At the hospital...
Not sure if I got this down exactly as I want to say it but here goes...
I was in the hospital this past week to have a procedure done. Although I believe it was considered non surgical, it was fairly invasive and intrusive in it's own way, and has required some recuperative time. Since being home there have been bouts in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning of such pain, there is panic (and I am used to pain).
But... then, that magical moment, when I staggered the meds just right, use a hot water bottle, a cuppa tension tamer tea, and all is well. I am grateful things went well, and this time shall pass.
And yet the strange thing, is that in some ways it was an interesting and slightly deep experience. I was in a little cubicle, with the curtain drawn... next to a window. 3 or 4 IV's in my arm...a catheter negating the need to use the bathroom. I kept throwing up and was in extreme pain that even challenged the morphine.
Sweaty and upset I gratefully accepted the nurse's offer of a sponge bath. It was soothing and I sighed. And as the bed space next to me had recently received an occupant and her visitor, I couldn't help thinking of that infamous Seinfeld episode, and if I was playing a part in an absurd bit of comedy.
And then something happened...
Something inside me decided that I should just embrace the situation, embrace the experience. Open up and delve into it a bit, see what maybe I could get out of it even, not resist. And, so I did...
In the midst of my misery, I lay there and tried to think... beyond the obvious, what was it, what was it that I really needed. Quiet, kept coming back to me, I needed to be in the QUIET.
I began to shift my orientation to try and discover what the situation could offer, rather then it's limitations. And, slowly, I realized it was a regression....regression and quiet or maybe regression into the QUIET.
I had felt helpless, like a baby. So, why not be a baby? I thought. The tubes that had felt like such a hindrance suddenly seemed more like nourishment, and freedom.
Then I regressed further.
I started thinking about the womb, and the tubes going in and out of me as a more natural connection to the womb. Not in a specific way, but more of a collective womb. I looked out the window at the midnight blue sky which gave a nice visual complement to this whole notion. I envisioned that embryonic creature at the end of the film 2001. And at some point I spent time in the QUIET...
Now, make no mistake, for the most part it was very miserable, very rough night. (just ask the staff) Constant interruptions for vital sign checks, insistence I stand, in the throes of demanding pain and nausea, and barely any sleep.
But...inbetween all that, I did find a moment here and there and got to the QUIET, even if it was fleeting.
I never once accessed the tv, listened to the CD's or looked at the book I brought. And I am sure any of these things would have provided me distraction.
Had I done that, I would have completely missed out on that quiet space. I am so glad to have tuned into that. What a shame it would have been to miss it.
I was in the hospital this past week to have a procedure done. Although I believe it was considered non surgical, it was fairly invasive and intrusive in it's own way, and has required some recuperative time. Since being home there have been bouts in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning of such pain, there is panic (and I am used to pain).
But... then, that magical moment, when I staggered the meds just right, use a hot water bottle, a cuppa tension tamer tea, and all is well. I am grateful things went well, and this time shall pass.
And yet the strange thing, is that in some ways it was an interesting and slightly deep experience. I was in a little cubicle, with the curtain drawn... next to a window. 3 or 4 IV's in my arm...a catheter negating the need to use the bathroom. I kept throwing up and was in extreme pain that even challenged the morphine.
Sweaty and upset I gratefully accepted the nurse's offer of a sponge bath. It was soothing and I sighed. And as the bed space next to me had recently received an occupant and her visitor, I couldn't help thinking of that infamous Seinfeld episode, and if I was playing a part in an absurd bit of comedy.
And then something happened...
Something inside me decided that I should just embrace the situation, embrace the experience. Open up and delve into it a bit, see what maybe I could get out of it even, not resist. And, so I did...
In the midst of my misery, I lay there and tried to think... beyond the obvious, what was it, what was it that I really needed. Quiet, kept coming back to me, I needed to be in the QUIET.
I began to shift my orientation to try and discover what the situation could offer, rather then it's limitations. And, slowly, I realized it was a regression....regression and quiet or maybe regression into the QUIET.
I had felt helpless, like a baby. So, why not be a baby? I thought. The tubes that had felt like such a hindrance suddenly seemed more like nourishment, and freedom.
Then I regressed further.
I started thinking about the womb, and the tubes going in and out of me as a more natural connection to the womb. Not in a specific way, but more of a collective womb. I looked out the window at the midnight blue sky which gave a nice visual complement to this whole notion. I envisioned that embryonic creature at the end of the film 2001. And at some point I spent time in the QUIET...
Now, make no mistake, for the most part it was very miserable, very rough night. (just ask the staff) Constant interruptions for vital sign checks, insistence I stand, in the throes of demanding pain and nausea, and barely any sleep.
But...inbetween all that, I did find a moment here and there and got to the QUIET, even if it was fleeting.
I never once accessed the tv, listened to the CD's or looked at the book I brought. And I am sure any of these things would have provided me distraction.
Had I done that, I would have completely missed out on that quiet space. I am so glad to have tuned into that. What a shame it would have been to miss it.
posted by Annie Van Bergen at 9:39 PM
2 comments
