Adjustment

Adjustment

February 13, 2017

Another Monday, another day of chemo. I’m finding myself absolutely astonished at how people adapt. Something that was initially horrifying has become routine. And though I know that the horror is still lurking just under the surface, we’ve come to accept Mondays as our “chemo day.”

There are “short chemo days” every other week, and “long chemo days” every other week. And then there are “really long chemo days” once a month. The short chemo days involve only two poisons, while the long ones involve 3 poisons that take longer because they have to be delivered sequentially in case Michael has some sort of adverse reaction to one of them. The really long days involve four poisons, and they are brutal. They last anywhere between 5-7 hours depending on how fast the pharmacy can deliver the drugs. It is agonizingly boring waiting and sitting in our cubicle while trying to entertain ourselves through what has become just another chemo day. The patient gets to sit in a comfortable reclining chair while the support person suffers in a hard-seated straight back chair. I take pillows and sit on the floor from time to time in order to get through these long days but even that is hard and uncomfortable. Still, I’m glad Michael gets a good chair. It’s bad enough for him without adding even more discomfort to these difficult days.

Today was a short day and we’ve become ridiculously grateful to leave the chemo unit in under 2 hours. And today, for the first time, Michael feels he can walk all the way from the chemo unit to the parking ramp with me. We walk slowly, very slowly for my usual gait, holding hands while I listen to him breathe heavily through his protective face mask.

But at least he can walk! In fact, we’ve made it around our block twice now in the past two days with this same slow pace while enjoying this oddly warm February weather. It’s the first time he’s walked outside in the past 5 months and it feels good for both of us to be able to do this. We even went to a movie yesterday, face mask in place, bacterial wipes in my purse, and off to the earliest 10am show in order to reduce exposure to other people. A simulation of normalcy that allows both of us to feel a bit more balanced, a bit more like the couple we used to be.

But the illusion of normalcy is inevitably interrupted by various realities. Michael’s eyes are being attacked by this illness. Sometimes there are huge dark bruises around them, sometimes they are an ugly swollen red and purple. Most of the time they itch and tears continually fall down his cheeks while his body tries to moisten eye tissue that is simply too dry. His skin is so thin that even a slight scrape becomes a bleeding leaky mess that requires layers of ointments and bandages for several weeks before it heals. Now he tires easily, has trouble eating, and of course he has lost his hair. We are learning to live with all of it.

I’m no longer sad all the time though sometimes I wonder where all the sadness went. Again, I suspect it’s hiding just under the surface of this new life we’re living, quietly nestled in beside the horror. Regardless, I’m amazed by the human capacity for adaptation. When faced with horror, even life-threatening horror, all of us try to adapt. We strive to live, we seek balance within the unbalanced, and somehow we make it work.

Sometimes I wonder how many more adjustments will be required of us, of him, and of me. Michael is more accepting since his enlightenment, and thank god for that. He still has his initial human reaction to things but then settles into acceptance and calm. I, on the other hand, must go through various whirlings of emotion and thought in order to accommodate this new reality. I am learning to adjust though the cost is often high in terms of the emotional turbulence that plays in the back of my mind.

This all puts me in mind of the Adjustment card in the Thoth tarot deck. It is the Justice card of most other tarot decks and they both speak of balance. But it is important to understand that it is a precarious balance requiring absolute stillness and concentration to maintain it. According to various interpretations of this card, the slightest distracting thought can destroy this balance, this adjustment.

Now I am excruciatingly aware of the thoughts that upset this balance and I find that any thoughts of the past or the future are dangerous, for both are filled with unreality.

The past often leads back to the good times — to vacations at the ocean or the mountains, to raising three good boys, to the adventure of creating a healing center together, to dancing with a partner who knew my every move, to a daily life that was generally kind and calm. The past is also a place of regret. For who among us doesn’t regret some of the choices we’ve made, some of the moments we’ve lost, some of the harsh words we’ve spoken?

The future is even more fraught and I’m learning to be suspicious of the inevitable expectations that arise. Looking ahead is either filled with hopes and fantasies about returning to a more golden time, or it is full of the darkness of deterioration, grief, loss, and death.

So now Adjustment is my newest teacher in this long process. She is a harsh mistress for she demands greater consciousness in every moment in order to maintain this still and balanced center. If I forget her lesson, I can suddenly find myself in anxiety, sorrow, or despair.

It is this constant dance of Adjustment between centeredness and uncenteredness which is the instruction here, and it is this constant effort that is the real work — the coming back to center again and again and again. Living in the present moment has never been a greater challenge and yet it is exactly this that every spiritual philosophy exhorts us to accomplish.

There is some kind of Adjustment, some kind of Justice, to be found in these gyrations. There is some kind of learning that only great harshness and suffering can teach. It is such a deep lesson, this learning to be present, and after the painful gyrations I return again to gratitude. For in this pain, I know I am being taught exactly what I need to learn.

Author: candidasblog

I am a mind-body psychologist with almost 40 years of clinical experience in which I integrate various aspects of psychological and spiritual understanding to help others heal. My husband, Michael, was also a mind-body psychologist and we founded an integrative medicine center together in 1997 called Eastwind Healing Center. In August, 2016 my husband was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness called Amyloidosis. Four months before this, he became enlightened. This has changed almost every aspect of our lives and this blog is an attempt to understand and articulate how spirituality can inform and strengthen the journey through mortal illness. Michael died on April 25, 2018. In numerology this is the number 22 -- the number of the Master Teacher. May his teaching, and mine, enlighten your load.

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