Encountering Black at the Hospital
Jun. 17th, 2010 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windinthemaplesNow that I'm dedicated to my Temple of the Twelve study of Black this month, I'm finding it literally coloring every day. Case in point:
Facing My Medical Phobia
I'm naturally a procrastinator, have a strong medical phobia, and a high tolerance for pain so I can say honestly that I don't get the medical treatment I need. I don't like being under scrutiny and I like even less the feeling of powerlessness I have going to a doctor and waiting for them to cast the bones of my destiny. Impending diagnosis terrifies me in a way that needles don't. I worry that I'll walk in with a sprained ankle and walk out with a terminal cancer diagnosis. I was a very young girl when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I knew, though I was never told, that she wasn't expected to live. I know it is completely illogical to blame the doctor instead of the disease or to think somehow that the disease doesn't exist until the doctor names it. I guess that's why it is a phobia--it doesn't make sense. I just know that the minute I even *think* about going to some sort of doctor or dentist or quick care clinic my heart rate increases to about 140 bpm and I can hardly catch my breath. My mind alternates between telling myself it will all be okay and recognizing that I've never been this scared in my life. It is no wonder that I want to avoid those situations as much as possible. I've been facing it, though, forced to face it because of my kidney stone and have given the nature of Black and darkness a lot of thought lately.
My mother's mother didn't go to doctors, either. She didn't like doctors and she coped pretty well with the inconvenience of feeling bad. One day, in her 60s as I recall, she couldn't go the bathroom anymore. I mean, a complete, unexplained blockage. It forced her to seek out medical advice. They found cancer, breast cancer like my mom had in her 30s, only spread throughout her entire body and threaded through her intestines. Her forgetfulness could be ascribed to the tumor load that had made its way to her brain. In exploratory surgery, the doctor was shocked to see just how much of her was peppered with cancerous growth. She spent something like a decade battling that cancer through advance and retreat, surgery and chemotherapy and radiation. She had to have a colostomy bag installed to reroute digested food out of her body. By avoiding what she feared, she was launched into it headlong and forever more. In the end, it did kill her, but by then the cancer and Alzheimer's had clouded her mind enough that she didn't know who she was or what she was fighting anymore.
My mom's battle with breast cancer was entirely different. She's entirely different. She was diagnosed at age 33 with two small children at home. Some doctors said she was stage 3. One said she was stage 4 (terminal). She fired the one who said she was terminal. I know she prayed and bargained with God. My father, a very damaged Vietnam Vet, wasn't capable of parenting us. She couldn't die. It wasn't an option for her. So she took every pill, no matter how sick they made her feel, and she went into surgery, lots of them, and radiation treatments. My childhood revolved around her illness. Some days she was gray with death and weak. Other days she'd fling her wig to the floor of the car and we'd drive off with the wind on our faces to go to the store or do something fun together. She was always upbeat and positive. She told me, not jokingly, that going to doctors and having surgery could be really fun. She is, today, about twenty-five years cancer free. Now she's dealing with congestive heart failure, perhaps from all the radiation damage, and doing so with cheer and kindness and a fearless attitude. She doesn't avoid the doctors, that's for sure.
This image of the dark caves that has been so much the image of my Black month so far is beginning to become a little clearer. Fear, I think, is self-imposed darkness. When I'm afraid, I am closing my eyes and shutting myself in. I can't see the people around me, reaching towards me with helping hands. I can't see what I'm truly facing, so my mind has to imagine it for me. I don't have all the information I need to choose the best path, and so I stand paralyzed or blindly stumble into a hole. All of these things, they are fear. Self-imposed darkness and fear. What if I open my eyes? What if I brace myself mentally and just go ahead and take a good look at what's in front of me? Can that be any worse than the terrors I imagine for myself? I think, no, because in exchange for the bad I'll also be able to access the good. I can prepare myself for something if I see it coming, stay calm, and plan accordingly. I just have to be brave enough to open my eyes in the cave. There will be light there, though it may only be a very little bit.
Yesterday, after about five months of procrastination, I went to see a urologist about my too-big-to-pass kidney stone. He was so kind. He listened and offered calm, rational advice. He sent me downstairs to the hospital's radiology department where I got to change into a hospital gown and get some follow-up x-rays done. In two weeks, I'll go back to him to get the results and then it'll be one of two paths for me: surgical intervention or trying a drug for a few months to dissolve the stone. Almost certainly, the stone type I have will require surgery. I'm still anxious, no doubt, but there was a moment changing into that little blue wrap-around gown, so comfy and soft, in the locker room and later when they were whirring the fancy x-ray table around with me on it that I thought, to myself, that this *was* sort of perversely fun. I just have to keep my eyes open and the boogiemen stay at bay.
