Good morning,
My night was so restive that I fell asleep on our living room couch, before 10pm. Then, once Will was ready for sleep, he helped his groggy wife into our bed, where I slept soundly till about 8:30, this morning.
However, upon awakening with anxiety as my sidekick, I’m awaiting an Ativan to kick in and calm my anxious reaction, which I believe Carolyn (my EMDR therapist) would attribute to a mild attack of PTSD. In fact, it’s highly likely that I’d be seeing Carolyn via FaceTime with these scans looming overhead had she not retired, last year.
In order to help myself as best I can, my mind focuses upon this current set of scans rather than dwelling upon frightening results following last year’s CT and PET scans, in which the leiomyosarcoma had revealed its recurrence within my right lung—suggesting my need to undergo chemo treatments (goodbye hair—again), destroying my blood production—again—followed by another lengthy painful recovery in the aftermath of a second right lung surgery—again— and though the entirety of my right lung had needs be removed, thank goodness, no heart and venous involvement proved malignant, second time around.
With my casual study of ‘No Fear Shakespeare’ resuming, this coming Thursday, via Zoom, I’ll reread Measure By Measure, today, and then watch the play on PBS in preparation for this semester's first class. In this way the proactive portion of my mind will remain productively well occupied, throughout the day, while I await appointments, first with my oncologist followed by my thoracic surgeon, concerning the results of my most recent scans, tomorrow.
Over this past year, I’ve found that each time I choose to maintain a quiet environment of solitude while proactively engaging my mind with that of The Bard, my decision-making process encourages all of me to feel well-balanced and peaceful, and fortunately, while spending this time with you, I feel as though my little friend, Ativan, has begun to kick in, as well.
Over these past two years of serious illness, my thought processor has had plenty of practice absorbing insights spotlighting my need to take good care of my spirit’s well being just as I’ve always naturally taken good care of my dearest family and friends, ever since tragic circumstances lumbered heavily through our front door, terrifying a sweet little girl half to death, two weeks shy of my having turned the tender age of three at which time the dark ghostly presence of the Specter of Death, swinging his scythe menacingly overhead, terrified my subconscious psychic into a statue-like state in which I’d hold onto deeply repressed, undeserved guilt concerning my baby sister’s death, over most of my life until the astute listening skills of a therapist suggested my need of EMDR therapy, followed by strongly suggesting that I see no one but Carolyn, who’d authored the text on EMDR studied by masters candidates at universities throughout the world, and much to my good fortune, Carolyn lived and practiced in the southwest desert, just 20 minutes from our home.
Though having been married for about 35 years before meeting with Carolyn, Will and I gained more insight into ourselves, each other, our marriage and our adopted places in our families, based in PTSD, than we’d been able to identify through our entire lives as the emergence of each insight led to the next as quickly as popcorn popping in piping hot oil. And with insights concerning the effects of PTSD lighting up like fireworks on the Fourth of July, Will and I had just cause to enjoy growth spurts that saw us reinvent our personal traits, resulting in change for the better within every relationship that we’d ever treasured, being that one lasting change leads to many more.
And though, episodically, Will’s mind and mine feel mild to middling levels of repressed anxiety emerge, due to today’s stimulation of past trauma by any current situation that empowers our defense systems to set off alarms that hijack our processors into terrorizing our minds to feel the same as has been true during terrifying moments based in childhood’s experiences, long past, I can encourage Will to feel safe more readily than he can do that with me unless I ask to be wrapped safely in his embrace, as would any three year old child fearful of having somehow destroyed her beloved family’s peace of mind.
(If I just offered you a word maze that was difficult to maneuver your way through, I hope you can understand the complexity of my emotional reaction that ran interference with my brain’s connection to clarity while writing the paragraph above.
As to why I think to calm Will without being asked—well—our minds work in mysterious ways, and once my processor began to believe deeply in the timely emergence of my intuitive powers, insight began to pop more readily into the conscious portion of my thought processor than has been true for Will, who’d devoted most of his adult life to the absorption of scientific studies concerning medical procedures of which I know next to nothing. In other words, our relationship comprises a separation of personal powers.
With hopes that your night felt restful following up with a Sunday, providing for pleasant activities, which keep your mind peacefully, productively entertained—I plan to do the same.
🙋🏻♀️Annie
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