I’ve lost track of time again; the majority of the last six days—more or less—exist only as fragmented memories that seem to rely on a blend of experience and the compensation my imagination provides. I’m sure the recent radiation treatments of my brain (ending March 27) are largely responsible. Unfortunately, those treatments were interrupted with a visit from my niece and nephew that ended when I was carted off to the hospital by ambulance on April 6; nonetheless, the visit was much-appreciated and enjoyable when I was sufficiently awake and aware to enjoy their company. Still focusing on the positive side, I was quite happy to be sent home later the same day. As the ER doctor (and as my oncologist reiterated during yesterday’s appointment at her clinic) the cancer experience—both the disease itself and its treatments—constitutes a series of ups and downs. I find it incredibly frustrating to sleep so much, to feel so “out of it” so often, and to be unsteady on my feet, but when I see and hear about other patients’ experiences, I recognize that my frustration is insignificant compared to theirs. Still, I suppose the way I process my experience is understandable, if bathed in self-pity.
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While at the hospital on Monday morning, I overheard one end of a few telephone conversations between a young woman outside my ER “room” and various people with whom she was speaking. The woman, who I believe mentioned she was 22 years old, said she was an alcoholic and was seeking a place where she could get treatment. Apparently, the hospital did not have (or could not provide her with) a bed and treatment. Calls to several other facilities (and to her father) provided no relief.
The woman’s conversation led me to believe she is destitute; no money, no insurance, no car, no place to sleep, etc. When speaking to someone she called “dad,” she said she could not make her way home (to her father’s house in Mena, I think I heard) because she had no way to get there. On one hand, listening to only her side of the conversation, I could understand her difficulty in getting help. Her comments seemed to me to be delivered by someone who wanted people to understand she was a needy victim of society. On the other hand, she said she understands she is responsible for her predicament and that she just wants a little help getting free of addiction.
Finally, she spoke to Adult & Teen Challenge, which provides “holistic addiction recovery through medical care, counseling, and long-term discipleship,” and says on its website that “Our programs focus on healing the whole person – physical, mental, and spiritual, through inpatient and outpatient care, relapse-prevention support, long-term discipleship and aftercare.” The woman’s conversation led me to believe she is destitute; no money, no insurance, no car, no place to sleep, etc. When speaking to someone she called “dad,” she said she could not make her way home (to her father’s house in Mena, I think I heard) because she had no way to get there. On one hand, listening to only her side of the conversation, I could understand her difficulty in getting help. Her comments seemed to me to be delivered by someone who wanted people to believe she was a needy victim of society. On the other hand, she said she understands she is responsible for her predicament and that she just wants a little help getting free of addiction. The outcome—as much of it as I know, anyway—was that Adult & Teen Challenge agreed to send someone to provide transportation to the nearest recovery center. And a very kind woman approached her and told her she had overheard her conversations; the woman said taking the first step, to seek treatment, was a wise one. The woman then gave her a hug and $20 to get breakfast. Observing someone in the midst of such a trauma strengthen my wish that our social safety nets for people who need help were stronger and more easily accessible. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for people in crisis to overcome both the obstacles to getting access to care and to the stigma so often attached to needing help.
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Since my last post, about a week ago, the lunacy and viciousness of the monster occupying the office of President of the United States have been on full display. His insinuation that he was prepared to commit heinous war crimes as a follow-on to his unilateral decision to attack Iran is yet another example of the man’s absolute unfitness to hold office. I am equally distressed—incensed— that so few of the sitting members of Congress have failed to acknowledge the dangerous recklessness of his actions and words. This country’s experience with the current occupant of the highest office in the land (and congressional complicity with his high crimes and misdemeanors) should lead to changes in the U.S. Constitution that would force Congress to act and would give voters the right to remove Federal officials from office.
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Sitting alone to contemplate myself and the world in which I live is an opportunity for which I am extremely grateful. The time I spend in those contemplative moments does not always lead to positive outcomes, but it allows me to think deeply about things that inspire me, that annoy me, that frighten me, or that generate intensely emotional sensations. In every case, the time I spend is enlightening, especially when I force myself to ask more questions about WHY I feel or think or sense what I experience. The more time I spend looking internally for understanding, the more I come to realize how important that time can be. Simultaneously, though, I discover that the time also guides me toward a better understanding of listening to and trying to understand others’ perspectives. I still am in the chemo/radiation “fog,” so I doubt I am writing lucidly as I’d like. Maybe I can return later to read what I wrote and clarify things that do not seem to me to coherently express what I intended to say.
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I received a wonderful gift last week, delivered by two very nice friends from church. The gift was a glass jar filled with short notes from them and other people in and around church, expressing thoughts about me. The gifts were so very kind and generous. I plan to generate enough energy to respond to every one individually via email. I truly appreciate and value the comments written to me by these wonderfully kind folks who were able to submit notes for the gift jar (and those who would have if they had been able to do it when they were collected):
Ducky B.–Sara S.–Deb B.–Daryl K.–Ruan R.–Marily M.–Judy J.–Jerrian N.–Sue M.–Dave D.–Sue–Rose W.–Maria R.–Dee O.–Kathy G.–Salli F.–Colleen B. (mi novia)–Dane N.–Susan C.–Susan J.–Cloe G.–Bill J.–Inice O.–Susan J.–Jay W.