~*~
Facing My Medical Phobia
I'm naturally a procrastinator, have a strong medical phobia, and a high tolerance for pain so I can say honestly that I don't get the medical treatment I need. I don't like being under scrutiny and I like even less the feeling of powerlessness I have going to a doctor and waiting for them to cast the bones of my destiny. Impending diagnosis terrifies me in a way that needles don't. I worry that I'll walk in with a sprained ankle and walk out with a terminal cancer diagnosis. I was a very young girl when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I knew, though I was never told, that she wasn't expected to live. I know it is completely illogical to blame the doctor instead of the disease or to think somehow that the disease doesn't exist until the doctor names it. I guess that's why it is a phobia--it doesn't make sense. I just know that the minute I even *think* about going to some sort of doctor or dentist or quick care clinic my heart rate increases to about 140 bpm and I can hardly catch my breath. My mind alternates between telling myself it will all be okay and recognizing that I've never been this scared in my life. It is no wonder that I want to avoid those situations as much as possible. I've been facing it, though, forced to face it because of my kidney stone and have given the nature of Black and darkness a lot of thought lately.
My mother's mother didn't go to doctors, either. She didn't like doctors and she coped pretty well with the inconvenience of feeling bad. One day, in her 60s as I recall, she couldn't go the bathroom anymore. I mean, a complete, unexplained blockage. It forced her to seek out medical advice. They found cancer, breast cancer like my mom had in her 30s, only spread throughout her entire body and threaded through her intestines. Her forgetfulness could be ascribed to the tumor load that had made its way to her brain. In exploratory surgery, the doctor was shocked to see just how much of her was peppered with cancerous growth. She spent something like a decade battling that cancer through advance and retreat, surgery and chemotherapy and radiation. She had to have a colostomy bag installed to reroute digested food out of her body. By avoiding what she feared, she was launched into it headlong and forever more. In the end, it did kill her, but by then the cancer and Alzheimer's had clouded her mind enough that she didn't know who she was or what she was fighting anymore.
My mom's battle with breast cancer was entirely different. She's entirely different. She was diagnosed at age 33 with two small children at home. Some doctors said she was stage 3. One said she was stage 4 (terminal). She fired the one who said she was terminal. I know she prayed and bargained with God. My father, a very damaged Vietnam Vet, wasn't capable of parenting us. She couldn't die. It wasn't an option for her. So she took every pill, no matter how sick they made her feel, and she went into surgery, lots of them, and radiation treatments. My childhood revolved around her illness. Some days she was gray with death and weak. Other days she'd fling her wig to the floor of the car and we'd drive off with the wind on our faces to go to the store or do something fun together. She was always upbeat and positive. She told me, not jokingly, that going to doctors and having surgery could be really fun. She is, today, about twenty-five years cancer free. Now she's dealing with congestive heart failure, perhaps from all the radiation damage, and doing so with cheer and kindness and a fearless attitude. She doesn't avoid the doctors, that's for sure.
This image of the dark caves that has been so much the image of my Black month so far is beginning to become a little clearer. Fear, I think, is self-imposed darkness. When I'm afraid, I am closing my eyes and shutting myself in. I can't see the people around me, reaching towards me with helping hands. I can't see what I'm truly facing, so my mind has to imagine it for me. I don't have all the information I need to choose the best path, and so I stand paralyzed or blindly stumble into a hole. All of these things, they are fear. Self-imposed darkness and fear. What if I open my eyes? What if I brace myself mentally and just go ahead and take a good look at what's in front of me? Can that be any worse than the terrors I imagine for myself? I think, no, because in exchange for the bad I'll also be able to access the good. I can prepare myself for something if I see it coming, stay calm, and plan accordingly. I just have to be brave enough to open my eyes in the cave. There will be light there, though it may only be a very little bit.
Yesterday, after about five months of procrastination, I went to see a urologist about my too-big-to-pass kidney stone. He was so kind. He listened and offered calm, rational advice. He sent me downstairs to the hospital's radiology department where I got to change into a hospital gown and get some follow-up x-rays done. In two weeks, I'll go back to him to get the results and then it'll be one of two paths for me: surgical intervention or trying a drug for a few months to dissolve the stone. Almost certainly, the stone type I have will require surgery. I'm still anxious, no doubt, but there was a moment changing into that little blue wrap-around gown, so comfy and soft, in the locker room and later when they were whirring the fancy x-ray table around with me on it that I thought, to myself, that this *was* sort of perversely fun. I just have to keep my eyes open and the boogiemen stay at bay.
~*~
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 04:24 pm (UTC)It's so brave of you to face this head-on and with such a positive attitude. I admire you so, so much!! And I'm so sorry that you're suffering but thankful that you can and will be healed soon. *HUGS* It's really interesting how pervasive Black has become, I agree, after only a couple of days! Pretty powerful.
♥
no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 05:09 pm (UTC)Lady Black will give you courage and insight.
Lady Pink, who follows Black in the book, will bring compassion, healing, and the love and joy that comes from facing your wounds.
Together you have an unbeatable team!
But for a little extra help - a little Elf will be doing some healing work for you - the healing energy will be there when you most need it.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 05:26 pm (UTC)according to my Google search
The main purpose of the kidney is to separate urea, mineral salts, toxins, and other waste products from the blood. The kidneys also conserve water, salts, and electrolytes.
So questions I would ask myself when/if I had problems with kidneys -
what sort of poisons am I having trouble releasing in my life? How am I holding onto them, what is blocking them from being released? Am I having trouble holding onto and really absorbing or taking in things that bring me nurturance (like water?)
no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 06:13 pm (UTC)My stones are rose quartz and hematite, have been since I was seven, so to start with black and pink is very homey and comforting to me. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-17 05:59 pm (UTC)