (and all things life-affirming are  extremely valuable if you’re literally fighting for your life). It clearly expresses the true role and meaning of artists in society, and the struggles they encounter trying to exist in a market economy. Hyde speaks of the “gift economy” that all true art is inherently anchored in, and how we can bring this to life. Part anthropology, part story, part sociology, I found it a deeply worthwhile read.

6)  Letters to a Young Artist
       Julia Cameron

The device is based on Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet” and personally I would have been just as happy for a straightforward sharing of the life wisdom it contains. Just the same, this book is a good kick in the pants – actually many good kicks in the pants – to just get up and do. This was important for me when I was feeling physically wretched. Every line written, every colourful stitch taken, every sketch finished is a victory, and a statement that you are alive and moving forward. These small acts of doing are immensely healing, and we can do a little something every day even if we’re a physical and emotional wreck. Keep doing, and we keep moving toward wellness of spirit, and hopefully, body.

7)   Earthing
       Stephen Sinatra, M.D., Martin Zucker, Clinton Ober

This book kicked around our house for weeks before I could get past the title enough to pick it up (“Earth-ing? Really?) I’m glad I finally did, because I believe it’s a really important book. Earthing refers to grounding; being physically connected to the earth (just like your Rogers cable.) Basically the book relates a wisdom possessed by our grandmothers, with the support of reams of modern, empirical data to back it up: you can’t grow a decent cabbage indoors, never mind a healthy human being. The free exchange of electrons between the earth and our bodies balances us electrically and waylays the chain of events that leads to inflammation (which in turn leads to most modern illnesses.) In industrialized nations, humans (and often pets) have become so disconnected from the earth that this natural exchange no longer has an opportunity to take place, with dire consequences. The information is sensible, the data believable, and the stories of healing ring true. Well worth getting past the title, I believe this book holds some very important keys to health and healing in the age of condo-living and office towers.

8) Dying to Be Me

    Anita Moorjani

This book gives an uplifting
, personal account of one woman's experience of surviving cancer after actually entering final days, slipping into a coma, and being admitted to hospital to die. She awoke from her coma, and three weeks later was sent home, cancer-free. Though it sounds incredible, this is a true story, and well-documented by the medical community.

There are so many books I could add! Perhaps I'll post a second list in the future, Be well, all - Rosemary


2 Comments

the power to heal

1/22/2011

4 Comments

 
Picture
Dear Traveler,

Greetings! The new year is underway, and I hope all is well for you.

Last evening, a gifted fellow songwriter whom I’m also privileged to call my friend surprised me with a new song, saying “I wrote it for you.” I sat beside her as she sang, bathed in the warmth and beauty of her voice and guitar. To say I felt honoured can’t begin to capture the breadth of my experience of her gift. The words and music, permeated with loving intent, reverberated in the deep places of my heart, and I felt healing take place. Inner wounds I was not even aware of seemed to spontaneously close, leaving no mark.

American writer Madeleine L’Engle calls this experience being "named.” When we are unkind or deceitful to another person, we un-name them; we steal a piece of their identity and self worth from them, which they must then labour to get back. Most of us struggle daily, trying to avoid allowing ourselves to be un-named  because sadly, it happens so frequently in many areas of our lives.

But when we offer a gift to someone, whether it be a thoughtful physical gift, or a gift of help, or of kindness, we are naming  them. We are acknowledging their worth and showing them new facets of their identity in a meaningful way, through our benevolent vision of them. This is the most powerful thing one human being can do for another. It is especially important for the recipient in times of illness, loss, or other difficulty, when the sense of wellbeing and wholeness is compromised.

Each of us has this power to heal. Each of us has the power to name. 

Thank you, Eve, for naming me last night; for helping me to re-collect my true self, for healing some lingering wounds I didn’t know were there.

Thank you to everyone who has ever named me.

Below (with her permission) are the lyrics to Eve’s wonderful song; hopefully some day I will have the audio version to post for you; it’s a real beauty.

