WordSisters

Category: mental-health

  • Whistles Still Blowing

    As we file federal taxes, think about how our leaders chose to spend our money. Not on highways or better schools or improved health, but on 3,000 armed and masked government agents sent into multi-cultural communities with near complete freedom to hunt for people who might be in the U.S. illegally. Wearing expensive military equipment. No warrants needed. No explanation of how their lists are assembled. Federal domestic abuse perpetrated on men, women and children, particularly if they do not have white skin. And extended to anyone blowing the whistle on the ICE action or filming the action or merely annoying the masked strangers.

    Comfort is needed for people hiding in the occupied cities of Minnesota, for people brave enough to care for their neighbors’ needs, for all both here and abroad who have watched the loss of life and the trampling of basic human rights. For those who sing along with Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Minneapolis” and fear their own communities’ futures.  Trauma exists far beyond the I-494-694 freeways.

    Family and friends have fled the cities looking for safety and security and the ability to work. Some people just disappeared. They may have returned to other countries. They might be in a DHS facility. Or they could be living in your state. Thousands of individuals continue to feed, provide transportation, pay the rent of those in hiding.  ICE may stalk caregivers’ homes as well. And our schools, teachers, staff, parents who patrol each morning and afternoon.

    For those willing to walk in subzero weather and throw their bodies in the way of harm to protect a stranger or neighbor, how will we keep fighting for the United States we love? There isn’t any end date for what is happening. Did anyone think we would be facing these questions a year ago? 

    The answers are large, unknown. 

    One day at a time. One struggle at a time. 

    Whistles are still blowing on the streets of Minneapolis.

  • Tending the Garden

    On walks through the Arizona neighborhood where we are staying, many yards have been let go because of the severe ongoing drought. Prickly pear cacti that often look plump and rosy are shriveled and wrinkly. Shrubs and trees are brown and brittle—not dormant, but dead. Here and there, homeowners have planted clumps of yellow and orange flowers. In the struggling landscape these small patches are obviously tended and watered. I understand the wish to cultivate one small burst of joyous color.

    My husband and I are grateful for our escape from Minnesota’s frigid cold (-11 degrees air temps the morning we left). While here, I could easily drift into wondering about our sons, their wives, and our granddaughters (everyone’s OK, but thinking about them is a hard habit to shake). Dismay and foreboding about our democracy remain a dark undertow. 

    However, my husband and I are mindful we are lucky to be getting away, so we tamp down those concerns and tend to our joy. Notice the sun on our shoulders, blue sky and high wispy clouds. Hazy mountains in the distance. Soft 75 degree breezes. The pleasure of patio dining and hearing birdsong again.  

    We take the break. Turn toward happiness. Are almost carefree.

  • Sandwich Party!

    Before surgery I read up on painkillers. Bottom line, I was grateful that options existed and realistic about accepting possible reactions. Jimmy John’s sandwiches were never mentioned in that patient information.

    My first night post-operative I looked around my room, stared into what I thought was a giant security television screen (aka a dark window), pulled together all the visual clues available, and determined that there was a sizeable Jimmy John’s sandwich party happening across the hall. Giant carts of food appeared to be going into a room with people following. I thought I saw, or heard, that the party was in honor of my surgeon. 

    Not eating in the prior thirty hours made a sandwich appealing. I think I’ve only eaten a Jimmy John’s tuna salad special at a corporate lunch meeting. I remember because I was the last person choosing a box. Tuna salad, tuna salad, tuna salad. Three boxes of the same choice. The only decision was if I was hungry enough to eat a Jimmy John’s tuna salad sandwich.

    According to hospital people watching me that night, I decided I needed to freshen up before heading to the party and attempted to get out of bed dragging tubes and lines and monitors. I asked for a clean gown, something less revealing, and my personal bag so I could brush my hair, wash my face, and find my undies. I was ready to socialize. Maybe celebrate that surgery was over, chat about the joy of warm blankets, or share escape plans.

    What’s fascinating is how in a somewhat dark situation, something deep in my mind took stock of what it could observe and found the potential for a few minutes of joy as well as the possibility of grabbing a sandwich, maybe a cold soda, and a little time to chit chat with absolute strangers. I am an introvert, and not fond of fast foot sandwiches on small loaves of bread. In normal times I would need a serious reason to head into a room of strangers, especially if wearing a lousy hospital gown. But that night a party sounded awesome.

    Physicians have known since Plato that there is a direct correlation between the mind, body and health. The psychological and physical are not separate but are vitally linked in healing the body. When the painkillers were not taking care of what my body was experiencing, my simple belief is that my mind accepted responsibility for creating a happier framework. In the absence of other stimuli to distract focus from what was hurting, I planned that party room. I made decisions about whether I was ready to have chips (not), if a diet cola or a lemon-lime soft drink would taste better (lemon-lime), how to blend in with all the people in uniforms or street clothes (unresolved). My problem solving and creativity pulled me through a night that could have been worse. 

    This is the power of human vitality. We can live, grow, develop in many situations, not only on sunny days but also during threatening storms. Be gentle with your expectations if this is not a time to go for the stars. Share a Jimmy John’s with a friend. Enjoy a mini party, if only in your mind. Wear a robe if your gown hangs open in the back.