The New Me

Many of you know that I just underwent ACL reconstruction surgery. This surgery involves removing the torn ACL from the knee and replacing it with a graft from another ligament or tendon in the body. In my case, the graft for my reconstruction was not taken from my own body but was donated from someone else. My first reaction to this was to be amazed with modern medicine and the ability to accomplish such complex things. I very quickly also began to ponder the notion of having tissue from another body in mine. I flipped through a lot of thoughts ranging from it seeming a little creepy to being excited at the idea of getting to have the opportunity to have such a close connection with another person.

I understood that this tissue (an Achilles tendon in my case) would be harvested from a cadaver, a person who is no longer living. It seems strange now, but it took some time for it to sink in that this would not be a person who's life had run its "natural"course of aging and failing as all bodies eventually will. Such aged tissue would not be a good fix for a knee that will be hoping to dance and jump and run and play for another 30-40 years. I was faced with the truth that the tissue I would receive would come from a person who's life was cut short, someone likely only 20-35 years old.

Whoever this person was, whoever their family was, chose to turn that loss into a gift. In all likelihood, there are a number of people whose lives were saved from this gift, perhaps a heart recipient or kidney or liver. The families who received those gifts surely feel the full gratitude of the generosity involved. Those recipients may want to meet the family at some point to tell them the story of how their loss, became the saving grace for someone else.

Though my life was not saved, it will be significantly improved. It feels very important to honor the gift given me. In comparison to heart and liver transplants, an Achilles graft transplant may seem trivial but in order to have wholeness, it is not. The people who received those larger gifts will forever represent, in fact be connected to, the life giving power of the donor. Those people will represent the life force of the donor and what was notable and evident and special about him or her. I like to think that the gift I received will stand for the the un-notable, everyday aspects of that person. The parts of them that were regular and routine; the parts of them that filled the space between the special and the outstanding moments of their lives; undoubtedly, the parts that their family and loved ones miss the most.

The Truth

Who am I to believe that I know "the truth" over anyone else. Such arrogance would surely impede my ability to see the truth before me. I am as qualified as any and as ignorant as well. For that matter, who am I to believe that there is one single constant truth? With humility, silence, and an open mind and heart I can only hope to attune myself to the truth that exists in each moment; the truth that is specific for that situation, time and place. With trust I can hope to allow others to see the truth before them and to use it as a guide along the path that is theirs. With love I can support them on their path and accept support as well as I take each step with an openess toward each new truth before me.

Bath Tub Adventures:From Insomnia to World Travel

Not being able to sleep tonight, I decided to run myself a bath in hope it might relax me. In general this works for me, yet it took a little while before I could drag myself out of bed to do it. It is a similar experience to being cold when half asleep and the blanket is out of reach. You curl yourself up tighter and tighter and linger between being asleep and awake, sometimes for hours, rather than stirring yourself enough to get the blanket and be done with it. After some bargaining, I was finally able to get myself up and moving.

As hoped, the bath was very relaxing. I was able to manage some success at my own, unskilled form of meditation and soon was at the edge of sleep. As I pulled the stopper, I found myself losing touch with my peaceful state and so turned my attention to the water draining in order to ground myself in the experience of the present. In watching the water swirl at the drain and feeling it slide so gently away from me I began to think of what is was like to be the water. I became aware of the drastic and sudden shifts that this tub full of water had gone through and would undergo in a very short period of time. I started where my awareness of my own journey with this water began, resting so quietly and peacefully, snuggled together in the tub. And now, on such short notice and without consultation, I had pulled the plug and the water had no choice, through the force of gravity, but to leave. Watching the little water funnel that was forming at the drain, I wondered if the water was fighting to stay in the tub. I pictured the next phase of it's journey, which was a free fall down a dark an dirty pipe and into the city sewer. This was all quite horrifying to me and and not very relaxing so I asked myself, "is a different way I can look at this?"