Be well.
With love,
rosemary
                                 *  *  *  *  * * * * * * * * *


mighty wren                   (eve goldberg)

well I heard a little wren
calling down from glen to glen
her song was sweet, her notes rang true
as from branch to branch she flew

she said we don’t have long to stay
we’re passing through, we’re on our way
yes, you and I are traveling souls
trying to make what’s broken whole

oh little wren, you’re a tiny thing
we knock you down, and still you sing
how can you carry on your song
how do you keep your spirit strong

traveler you have strength as well
deep inside is where it dwells
if you but seek, you shall find
the tools to mend the traveling kind

           She said the wild heart is a fragile thing
            It feels the world and its bitter sting
            So we send a prayer into the great unknown
            And a song returns – we’re not alone

she sang of water, trees and sky
i listened well and i learned why
whatever trials tomorrow brings
the wild heart will always sing

           She said the wild heart is a fragile thing
            It feels the world and its bitter sting
            So we send a prayer into the great unknown
            And a song returns – we’re not alone

well I heard a mighty wren
calling down from glen to glen
her song was sweet, her notes rang true
as from branch to branch she flew

4 Comments

a bright new year

1/3/2011

3 Comments

 
Picture
For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.    T. S. Eliot

Many bright blessings of the New Year to you and yours, dear traveler.  xo
3 Comments

why fake it?

12/28/2010

3 Comments

 
Picture
  Dear Traveler,

“The nicest people get cancer” said my friend the other day. Like me she’s a nurse and a keen observer of things, so it really set me thinking.

What’s up with that?

We’re all familiar with the “type A personality”; the person who is constantly driven, the over-achiever who often becomes a cardiac patient once their relentless pace wreaks enough havoc on the heart and cardiovascular system.  Similarly, one fairly recent series of studies has arrived at the theory of a “type C personality”, a profile that fits such a large percentage of cancer patients (especially in the female population) it can’t be ignored. Being “nice” is one of the main attributes, along with being self-sacrificing, experiencing more than the usual ration of trauma and grief in life, a sense of overwhelming obligation, chronic (hidden) inner conflict, and above all, a sense of helplessness regarding the ability to change one’s situation.

Just to be clear, no one is saying that this particular stellium of characteristics is going to lead to having cancer, and no one is saying that working to change them will cure cancer. What’s being postulated is this:

We all carry cancer cells in our bodies, but only some of us will get cancer.*  Genetics aside, the rest have an immune system healthy enough to quell the activities of wayward cells before they can aggregate into a tumour.  Those whose physical "terrain" supports the replication of cancer cells, and whose immune systems are compromised, may end up with tumours. Certain physical and emotional conditions work together to create this "cancer-hospitable" terrain.

What makes for a healthy immune system, then? The newly emerging field of psychoneuroimmunology is fascinating, and volumes have been written which address the question of "terrain". So, where does being “nice” fit in?

“Niceness” is a learned behaviour. No one is born nice. We may be born with the capacity for forgiveness, and compassion, and other inner qualities, which, if nurtured, will blossom and become part of our emerging personality. “Niceness”, on the other hand, is a veneer, and one that’s toxic to the environment of our personal ecology. It sits on the surface like a hard shell, glossing over our actions, feelings, and expressions, keeping the truth below the surface where it backs up and begins to ferment. Dishonesty predicated on “niceness”, even if kindly intended (and no matter how seemingly inconsequential), blocks the flow of life force through our bodies. If we keep this up, after a while the truth of what we feel becomes tainted and cloudy, and we’re no longer sure of our feelings. In time our “niceness” is all we have left to rely on; we’ve learned it well. But the price we pay is high: we feel an emptiness; we have ceased to be real. The fire and courage have gone out of our lives. And maybe out of our immune systems.

To take that one step further, even a person with evil intent can be nice. A pedophile can be “nice”. So is “niceness” what we really need to be reaching for if what we want is to add goodness to this world?

What I’m learning is this: we’d be better off if we forget about being nice.  What the world needs is for us to be loving. Love can be expressed in myriad ways, and is the greatest medicine we have for all our ills. Compassion is real – let’s be compassionate. Gentleness is a blessing – let’s be gentle. All these qualities are real; they are not a “veneer”. They are true expressions of the goodness that is latent within us, that is inherent in our humanity and our divinity. The expression of true compassion, of true kindness, is active and fiery, not meek and self-sacrificing (ask anyone who ever met Mother Theresa.) It carries great power and can create real change, and alleviate suffering. The superficial veneer of socially-approved “niceness” is a cinder that burns up in its light.

