“It proved to be one giant, twisted, mindful experience.”
I remember an interesting chat with a guy a few years ago about life and what we both seek from it. We were of the same age, both educated and well-travelled. What was so interesting: we had very different notions about what a happy life makes. His preference was to live a monotonous life, without distractions as he called it. It was then – when I became more aware of my need for spontaneity, adventure, and social stimuli.
Is it then no wonder?
This year, my world has been turned upside down and slowly turned back up again. Just when I thought I was finally hitting steadier grounds, I ended up in hospital. I was first inclined to see it as a moment of weakness, fuelled by shock and embarrassment. I had, unconsciously, let my guards down. My very own, cruel verdict. Things happen for a reason, I now think. My life is no flatline. It could never be. Someone I’ve spent a great deal of time with this year, told me this much. I see her point now. Perhaps not something I ever doubted, but it’s been reaffirmed by recent events. Flatline life is not for me, accompanying risks notwithstanding.
Resilience
People are resilient, especially when they need to be. I am too. Suddenly, a week later, things were happening fast. The post trauma consultation left no doubt. I had to get my affairs in order. Get myself a ride to the hospital, inform a few people about my near future whereabouts, ensure a filled fridge for when I get back. In other words, practical mode. No time to adjust to the fact that I was going into surgery. Probably for the better: less time to worry and contemplate what could go wrong and in how many ways.
Surrender
There I was. 18 hours later. Surrendered to the healthcare gods. It proved to be one giant, twisted, mindful experience. My name was on the docket, the medical staff knew what they were doing, and I was there to oblige. Not much else for me to do than to just be and go through the motions of hospital life. I rarely miss up an opportunity to culturally absorb. Being a massive fan of medical TV shows ER and Grey’s Anatomy, it was fascinating to be ‘on the inside’ for once. Additionally, it was a full rounded NHS jamboree: taking in the good, the bad and the ugly. Bless all the healthcare workers I came across during my stay. We all do what we can, in these challenging times.
Noise
Coming out of the anaesthesia was as profound as I remembered it after my ACL surgery years back. A peculiar state to be in. The mind is uncluttered, thoughts are crystal clear, and the soul exposed to the light. Also, physical energy levels are truly unique: the body has gone through a lot and simply wants to rest. No need to fight it. No way to fight it.
In terms of self-awareness, I found myself acting a bit silly. After the surgery, I negotiated a trip to the bathroom with the nurse. My blood pressure was still low. The nurse was not sure I should be out of bed so soon, unsupported. I, on the other hand, believed I could make it to the bathroom – unsupported - in one piece without issue. Physically and mentally, I really did think I could handle it. And, well, the distance was a joke. My bed was right next to it. Basically, my own stubbornness was interfering with the nurses’ due diligence. That silly need to prove I can do it myself. To myself and to others, in the strangest of circumstances.
Inner peace
As a patient, I very much enjoyed the peace and quiet. I completely gave in. I was intensely aware of my senses and feelings, without interpretation or judgement. I was savouring it. It was extraordinary. If only it could be like this all the time. I mostly kept to myself. Catching the occasional eye from other patients who wanted to start a conversation with me, I am sure this was frowned upon, but I was in no mood to be social. My inner thoughts were engaging enough.
I was processing my surroundings though. I shared the room with six other people. Everyone in pain or serious discomfort, for various reasons. The chit chat about physical discomfort, hospital food, when one can go home: I was hearing the same conversation over and over again. Patients love to share. Holding on to social chat to keep up their spirits. And why would they not? People are at their most fragile in the hospital. Who better to share it with? Still, there were no mixed emotions about parting ways with my room fellows when the doctor finally gave his okay to leave the hospital and further recover at home. Hasta la vista baby!
Slow dance
Bizarrely, the whole experience was quite inspirational. Scary as it was. And still is. Something I had to get through, I think. It led to a few revelations.
Despite my best efforts to argue the opposite: some things are beyond my control. Accidents happen. No room for harsh judgements, especially my own. I am now even more aware of how I deal with things. What my initial cope mechanism is and the effect it has on people around me. I try not to condemn it; I merely understand it better.
It was also a way of telling me to slow it down. To step my foot off the gas pedal yet again. Just because I can, or think I do, does not mean I should. There is a fine line between being spirited and overdoing it. A very thin line, but there all the same. It taught me to be patient. To walk the line taking two steps forward, one step back if need be. Patience has not been one of my finer qualities. Things were never happening fast enough in my book. They call it a virtue for a reason. Some things simply take more time, or so they should. Life – colourful I continue to live it – is sometimes best as a slow dance, not a quick step.
This thing helped me further redefine the new me. A path I was already on anyway. A crude character-building exercise, as it turns out. Arguably, the only way to get through my thick skull. Ironically, one could take that quite literally now…