In so asking, I remembered a time when I described to a dear friend the lesson that I had learned while trying to save a bug from getting caught in my shower water and being washed down the drain. As the bug tried to walk up and away from the droplets of water, I attempted to shield him until he could get to a safe place. Repeatedly, he would reach a place that, if it would just be still, would suffice. But, repeatedly, the bug's anxiety got the better of him and he would move his legs around frantically, trying to get to even safer ground. The bug was too frightened, and could not be still. Eventually, he danced and squirmed himself into a flow of water that was just too strong and it swept him down the drain. In telling my friend this lesson about stillness and my sorrow about not being able to save the bug (silly I know, but at times these things trouble me deeply) her eyes watered and she pointed out what a beautiful gift the bug had given me. She expressed her gratitude to the mystical forces in life that are able to give a bugs life meaning and create a value from it's death, by placing a man there as a witness who, simply by witnessing, learns the lesson of stillness.

Recounting the power of this experience, I decided that this is the way I would view the water as it left down the drain. I would see the water with gratitude and and attempt to find a new understanding of the water's purpose and path. This brought my focus to the larger picture. It drew my thinking both backward and forward in time simultaneously. I was now aware of the the water before it came into the bath as it warmed in my hot water heater while at the same time being aware of its path down the drain and it's eventual journey to the ocean. This water, with which I just shared this space had, only hours ago, been who knows where sharing space with who knows who. Over the course of just a few days it will run through pipes, roll down rivers, fall into the ocean, crash in it's waves, be sucked up into the sky, travel in a cloud, rain back down on the earth hundreds maybe thousands of miles away, gather in a reservoir or someones swimming pool or...you can see the endless possibilities.

When told in the form of thoughts, and using only words to tell it, it is complex and would take pages, no volumes to describe. But, as an experience, it was almost instantaneous. It was when I got to what should be the more disturbing thoughts that I had my epiphany. It was when I got to the part where this water gets dirtied and purified over an over again through washing bodies and sliding through sewers and being drank down and peed out, that it struck me, I am made up of 75% water. This is not water that I am born with and stays in my body throughout my life. This is the water that travels the world and makes up 75% of other people and cascades down immense waterfalls and baptizes babies. Seventy-five percent of ME will be somewhere else in only a matter of days. This means that I am, in fact, connected to everything. And, while my conscious mind and non liquid matter stays in one place longer and doesn't experience the drastic changes that the liquid part of me does, the majority of me is actually departing for and returning from amazing, horrifying, exhilarating world wide travels almost constantly. As exciting as this was to discover, I was mostly grateful that my conscious self could go and tuck itself comfortably in bed while parts of my liquid self would be in the not so glamorous portion of its never ceasing adventure.

Shadow Expression

At a conference I recently attended, focused on using writing exercises to tap into the unconscious, I was given a directive to take a minute to write whatever came to my mind. This is what I wrote:

"In my rage, I pulled so hard that his arm literally ripped away from his body and hung limp, held up by his skin that now served only as a sack. I collapsed in sorrow at the sight of what I had done. I couldn't stand the thought of who I was and thought I may never stop crying for the rest of my life."

It's a little twisted, but it is what came to mind. I see it as the juxtaposition of the rage and total empathy within me. The sorrow that the conflict brings and the struggle to let the two live inside me without trying to extinguish them. All based on a notion that I am to embrace all of the parts of me, because those parts of me are what make a whole ME. With different parts, I'd be someone else. Sometimes, I think that would be fine. I will end one day anyway. Why not today? But today never seems to be the day and so I carry on, and sometimes I don't mind.

Farewell Puriscal

As I prepare to leave Puriscal, you can imagine that the feelings are bitter sweet.  I am, of course, so happy to come home and see those whom I love and have missed so much.  Unfortunately, for that reward, I pay the price of saying goodbye to the wonderful people whom I have met and with whom I have worked while I was here.  