If we begin to be truly loving, in the end we won’t have to worry about being “nice.” Loving-kindness is full of grace, and is never destructive but always healing. Love doesn’t speak with arrogance, or selfishness, or mal-intent. I guess you could say love is the nicest thing there is.

So why fake it?

With love,
rosemary

* from “Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life” by David Servan-Schreiber, M.D., Ph.D.

3 Comments

be like the deer

12/5/2010

8 Comments

 
Picture
Dear Traveler,
This made me think of you, so here I am to share it.

At the end of yesterday morning’s meditation and prayer time, the image of a nearby demolition site floated into my awareness. A large, historical building was torn down, and during the ensuing five-year tussle over who should be allowed to rebuild there (and how high), nature has reclaimed the space. A half-acre concrete slab, bordered by asphalt and littered with gravel and broken bricks, now sprouts a wildly abstract carpet of audacious weeds and hopeful saplings. The bright spirits of the neighborhood arts community interweave the surrounding chain link fence with ephemeral art and benevolent signage in an ever-changing public canvas. New life reigns (and rains) in the fought-over but otherwise neglected territory.

Everything wants to return to nature.  

What is man-made is mostly unsustainable. A building, an amusement park – even a farm; none of these can replenish themselves. Nature is in a constant, reliable, and never-ending state of renewal. As in the example of the abandoned building site above, nature will subtly but powerfully heal a wound wherever it finds one. Our bodies, if not our spirits, are part of and governed by nature. If most of our diseases are man-made, should we not also be able to heal if we “get out of the way” and let nature address our wounds?

How do we do this? Granted, some illnesses have an acute onset or are life-threatening, and need immediate addressing by whatever means will be life-saving. But afterwards, in the healing time, we can still turn to nature, and with respect and humility, learn to work with its compassionate intelligence.  

Think of a hatching chick, persevering for hours or days to peck its way out of its shell, gaining strength for the life ahead. The hen never interferes with this process, living in a state of acceptance that all is as it should be. Think of those remarkable wind-bent pines growing along the timber line, sometimes on sheer cliff faces. They send out their roots, gripping tenaciously wherever the smallest pocket of soil is found. And they survive, bringing such poignant beauty to the landscape. Surely our own well-being is worth the same effort. Here’s the kicker: sometimes the effort lies in doing nothing except what comes naturally (or would if we’d let it).

What seems difficult to our thinking minds is simple when we’re flowing with nature’s way. I’d never say easy, just simple. For example, the depth of relaxation that promotes real healing is one of the most difficult things for 21st century humans to achieve. It requires no particular action, yet at the same time it’s not about sipping margaritas on the beach (which is more like pressing the “pause” button for a brief moment in an otherwise stressful life; nothing really changes.) What I’m learning is that true relaxation is a state of intense aliveness, vibrant, fully engaged, and joyful; it involves not doing all the things that prevent the free flow of life from coursing through our bodies. Not thinking too much, just be-ing more. Not suppressing creativity, desires, emotions, but either shifting them or giving them expression, as appropriate. Think of grazing deer… completely relaxed and at one with their natural surroundings (and their own inner natures), yet poised and alert – in other words, fully alive.

There will always be casualties of illness and injury, for various reasons. Sometimes despite our best efforts things just can’t change quickly enough, and we all know the state of the planet makes it virtually impossible for anyone, anywhere, to be 100% healthy. That said, there is nothing preventing every single one of us from walking a grace-filled healing journey; learning, accepting, awakening.  That’s my wish for us all.

Be like the deer.

With love,  rosemary
8 Comments

alone together

12/2/2010

4 Comments

 
Picture
  Dear Traveler,
It’s been a while…I hope you’re well.

Recently I've heard about more than one person who is feeling very "alone" in their illness, prompting me to share this story.

