Leaning In
I do not make a good patient. I prefer to be a caregiver, not a care receiver. I’ve had tons of experience in the care giving role as I’ve been an occupational therapist, a mom to a daughter with brain cancer, a mom to my boys, an IVC volunteer, and a compassionate companion to those in grief, just to name my big roles. Part of my experience has to do with the fact that I’ve been strong and healthy most of my life, while many people close to me have not. I’ve learned how to assist people who are weaker, to foster their independence, and to do what I can to help out in a difficult situation. I like showing up. I suppose I’m not alone in preferring to give, rather than receive. But when the roles are reversed, I don’t like it.
I don’t like it when people have to show up for me. I’ve needed folks to emotionally support me such as when Hannah died or when we’ve been in a crisis. But a couple weeks ago I was reminded what it’s like to be in a vulnerable situation. I was in Seattle at the Skin Surgery Center having a cancerous spot removed from my forehead. (Nothing lethal, but a necessary procedure.) I guess for the rest of my life I’ll be on skin watch for other suspicious spots; (thank you Irish/Scottish heritage and too much suntanning with baby oil when I was younger!)
I didn’t need anyone’s help to go to the outpatient center, but after a few hours, I started to question my decision. Bill had offered to drive me there, but of course I said, “No thanks. I’ll walk up the hill and back down to the ferry. No problem. They’re only using a local anesthetic.” The procedure itself was a surprise. Removing the basal cell carcinoma and waiting for the immediate results to make sure the surgeon got it all was no big deal, but getting stitches was something else. It wasn’t about the physical pain, for which I have a very good tolerance, but rather the emotional. I had been wearing a t-shirt and jeans during the excision in an exam room, but when it came time to stitch me up, I had to gown up and be escorted into what looked like an operating room. All of the sterile treatment and prep sent me down an anxious and sad path, recalling all that Hannah had endured. Lying on the table for thirty minutes, thoughts of her being bolted to the table under a mask for radiation, while being left alone in a dark treatment room brought back all kinds of traumatic memories. It’s still unimaginable to me what she had to endure. And still, she did not survive. I was her primary emotional and physical support during her nearly three years of treatment. I couldn’t take the physical pain away from her, but I could hold her heart.
I’m still learning to let others hold my heart. I’m not very good at asking for help. And since I can usually endure whatever physical challenge comes my way, I forget to think about the emotional toll involved. I know from studying my astrological birth chart, that I have a soul need to let others in, to ask for help, and to not carry the burdens alone. In a small excerpt from my book, during a reading with astrologer Steve Forrest, we said:
My karmic story involved being burdened by duties and responsibilities with the underlying feeling of I can handle anything. Nothing can break me. They’ll never see me cry. Steve said, “You needed to be broken. Let me speculate that losing Hannah was more than you could handle. But you’re still here. How come you’re still here? How’d you get through that? With a little help from your friends.”
I thank God every day for the friends in my life and for the people who show up, whether or not I’ve asked them to. It’s actually a good feeling to know people have your back. I need to keep leaning on them, as I’ve encouraged others to lean on me. Being vulnerable isn’t always such a bad thing. But it does take courage. Courage to overcome your fears. Fear of embarrassment, fear of shame, fear of weakness, fear of misunderstanding, fear of acceptance. It seems to me that fear is the great separator. By being afraid to reach out or lean in, we separate ourselves from the people whom we love and who love us.
Stay tuned to see how vulnerable I can really be when my book, A Soul Lives On, is published November, 2021!