It was a beautiful morning, with the most blue sky showing as has probably been exposed since I arrived.  The sun was warm and the air quite fresh.  I soaked it in as I walked over to the Nursing home for one last round of morning exercises and excellent company.  The morning was different than usual as the staff were preparing for a fiesta to celebrate father's day.  We gathered for exercises but some were restless with anticipation of the party and did not want to attend.  Two of my favorite fellows opted out which I think was, at least in part, due to the difficulty of saying goodbye.  It made exercises a little flat, but we all pushed through it.  I took a moment to feel proud of the solid exercise routine we have developed over the past 4 weeks.  When I first arrived, though we were given general instruction as to what to do, the course of the exercises was quite rough and a bit all over the place.  With practice, I was better and better able to group exercises together that made sense, and to start with proper warm up and stretching and then build up to the more taxing exercises.  

After exercises, I sat with Rosario for quite some time and gave her a really good foot rub.  She gave me her usual instructions, "that hurts there, softer here, harder in that spot."  Her memory is short enough, that to her, this was just like any other day.  She asked me several times if I'd be there tomorrow, which is the normal line of questioning.  I reminded her a few times that I would not but chose not to tell her over and over again.  After a while, I took a seat with Guido and we talked about the whether and how much sun there was and a little about my trip home.  

The time passed both slowly and quickly.  Soon it was time for the party and we all meandered out to the  Salon were the party was staged.  There was a DJ playing Latin Dance music and as everyone took their seats for lunch, the staff surprised them each with a can of cold beer.  The room was so filled with excitement.  Guido used is best charm in an attempt to persuade Ashling to hide a second can for him under the table cloth, but she would not yield.  Lunch was soon served and it felt very exciting and special because we weren't in the usual dining hall.  All of the tables had white linen table cloths with bright orange accent runners which enhanced the mood greatly.  Since I knew I would be eating my last lunch with the staff at the CCS house shortly, I declined to eat but helped out by feeding Maria so that the staff could relax and sit down for their own lunch.  It's certainly not something you think about regularly, but it gave me the opportunity to be grateful for the fact that I can feed myself.  How vulnerable one is, when they are relying on someone else to not only remember and be willing  to feed them, but to do it with care.  I hadn't ever really considered the complexity of eating before; the importance of offering the right sized bites at the right frequency with a pause for a drink periodically; and tipping the glass at just the right angle so that enough liquid will enter the mouth, but not too much.  The preservation of ones dignity through wiping food off off of the face as it accumulates, but in a soft enough manner so as not to let the skin become sore.  Those who are parents have also learned these things.  

Once the meal was done, the dancing began.  I danced a bit but must admit, I was feeling a little too sad to muster the energy needed, besides, it was almost time for me to leave so I took the chance to make my way around the room and say goodbye for the last time.  In preparation for this, I had gone earlier this week to the photo shop and had several prints of different people made.  I handed them out to people individually, and told them how much I enjoyed the time spent with them and how much I would miss them.  The pictures were received warmly and the exchanges were so sweet.  It was so hard to walk out the door when the time came.  

When I returned to the CCS house, everyone was gathered for lunch and we enjoyed some story telling while we ate. When lunch was over, the staff presented me with the customary DVD, commemorating my stay.  I shared a thank you card with them and we all expressed our deep appreciation at having shared such a beautiful and meaningful time together.  Some of us then sat down and played the guitars and sang for a bit and then posed for some farewell photos.  As we sat around together singing and playing, a storm swept in and the rain began to pound the metal roof as lighting yielded thunder to serve as our percussion section.  I knew this was Costa Rica's grand farewell to me and I felt ever so grateful.  

