Tag Archives: grief

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Love sorrow

Love sorrow

There are a lot of people that I love

that don’t love me. The family that

believed my sister’s stories, about me,

my father, and her daughter’s father.

My sister died ten years ago.

I wait a decade, trying to repair it,

and now I give up. I do not want to

see them again, any of them, though

I still send them love. They may not

have my presence, after a decade of

cruelty or indifference.

Work, too. I am labeled malingerer

twenty years ago, after influenza.

“I don’t understand how you could be

out for two months from flu. I could understand

a heart attack or cancer, but not flu.”

Do you understand it now? I had

Long Covid before Long Covid existed,

after pneumonias: influenza, strep A

strep A and then Covid. Each time it

takes longer to recover. After the third round

and a year, I know that I have chronic fatigue.

I don’t bother my doctor as I am a doctor

and I know we have no cure. I can work

half time, see half the number that we are

supposed to see daily. I work anyhow.

The money ends almost meet. After a decade,

Covid closes me down. I go to work for The Man,

suspecting I’ll get pneumonia. I walk in rooms

to patients with their masks off. I react

with PTSD each time but take care of them

anyway. It only takes five weeks to get

Covid. I am on oxygen for a year and a half,

chronic fatigue magnified. How did I not get

it in my clinic? I masked everyone with a cough

or cold from 2014 on. My patients were USED

to masks and I masked too.

I am on oxygen and suddenly the doctors

who thought I lied, are pleasant and stop to

talk to me, while I think cynically, you’ve

disbelieved me and spread rumors about me

for 20 years. Do you think I forgive you now?

And one who said he’d be my friend forever

no matter what. And also said that when people

go over his invisible line, he never speaks

to them again. I think, oh, that will be me,

this is a set up. It is. But Beloved, Universe,

Earth, Sun, and Moon

why do I love them all anyway?

______________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt stable, because maybe love is the only stable thing in an unstable world.

The bones of the great blue heron are so light, that I think it is standing on the floating kelp beds. I’d wish my bones were that light, but that would be osteoporosis. Maybe I could come back as a heron.

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Hunted

I am having an internal argument.

It’s about shacks on a lake in Ontario. My grandparents and family built the shacks and I’ve been going there since I was under a year old.

However, my sister died of cancer in 2012 and there was a horrific family battle over my niece. My mother had already died. My father died 13 months after my sister and left the same will as my mother. Unfortunately it was written when I was a minor. I cried when I read it because I was the only person named in it who was still alive. I knew what my father wanted, or remembered what he told me. A will is a will though. I took it to an attorney and followed her interpretation.

Then I was sued by family regarding the niece.

I knew what my father wanted but he had not done it. So I decided not to fight it and handed over half the estate. Because even though my father wanted me to watch over his granddaughter, he had not left me the tools. And she did not want me.

So back to the shacks. It’s the side of the family that brought in all the lawsuits. I have not felt welcomed there nor loved since my sister died.

Part of me is furious that I am being hunted out, unwelcomed, wants our grandparents to curse them.

The other part points out that I have already been hunted out, effectively. I stopped trying to take my children there because I couldn’t tell who in the family was “neutral” (basically not talking to me) or “gossiping” — the rumors re me trying to harm my niece were incredibly painful. I had to let her go.

After my father died I dream that I am issued a huge SUV, black. I am to go pick up three children. When I arrive, two are teens: my two. The third is a toddler. My niece is really the same age as my daughter, but not in the dream. In the dream, they tell me, “You can’t take the toddler. You don’t have a car seat.”

I say, “Can I go get one and come back?”

“No.” they say.

I say, “Please, can I borrow one? I didn’t know I needed it! I was issued the SUV!”

“No.” they say. “You can only take the two teens.

So I took the two teens and left, crying.

I woke up and thought: my father’s will is not my fault. I did the best I could. I followed an attorney’s advice and I tried to do what my father wished. I did not have the tools I needed.

Now my children and I may get an offer to buy our share of the land. My children are ready to be bought out.

I do not know if I am. I feel like this is the last connection with that side of my family, not only the living, but the dead. I love the land far more than the silent living and the cruel living. Why are families so cruel and why do they need enemies so badly? Gossip is a sin, truly, and hurts. Selling my share is saying goodbye to my sister, my mother, my father, my grandmother, my grandfather, my two uncles, my aunt. I don’t mind saying goodbye to the cruel living nearly as much as to my dead.

And that too makes me sad.

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Soup of tears

It’s time to write an ending to a story.
Let go of those calling me word twister.
The ending is dark, sad, devoid of glory.
The one who named me twister was my sister.
She has been dead a decade. I still miss her
except for the calls of money gone awry.
The cousins whitewash her and call me twister;
past time for me to gently say goodbye.
The small bird of hope has sung for ten long years.
She lives even on crumbs of cruel spite.
She sings in spite of no respite from tears.
Quietly in day or night, in dark or light.
The hope bird flutters: she’s waited years.
I release her now and I drink a soup of tears.

