FINDING YOUR SELF IMAGE AFTER THE HOSPITAL

I always had said, “If I wind up in the hospital and have to quit smoking, I will never pick the habit up again.”

Well, been there, done that, and I haven’t quit smoking.  Not all the way anyway.  I left the hospital on January 3^rd, and the first thing I wanted was a cigarette.  There was no stopping me, “Dam it, I want a cigarette NOW!”

Before I unexpectedly entered the hospital, I was only smoking five cigarettes per day.  I wanted to quit.  I’ve quit the habit off and on for the past four years.  So why was I so determined to smoke another cigarette, after not smoking anything for over two weeks?

Well, for one thing, I was angry.  I was angry at what had happened to me.  I was weak and struggling just to walk.  On top of that, I now had to wear a colostomy bag for damn near a year; then it’ll be surgery number three at Christmas time again.

When I left the hospital, I couldn’t even look at a computer screen for more than ten minutes for the first two months.  Even today I still have problems focusing, and I still can’t sit in front of a computer and work like I use to.  My wife often times reminds me that I’m lucky to be alive.  And I realize this.

Still though, a battle waged inside of me to put myself together again, like I use to be.  I even caught myself eating chocolate and candy like it was going out of style, because I had lost weight during my hospital stay.  I felt weak, like I needed to buff up; anything to put Humpty back together again, if you know what I mean.

Smoking cigarettes was my way of taking back my life.  It was the one thing that I had control over.  I felt like a grown-up again, instead of some ill-stricken little kid.  If I’m going to stop smoking, it will be my chose; not because I have to.  It was important for me to feel strong and in control, because I was feeling like a total indolent for the first month, if not longer, after two surgeries.

Now I realize why my brother didn’t quit smoking after landing himself in I.C.U. with chronic lung issues several times.  He’ll be on oxygen for the rest of his life, due to chemical exposure.  Eventually he gave them up, but he smoked for a good eight years, after the big event.

I share this story with you, in case you know someone who is stepping out of a hospital, due to some major circumstance beyond their control.  Be a little understanding. 

If it wasn’t for a movie I seen this past weekend, and a comment made by a visiting friend, I would have never realized why I felt the need to pick up a cigarette, after not having one for seventeen days.  Now that I am aware of “why,” I think maybe I will exercise some more control and quit smoking all together.

 

 

 

WHO AM I?

I am not one. I am two.  I’m lying in this hospital bed, and I’m not alone; someone shares my body with me.  My eyes open, and I see masked people in uniforms moving about me everywhere.  Primal instinct screams with resounding vibration - “I got to get out of here!”

I look down at my hands and my wrists are tied at my sides to frigid metal.  I yell, but I can not hear my voice.  Then something bolts from my chest and flees in fear.  A bird, the eye of Ra, and other symbols pour out and fill the room. Within my gaze the symbols circle a black bird.

Why have I split in two?  Who is in here with me?  This place is cold!  It’s dark and heavy.  I want to die!  Erase me!

 

This is what I experienced when I found myself in the hospital this past December.  I had just gone through a second surgery, the day after the initial operation.  The entire experience was a nightmare.  I feel ill simply writing about it.  

Why did I have to experience this dark underworld of the shadow land?

I think on some spiritual level, the entire ordeal was a rite of passage, or maybe a test. I had to face my fears and conquer the darkness of my own soul, so that I may evolve to another level.

Or maybe it was a lesson I had yet to learn?  After all, many people I speak to consider my belief in alternative healing to be a little unrealistic.  And I did find myself in a situation where my beliefs where challenged by traditional medicine.

Just two months previous I had the same symptoms that had landed me in the hospital, and I had healed myself.  No doctors, no surgery; just a strong belief in self healing, some herbs and creative visualization.  But, this belief did not leave much room for trust in those who made it their mission in life to heal others in a more conventional way.

I found myself questioning the intentions of my “greedy” doctors.  I was at their mercy.  I was totally dependent on their intelligence and ability. Healers, nurses, doctors, friends, prayers, you name it.  I even found myself totally dependent on my spouse as well.  Suddenly she was the one behind the wheel making household decisions and paying the bills. 

Corporations filled me with their pharmaceuticals, and then doctors cut me from my stomach to down south of my belly button.  They had their hands all through my guts; moving and rearranging things while searching for infection. 

I am not the same person I was by any means!   It’s taken me a minute to heal; I’ve had to move slower.  I see things a little differently these days.  I learned to not be so critical/suspicious of others.  And I learned that the best things in life are the ones that shine with love. 

When I finally left the hospital, it was the warmth and the love I found within my home, with visits from loved ones that lifted my spirits the highest.  Love is a powerful thing!  And I am so surrounded by it in many, many ways.   As we all are.  We are bound together by love.

I can go on and on about how barbaric and broken modern medicine can be, but instead of being negative and criticizing the profession, and in a roundabout way, those who chose that career, I think maybe it would be better if I simply share the positive information that is available regarding healing in general.  After all, pain pills are great!   

It is events like this that define who we are.  Who am I?  I choose love.

 

 

 

PEOPLE & HOSPITALS

Today I went to the hospital to visit a friend who just had surgery yesterday.  When I was leaving, I stepped into an elevator full of people.  A woman to my left said, “Your hair smells good.”

At first, I didn’t realize she was talking to me.  I guess it was the dead silence afterwards that caught my attention, “Are you talking to me?”

I heard a laugh to my right, as the woman to my left smiled and replied, “Yes,” as she reached towards the back of my head and stroked my hair once.

Some people may have been offended by a stranger touching them, but I just had to smile as I thanked her for the compliment. 

You put people in hospitals and they become your best friend.  They are so much more compassionate.  Before you leave, you will know no stranger.  And I’m not talking about patients, nurses or doctors; I’m talking about those who visit their loved ones.  Like the people in the elevator. 

“But hospitals are so depressing,” I hear this all of the time.  And yes, I believe that visitors are just as vulnerable as the patients, maybe even more.  As a result people open their hearts to perfect strangers.  And it works both ways.  Not only do they wish to talk about why their loved one is there in the hospital, they want to know your story too. 

Grab a seat in a waiting room, and you’ll see what I mean; especially in an intensive care unit.  Families of ten or more will camp out in an I.C.U. waiting room.   The more intense the illness, the more friendly they are. 

Maybe it is because the threat of death reminds us that we are all in this boat together, when facing our immortality.  Or maybe it’s simply that healing energy we bring to those we care for, who are weak.  Either way, if you have lost your faith in humanity, then visit a hospital.  I guarantee you’ll see the best of humankind.