Staph & Spirit III

     It's been over a month and a half since I last posted a blog. What happened to me was a predictable but nevertheless unexpected depression in response to my life-threatening experience with staph. It's very humbling if not embarrassing for me to admit that, but one of the signs of depression is a low energy level, a falling off of interest in things that "normally" engage us. Life just feels flat, and we function minimally if we're able to function at all. My wife said I just seemed to lack the joy and energy she's come to expect of me.

     Not to "should" on myself, but I had been warned that my recovery would be slow and mixed, two steps forward, one step back typically. I had sort of accepted that on the physical level, but implicitly behaved as if my psyche and spirit were immune from such bounces. I had even been told by some wise medical people that such a mixed process was part of the healing itself, a way our complex organism regroups and fixes itself. The old maxim that "everything happens for a reason," seems to me in this case to express the truth that the body and its mechanisms have a wisdom we would do well to heed. In the world's wisdom traditions, acceptance of what is (vs. what I would want) has often been held up as spiritually and psychologically sound.

     The gift and potential lesson in all this is to question my assumption that straight line recovery is the norm. Let me give an example from the past several weeks. If you know me, you know I love music of many kinds, rock, jazz, folk, choral, classical etc.  Mostly I stopped listening to music in the past several weeks, and when I did listen it was with no great feel or transport into a positive mood. Did I think I should be different? That could be arrogance that "I'm the boss of me!" The reality, I think, is that I'm not in lots of important ways. My depressed mood seems to correspond to a time of evident physical healing -- I really have gotten physically much better -- perhaps I needed to slow down, to rest . If I had been less depressed, maybe I would have charged into too much activity than was good for my healing. Looking back, the depression allowed me to care for myself in ways that I probably wouldn't have had I been my usual  frenetic self.

     "All will be well. And all will be well. And, all manner of things will be well." 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich was given these words by her Lord in a vision at her writing desk. The message has comforted countless people that a power greater than themselves has things in hand, that life can ultimately be trusted despite contrary evidence. Can I be grateful for my depression? Apparently.

Staph and Spirit, Part 2

     Last posting, I wrote about my illness and the trauma associated with it -- the real conviction that I was going to die or be permanently disabled. I said I mainly wanted to speak of the spiritual side of the experience. To do that, I recalled that two of the main convictions that I've come to based on my counseling many trauma survivors: trauma is a spiritual wound and requires a spiritual healing; and the second, the same God a person has before the trauma is not likely to survive the trauma.

     The first idea is based on the clear experience that trauma removes the sense of safety and relative predictability that life affords, at least as we go about our daily living. A good Buddhist or Hindu might chide us for being naive in such an unpredictable world, but my experience of people before and after any severe trauma is that we (Westerners, at least) all pretty much think the world is generally safe and that what we expect of life will pretty much be the story. Our mental health is unconsciously dependent on these assumptions. Imagine those being ripped out of you. That's certainly what I experienced, especially in those lonely sleepless nights in the hospital. In those moments, there was no safety for me - I felt so helpless I couldn't sleep for fear of not waking up. To make an obvious point, such feelings hit us at the deepest or spiritual level. Our spirit is changed fundamentally.  We don't feel at home in our own world.

     The second idea is related to the first. If I have any kind of higher power, whether God or a philosophic or scientific worldview or the inner self as God, that higher power doesn't work well anymore, if at all. The world I knew is overturned. There is no rescuer or comforting thought. Something new or at least different has to be found to replace the old, because living with radical uncertainty is pretty intolerable. I've seen too many trauma survivors get stuck in very partial "answers" like trying to reduce their life to a basement room or becoming workaholic (or otherwise addicted). The more fortunate go through their "dark night of the soul," and emerge with a different, but durable "something." That may take many shapes. One hallmark of such a shift, but  common, is an increase in compassion or empathy for other peoples' suffering. Another hallmark is a sense of mystery, whatever one's higher power may be -- less about words, more about deeper feelings of  connectedness, transcendence, purpose, perhaps being loved and cared for, as well as a newfound gratitude. Mysteriously, the trauma has eventually(although not inevitably) led to feeling a part of a much larger scheme of things.

     So what happened to me? In a nutshell, naming my fear and trauma to a good friend and fellow therapist, I was skillfully and compassionately aided in developing some very useful tools -- tools that helped me regulate those fear-based physical and emotional reactions. One tool was a personalized affirmation: "I am a strong, powerful warrior getting well." Repeating that alone several times countered the very negative thoughts my deep self harbored. Next, using the words of that same affirmation slowly and deliberately, I was asked to visualize myself doing my favorite sport, kayaking, in my favorite bay, with a left -right stroke of the paddle hitting each word of the affirmation. I cannot over-praise the power of that combination of word and image in quelling the fear that threatened to overwhelm me. It not only calmed, but helped me sleep, a very precious gift. I was so grateful for feeling safe.

     The third gift my colleague gave me involved three very specific fears, and the images we came up with together that came to regulate them. My three deepest fears were these: that my heart was damaged irreparably by the infection; that my lungs were also compromised permanently in their ability to allow me a full breath; and that my kidneys, those blessed filters and source of other important functions, like regulating blood pressure, were also damaged beyond repair. "How would you image your heart?" my friend asked. I answered, "As a continuously rythmical pumping spring, sourcing a woodland stream that flows gently downhill, giving life to many creatures." Then she asked, "Can you give me an image for your lungs?" I immediately answered, two big Red-tailed Hawks, downstream, lifting and lowering their wings slowly and powerfully, lifting and helping me fill and empty my lungs. And finally, I imaged my kidneys as a low pile of white quartz rocks, filtering the flowing water and making the water of the woodland stream even more pure and life-giving. Using these images, seeing myself walking down the gentle stream in the beautiful woods, I experienced an ability to breathe more deeply and gently let go of those three specific fears of damaged heart, lungs and kidneys. Without a doubt, this experience helped me heal as well as relax from my fear-driven loss of control. Once again, I felt safe.

     If I'm not crazy or delusional (and that may be in question!), this experience has some important clues as to how spirit may work in a crisis like this, using (with help from the right people) the very elements that tear us down to build us up. More on this next posting.