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Make space for the difficult feelings

I am watching a four part video from the UK about illness and trauma.

The first part is about how trauma memories are stored differently from regular memories. Regular memories are stored in files, like stories in a book or a library.

Trauma memories are stored in the amygdala and often are disjointed and broken up and have all of the sensory input from the worst parts, including the emotions.

The therapist is talking about healing: that our tendency is to turn away from the trauma, smooth it over and try to ignore it.

However, the amygdala will not allow this. It will keep bringing the trauma up. And that is actually its’ job, to try to warn and protect us from danger!

The therapist counsels finding a safe time and place and safe person (if you have one) and then making space for the trauma to come back up. One approach is to write out the story, going through that most traumatic part, but not stopping there. What happened next? Writing the story and then putting it aside. Writing it again the next day and doing this for four days. As the story is rewritten and has an ending, even if it is not a happy ending, the story is eventually moved from the amygdala to the regular files. People can and do heal. They may need a lot of time and help, but they can heal.

I am not saying that four days of writing stories is enough. That is one approach, but nothing works for everyone and people need different sorts of help. There are all sorts of paths to healing.

In my Family Practice clinic I would see people in distress. With some gentle prompting and offering space, they would tell me about trauma and things happening in their personal life or work life. Things that were feeling so overwhelming that they could not tell their families or friends and they just could not seem to process the feelings about it. I would keep asking what was happening and give them the space to tell the story. Many times when they reached the present they would stop. There would be a silence. Then I would say, “It seems perfectly reasonable that you feel terrible, frightened, horrified, grieved, whatever they were feeling, with that going on.” And there was often a moment where the person looked inwards, at the arc of the story, and they too felt that their feelings were reasonable.

I would offer a referral to a counselor. “Or you can come back. Do you want to come back and talk about it if you need to?”

Sometimes they would take the referral. Sometimes they would schedule to come back. But nearly half the time they would say, “Let me wait and see. I think I am ok. I will call if I need to. Let me see what happens.”

When a person goes through trauma, many people cut them off. They don’t want to hear about it. They say let it go. They may avoid you. You will find out who your true friends are, who can stand by you when you are suffering. I have trouble when someone tries to show up in my life and wants to just pretend that nothing happened. “Let’s just start from now and go forward.” A family member said that to me recently. Um, no. You do not get to pretend nothing happened or say, “I wanted to stay out of it.” and now show back up. No. No. You are not my friend and will not be. And I am completely unwilling to trade silence about my trauma for your false friendship.

Yet rather than anger, I feel grief and pity. Because this family member can’t process his own trauma and therefore can’t be present for mine. Stunted growth.

People can heal but they need help and they need to choose to do the work of healing.

The four videos are here: https://www.panspandasuk.org/trauma.

This song is a darkly funny illustration: she may be trying to process past trauma, but the narrator doesn’t want anything to do with it. And he may not have the capacity to handle it. He may have his own issues that he has not dealt with. And maybe they both need professionals.

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Unfiltered

An old friend died this morning. She was a college friend of my parents and has known me since birth. I will miss her quite terribly.

She and I took a road trip in September. She had lost thirty pounds, not on purpose. I thought I had better do the road trip while we could. We went from Michigan to visit five households of old friends in Wisconsin. I lived with her and her family for a year during college in Madison, Wisconsin in the early 1980s. She is a beloved mentor.

She also introduced me to all sorts of groups. She has an amazing record collection.

I went with her to see Warren Zevon in Madison.

The painting is my photograph of one of her oil paintings. It is about 3 by 5 feet and gorgeous.

Dona nobis pacem and much love.

For the Ragtag Daily Post: filter.

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Diagnostic quest

Some diagnoses take months or even years. How can that be?

A patient comes to me with right shoulder pain. His pain is “out of proportion to the exam”. His shoulder exam does not fit with a rotator cuff tear, he has good range of motion, it is weird. I hospitalize him and ask orthopedics to see him.

The orthopedic surgeon agrees with me. It is not a musculoskeletal shoulder problem. We do xrays and labs. We do a chest xray as well as a shoulder xray because on the right side of the body, the recurrent laryngeal nerve goes down to the diaphragm and then returns to the shoulder and neck. So sometimes shoulder pain on the right is referred pain from a problem or tumor or pneumonia at the base of the lung.

His chest xray is normal.

We are having trouble controlling his pain even with morphine.

I call the general surgeon. My patient has some small lymph nodes in his supraclavicular spaces. We actually have lymph nodes all over, but many are hidden deep in muscles or under bone. We can feel them in the neck, the supraclavicular space, under each arm and in the groin.

