Trusting; Myself, My brain, My soul, My Readers

I hope it helps!

Letting Go
There are SO many ways to understand a concept. Our minds all work differently, and it’s quite possible – as I explain something to one person – to confuse the issue for someone else. I’m constantly striving to find illustrative stories and images to help explain my points. I hope the above images help some of the synapses connect!

But ultimately I have to trust my readers to trust themselves. That’s a lot of trust for someone who has been known to be the teeniest bit controlling.

Boy, if this year didn’t knock the insane idea that I can control life out of my head …

Trusting means giving your mind a chance to work through concepts – to let them simmer. NOT to insist that your brain has to come across with total and perfect understanding THIS MINUTE. Trust is hard, but it’s vital to reach that point where you can just let the knowledge flow (from your hands? from your soul? from your past? from your future?) into your brain.

Enlightenment seems to hate being forced. Don’t we all?

Trusty Lungs
I’ve been trusting my lungs to tell me when they’re worried, and the more I listen the better they get at talking. Talking lungs – great.

This weekend we went to the Science Center, not intentionally, and had a wonderful time. We were ACTUALLY going to the School Choice Fair in downtown St. Paul (we saw some GOOD schools!), but the entrance ramps for the River Center parking and Science Center parking were right next to each other – and the SC was cheaper. Plus, we’d been debating getting a family membership for a year. Happy Birthday, Gerry!

So, with the membership our parking was free (plus we get free tix to the Omnitheater Movie) and now I have a new place to go knit – or walk with the kids and Gerry – and when the weather gets warmer it will be a nice bike ride away.

As the woman was enumerating all of the benefits I told her, “You had us at Free Parking…” She laughed.

While we were at the Science Center, there was a blackout in St. Paul, and for about 40 minutes the SC was on backup, emergency power. My lungs began complaining that the air felt different – more moldy? – and within about 10 minutes I just felt exhausted. The air circulation system must not have been on the backup power.

It was odd how quickly I sensed the change, odd how tuned in I felt to my body.

So I sat while the kids ran from exhibit to exhibit, trying to find the ones that didn’t require electricity, and Gerry tootled around. The power came back on, the air seemed to magically clean itself (I wonder if anyone else was so sensitized to the phenomenon?) and the day went on.

It was striking, though. As silly as this sounds, I feel such guilt to be ‘the sick one’ – Gerry is the one who needs, deserves and requires more attention now. But guilt is no good unless you put it to work, so I came home and did some breathing exercises and had a nebulizer treatment and felt like a better person.

Taking Stock of the Waiting
My thoughts are very unclear these days.

When G first became ill, we were overwhelmed with how little we knew. As we learned more, we grew more fearful – working hard to overcome the fear and finding ways to navigate this surprise (!) life change. All of the work and education gave us a direction.

After the transplant in September, we were focused on the 100 day appointment (oh, and earning a living, etc.) Dealing with the meds, finding joy in small things, and measuring how much Gerry’s beard had grown back – all were compass points.

Then the holidays, then the birthdays (Gerry’s is tomorrow, Max’s was last week) and now we’re looking at our 1 year anniversary as Minnesotans. Gerry’s back on Zometa for his bones, and his Physical Therapist has been a great boon to his body AND his mind. We’re finding a rhythm to our lives as they stand.

And I’m feeling oddly direction-less.

We’re deeply, firmly entrenched in the wait-and-see portion of our adventure. Waiting for a wind, praying it won’t be a nor’easter.

Offhand comments by the kids clue us in that they know and understand more of this situation than we’ve overtly explained. Perhaps they’re absorbing the unwelcome knowledge in the same way that knitting enlightenment seems to come to my students? Without really trying, just by letting it sink in?

I want them to know they can ask anything, and I want to be strong enough to answer everything. That takes a lot of trust on both sides.

The knowledge that we’re in a golden time for our family – a time which will inevitably have an end – seeps in to my subconscious. Little waves of grief and fear wash over me in that pre-waking, early morning time (right before the radio goes off , while the cat is nibbling on my toe.)

How lucky that we have an inkling of how lucky we are.

GO GIANTS!
We were pretty danged psyched here last night – I only wish Gerry had some buds to watch the game with. Max and I tried to fill the void…