Teachings in Trauma

“It’s hard to know whether to laugh or to cry at the human predicament. Here we are with so much wisdom and tenderness, and – without even knowing it – we cover it over to protect ourselves from insecurity. Although we have the potential to experience the freedom of a butterfly, we mysteriously prefer the small and fearful cocoon of ego.”
The Places That Scare You
~ Pema Chodron

Learning and healing share many attributes. We must become aware of something in order to alleviate or correct it. By definition one begets the other. In general we certainly do not think of them as one and the same. Yet holistic thinkers do and always have connected them
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My own experience with physical trauma and that which I saw in my late husband Paul’s experience with cancer showed me that bodily ailments can be great teachers. We each suffered from a serious illness that not only retrained our brains (literally in my case) but set us on new courses in this life.

Seven days after my thirty-fourth birthday I was having neurosurgery to remove an abscess that was threatening my life. Previously, it had been the unfound cause of months worth of physical pain. After an un-recollected period of time — at least one week — I awoke in a hospital room filled with family and friends but completely clueless. The surgery was successful at removing the abscess. It was also successful at leaving me without the use of one side of my body or my cognition. Physically it was as if I had suffered a stroke. We have placed blame for this on the surgery but I am sure it was a combination of surgery and abscess.

I was confused and unable to comprehend what had happened to me. I was not able to speak properly, stand, feel the left side of my body, or understand basic things. I was very afraid most days in the hospital without the ability to fathom what that feeling was all about. Therapists of all kinds as well as nurses and CNAs came to work with me several times per day. They were trying to retrain my brain and body so that I would form comprehendible sentences, be able to button a button, read with understanding, remember my birthday and walk again. Learning how to walk again at age 34 is frustrating and humiliating. Actually, so were all of the treatments. I hated physical therapy. It was very difficult because with each aided step I could recall being able to do it on my own. I was 34 years old, damn it.

During all of these exercises and therapies came the feelings and questions of what is going on, who am I, why? I was becoming a new me during this time. A stronger and more secure woman was being born from this shell and its insecurities. My husband was my rock and my caregiver. In his eyes I found the sparks that kept my fire burning. Honestly, there were many times that I was ready to let my flames fade out.

All of these physical and neurological sufferings, changes and struggles proved to be my foundation when Paul was diagnosed with late stage pancreatic cancer at the end of that same year.

WTF does not even begin to describe life at that time. I had to suck it up because there was no time for my projected two-year recovery. By the time of his diagnosis I was walking and talking normally. My recovery was progressing well and with a few surprising results. I began to study everything I could on cancer. I needed to understand this enemy. Never mind that eight months prior I was unable to communicate coherently or walk a straight line. Somehow, eight months after brain surgery and with a looming terminal cancer diagnosis happening to my husband (my reason for surviving), I was not only reading biomedical papers and metabolic research on cancer but I understood them. The Poet English major that had never had an anatomy or chemistry class in her life was showing up at oncology appointments with a spiral notebook full of questions that occasionally stunned the doctor.

I had ceased believing any of the I can’t excuses, which ultimately led me to I can and I will. A doctor once told me that I was a walking miracle. I will never forget that, and those words became my best medicine. I still take a shot of them as needed. During Paul’s cancer journey I heard those words in my mind, heart and body daily.

For the most part I have made a full recovery. I continue to write poetry and in 2015 I completed a Holistic Nutrition program to become a certified Holistic Nutrition Consultant. That certification meant studying anatomy, physiology, some pathology and chemistry with an accredited nutrition school.

These things we call miracles, healings, or unexplainable woo-woo are real and innate aspects of us as human beings living in this world. The more we learn about ourselves the greater our capacity to heal. The people that we are closely connected to can help us achieve this and vice versa. My husband did pass on in 2010.

He had been given a 6 months at best prognosis at the end of 2007. He did the work and he taught himself how to be in his heart in this life. It was as if he began living without an ego. I witnessed an individual transformation that was in many aspects sacred.

It is my belief that wisdom and tenderness are our medicines and our best teachers. Humans have become disconnected to themselves, each other and the world in which we exist. Sometimes traumatic experiences prompt us to embrace our wisdom and tenderness, enabling us to proceed through life with more openness, willingness and a balance that allows harmony of body, mind and spirit. This is connection. It is our medicine. You have yours and I have mine.