The surgeon says there isn’t anything large enough to biopsy.

I call the oncologist in the next county. We are too small a rural hospital and do not have an oncologist at that time. I say, “I think he has cancer, but I can’t find it.” The oncologist listens to the story. He agrees. We do a chest and abdominal CT scan and some blood tests. The patient has had his colonoscopy. Nothing.

I send the patient to the oncologist’s bigger hospital. They can do some tests that I can’t. A bone scan and a PET scan.

The oncologist calls me. “I think you are right, but we can’t find it yet. Send him back when there is something to test.”

My patient goes home with pain medicine.

He then calls me every week or two. “It still hurts,” he says. “Please come in and let me do another exam,” I say. “No,” he says and hangs up. I am a Family Practice physician so his partner is also my patient. She comes in and rolls her eyes. “He complains, but he won’t come in!”

At last he shows up in the emergency room and now he has enlarged supraclavicular lymph nodes. The general surgeon biopsies them. It is an undifferentiated carcinoma. That means we don’t know where it is from. We don’t know the primary.

The oncologist says, “Send him down, so we can do the tests again.”

The patient is at home and refuses.

I call the oncologist back. “He’s refusing.”

“Oh.” says the oncologist. “Well, we can treat it with chemo blindly. We can try to figure out the primary and treat it more exactly. Or he can choose hospice.”

Ok, yes, three choices. I call and leave a message to go over the choices with him.

He comes up with a fourth choice: he refuses to talk to me at all.

I call his partner. “Yes,” she says, “He’s grumpy.”

“We are happy to help with whatever choice he makes.” I say.

“I’ll tell him.”

He continues to refuse to talk to me or the oncologist. Eventually he goes back to the emergency room and goes to hospice at the local nursing home.

I tell the oncologist. He comforts me. “Yes, sometimes we are pretty sure there is a cancer, but it has to get big enough to find.”

I am not comfortable with that but medicine is way more complex and messier than people realize. Sometimes it is really nice to have a patient with something where I know what it is AND it can be treated. Appendicitis. Gallstones. Strep throat.

But sometimes it is complicated and can take months or even years. Stay present and keep checking in.

Diagnostic quest.

_____________________

The boat is returning to the water after work in our boatyard. Healed and seaworthy.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: quest.

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Preparedness

I am at a friend’s: she doesn’t have matches.
I am at a friend’s: she doesn’t have bandaids.
“You need a tsunami kit,” I say. “Now!”

My daughter made a tsunami kit for college
with a life straw, an emergency blanket, ace wraps
and bandaids. A leatherwoman for tools with a knife.

Watching after the earthquake, it’s the crowbar I think of.
It is in my back yard, under the apple tree.
If we have our earthquake, I should be able to find it.

Or if I can’t, you know where it is now.
Please, take it to help someone
if I can’t.

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Prayers for people in Turkey and Syria

I took this photograph with my phone yesterday before I heard the news.

The ambulance has been out for a week or so, along with the doll tent. Two doll babies, the doll doctor, various pieces of equipment. I took the photograph because the cats keep “helping” and it keeps looking a bit like a disaster. Sigh. I wish they were just doll disasters with giant cats wandering through, not real earthquakes.

I wrote Flooded after the tsunami in Japan, about PTSD and about feeling helpless watching. I think we all have a little post-Pandemic PTSD and are more hair trigger and more ready for fight or flight.

Send prayers and money and huge blessings on on the first responders that are heading there or are already there.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: strange.

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Walk with rabbits

Some days I can’t chuckle
when the news rolls in
my heart could buckle
shootings again

US gun habits
What’s up doc? Dagnabbit.

Shootings on the year of the rabbit
dancers dead as they celebrate
Why are guns such a habit?
I refuse to fill my heart with hate

Gun sales stab it
Year of the rabbit

Forgive but do not reconcile
let my resolve not buckle
mental health takes a while
let no demented chuckle

Fearful gun habits
online snared like rabbits

They argue they must defend their homes
daughter teacher on the line
fearful males online alone
think that guns will make them fine

Fear is a habit
Stop being rabbits

Leave your basement
Help another
Walk the pavement
Earth as mother

Make it a habit
To walk out with rabbits

_______________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: chuckle.

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Winter bless us

Winter bless us year end dark and freezing
winter turn us inwards prayer for joy
prayer for joy for young ones all are seizing
others mourn loved deaths, eschewing toys
darkness let us settle loving all
silence let us turn our thoughts to peace
walk in wind and birds, iced trees so tall
few are out to gently walk the streets
the frozen ground holds lives that lie in wait
in freezing seeds hear the call and know
let every human drop their arms and hate
while seeds lie in wait to grow
let winter’s silence fill our hearts with joy
let peace descend, war melt to children’s toys

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A poem for Christine Goodenough after reading her Winter Delights.