While soaking in the tub not long ago, the memory of my first shower after “the big surgery” came flooding back to me (so to speak.) On reflection, I’m amazed to realize how very weak I was, and that I risked getting into the shower by myself at all. But Oxycodone maketh giddy the prudent mind, and I had been looking forward to a real soak for days. Drugged and dizzy, a-showering I did go. At first it felt wonderful – Independence! Hot water everywhere!  Ahh… everything was going to be OK! 

A few moments later, every bit of the strength I’d mustered suddenly spiraled down the drain. I checked; no reserves. I stood grasping the wall, exhausted and shaking. Afraid of falling head-first on the hard porcelain and tile, I didn’t try to move, nor did I have the lung power to call out for help. OK, I thought to myself; you have to solve this problem on your own, right here and now, before you fall. “Treat yourself as you would one of your patients”, I heard, from somewhere inside. OK, what would I do? (What would you do?)

In retrospect I acted on intuition, and the images make me laugh now. I moved my right hand slowly toward my left arm, making sure not to throw myself off balance. I patted my left arm kindly, and whispered “It’s alright, honey. I know you’re really tired, and this is scary, but you’re going to be OK. Here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to rinse away all the soap, then we’re going to turn off the water and step out of the tub. We’ll dry off, and you can go lay down on your nice, comfortable bed. You’ll be fine – I’m right here, holding on to you.” I felt a tiny surge of strength, my balance stabilized. “Honey” cried a few anxious tears, but she hung on and we made it out of the shower safely.

Please try this approach some time if you’re struggling or in danger, and there’s no help at hand. Nuts, you say? Well, sometimes we have to be a little bit desperate to open ourselves up to solutions. I don’t know who or what whispered in my ear, and I don’t need to know. I’m grateful. The suggestion worked beautifully, and after some time, I believe I’m beginning to understand why.

When we’re sick or injured, even when we’re really sick or badly injured, a large part of us is still OK. We feel  terrible; we’re in pain, we’re scared, we’re going to throw up… maybe all of the above. But here’s the thing: if we’re conscious, our heart is still beating. Our lungs are still expanding and contracting, exchanging gases, breathing. In all likelihood our bones are holding together and our muscles and nerves are enabling them to move. Our minds can still think, our hearts feel. With all of that happening, we have a lot going for us and can say to ourselves “Well now; part of me is sick (or emotionally wounded, or physically injured), but another part is well, and from that vantage point I can help the sick/damaged part.” If, dear Traveler, you’re a parent or have ever helped another in need when you yourself were not at your best, you’ve already practiced this. All that remains is to apply it to your self.

This becomes a very empowering skill when we use it consciously. For one thing, it means we’re never alone, never helpless, because we can always depend on ourselves. To have the love and support of friends and family in times of struggle is an immeasurable gift; yet even without it, gifts abound. To dig deep into the well of our own resources when the need is greatest makes us wealthy… we find riches there we might never have found otherwise. If you’re seriously ill and are being cared for by dear friends and family members, it’s a blessing. If you have a committed life partner who selflessly participates in your efforts to save your life as if his/her life also depended on it, you’re (both) doubly blessed. If you’re on your own, you still have the best helper any of us can have: yourself. Not only that, you’re three times blessed, because you will emerge from your difficulties with new courage, clearer vision, and a peaceful self-confidence you never dreamed you could possess – because you worked for and found it yourself. Now you can share your new strength with those in need, and with the whole world.

So, dear Traveler, whether you’re wondrously healthy or facing some trying health challenges, remember: you’re never alone. If you’re constantly surrounded by caring people, count your blessings, but make time occasionally to reach into your private well of resources so you don’t miss out on the treasures there. And if you’re on your own, you’re one step ahead. You’re already reaching, and growing richer by the day.

With love ~  rosemary

PS – we all need some help with a few basic things when we’re ill… we need groceries delivered, and laundry done, and the bills paid. If you’re having trouble with the basics, there are people and organizations that can help. If you don’t know how to find them, please email me and I’ll try and point you in the right direction.

4 Comments
<<Previous

    hardscrabble
    & wild honey

    Picture
    Like all life's roads, the path through serious illness can be filled with wonder. My odyssey had its start
    in October of 2010 (see archives below), so that's where these chronicles begin...

    archives

    February 2012
    December 2011
    June 2011
    January 2011
    December 2010
    October 2010

    RSS Feed