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elfsThis morning, I awoke to bad news. I discovered that my stomach pump’s resevoir had filled up completely over the previous 12 hours; the “you’re making less and processing more” was either an illusion or a fluke, maybe related to the feeding tube being restricted. I was feeling profoundly disappointed, even depressed. I spoke with the doctor and she said that was the most likely cause: with the feeding tube blocked, my insides weren't being stimulated to create digestive fluids, so it gave the illusion that I was processing the bile when really I just wasn't making as much.
I decided to try the Stoic Meditation of the Sage, using Marcus Aurelius’ formula for his morning journal, and as I did, I found myself speaking out loud:
For today, I have awoken into this world to be cared for by professionals, to listen carefully to their advice and to probe with the questions that are meaningful to me.
I felt better afterward. Still emotional and weak, but at least I have a plan, a bulwark, against the shocks of the day.
There were two consequences of this: the first was that after doing it out loud, I felt so profoundly better that I heard Girl Scout say, “Welcome to The Council, Sage.” Which is bloody obviously now that I think about it.
The other is that I must have said it loudly enough that my nurse stopped by. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said.
“I thought I heard voices.”
“Oh. Just praying.”
“Oh.” She looked puzzled.
I remembered I had put “no specific religious practices” on my patient chart. “It’s complicated. And personal,” I told her, while listening to the integration going on inside my head. (I think they’re debating whether or not having Sage means we still also need Ritual Master.)
“Okay,” she said, and closed the door again.
I decided to try the Stoic Meditation of the Sage, using Marcus Aurelius’ formula for his morning journal, and as I did, I found myself speaking out loud:
For today, I have awoken into this world to be cared for by professionals, to listen carefully to their advice and to probe with the questions that are meaningful to me.
- When can I return to my family?
- When can I return to work?
- When can I return to my athletics?
- When can I return to sex?
- When can I return to my diet?
- What will change in any of these?
- If I take the options you give me, option A, option B, option C, I will listen attentively and carefully, and we will come to an agreement about what the next steps will be, and I will have a clear understanding of what the consequences of those steps will be in the coming days. We will not repeat the shoulder fiasco.
- In the meantime, I will embrace my condition with fortitude, courage, and even industry. I will, to the best of my ability, do what was in my control, and if I cannot control my body’s need for rest or distraction, I will understand and forgive.
- And now, with those decisions made, I will step into the day with my fears and my concerns and my plans for addressing them in the back pocket of the pants I cannot wear, and I will spend the rest of the day in relative good cheer. Caveat only, that my short-term responses may be shortened, modified, dictated by the pains caused by my throat and my sinuses and all the damn equipment in my head, to which I still must express gratitude for it is keeping me alive. For I am the sage, and this is what the sage brings into the world.
I felt better afterward. Still emotional and weak, but at least I have a plan, a bulwark, against the shocks of the day.
There were two consequences of this: the first was that after doing it out loud, I felt so profoundly better that I heard Girl Scout say, “Welcome to The Council, Sage.” Which is bloody obviously now that I think about it.
The other is that I must have said it loudly enough that my nurse stopped by. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said.
“I thought I heard voices.”
“Oh. Just praying.”
“Oh.” She looked puzzled.
I remembered I had put “no specific religious practices” on my patient chart. “It’s complicated. And personal,” I told her, while listening to the integration going on inside my head. (I think they’re debating whether or not having Sage means we still also need Ritual Master.)
“Okay,” she said, and closed the door again.