When I leave the CCS house in the morning, It will be very sad as, though I have not mentioned this before, we learned upon arrival, that the CCS house in Puriscal will be closing its doors on September first.  Just as many of us have been effected in some way by the economic downturn, so too has CCS.  They are having to close 6 of their placements in order to stay solvent.   Because of the low capacity and low attendance at the rural sites, those are the placements that will take the hit.  There are already plans to re-open in 2012, but in the meantime, they will have to give up the lease on the current house, and all of the staff will be forced to find new jobs.  As I leave, I must face the fact that this is a permanent goodbye.  The salve is the memories in my mind and the love in my heart that I will keep with me forever.  Thank you to everyone who shared this journey with me whether in person or through my writing and photos.  Your participation is a gift to me, that will help give life to this experience, long beyond this time during which it has occurred.  May this be only one of many.  

The Latin Lover

During my stay here in Puriscal, I have been attending a Latin dance class at the gym.  It's an aerobics class that uses latin dance as the method.  The first hour and 15 minutes are filled with very fun, fast paced, kick your butt moves from the dances Salsa, Cumbia, Merenge, Paso Doble and one other that I can never remember, much less do.  After the workout portion, they move to couples dancing, at which time I get the most intense workout of the night, as I sprint for the door and down the street so as not to be asked to dance.  Over the past 3 weeks, while I have been doing this, I have been attending this class with some of the women who are here in the CCS program with me. They have done their best to get me to stay (I may be exaggerating slightly here) not because I'm some suave dancer, but simply because the women out number the men by some 3 or 4 to 1.  Tonight was the first night I attended by myself and thus thought myself "off the hook" for the couples section of the class.  As I casually strode over to the edge of the floor to gather my water bottle and wipe the flood of sweat from my brow (al la Martin Ribeiro), I was approached by the hottest, and I mean THE HOTTEST women in the room.  I glanced at my watch to offer the time, which was surely what she was seeking, but much to my dismay (and might I say horror) she asked me to dance.  Well, as you can imagine, my trip to Costa Rica, along with other events in my life over the past few years, has bolstered my confidence quite a bit.  This, I knew, was an opportunity to take that confidence out for a test drive.  So I took in a deep breath and I looked her straight in the eyes and said..."But I don't know how" and then stared blankly back at her, without a movement.  Some have fight, some have flight and I have freeze.  And so there I stood, staring and dazed, until finally she grabbed my had and drug me onto the dance floor.  As the music began, suddenly everything I had been learning for the past few weeks came rushing back to me and I began to dance around the floor like I was born dancing and I was sending her into complex spins and....eeeerrrrrr.....sorry, I just fell into some kind of little fantasy there.  No, what actually happened was, I danced like the gringo that I am and she taught me a spin or two, and we were both pretty much relieved when the song ended.  I thanked her warmly and she politely replied.  Then, having learned my lesson, I grabbed my things and sprinted to the door as I had been wise enough to do in weeks past.  

There is a part of me that wishes I was Rico Suave and would just expect to be in such situations and know that I would handle them without freaking out.  But the bigger part of me feels glad to know who I am, without wishing to be something I'm not.  As such, I am able to be in  such situations which, in the past, would have eaten me alive, and just enjoy them for what they are... totally fucking hilarious!

More Gifts from Monica

My back has been hurting me pretty bad for the last couple of weeks.  It doesn't seem to matter what I do, it keeps getting worse and worse.  A combination of a so so bed, being on my feet most of the day, a significant increase in activity over my usual routine (without enough stretching in between) and sitting on furniture that doesn't have quite enough back support for me.  Last week, Monica noticed me stretching and asked if my back was bothering me.  I told her a little about the problem and she offered to provide assistance if I wanted her to.  (Don't forget, Monica is the Physical Therapist at the nursing home.)  Her offer was tempting, but I felt a little awkward so I declined.  She told me that if I changed my mind, not to hesitate to let her know.  Over the course of the next few days, my back got worse and worse, or maybe I just got tired of it hurting so bad.  I was doing everything I knew to improve it including: stretching, icing, 4 advil every 6 hours, and using a pillow as back support whenever I sat down.  Nothing seemed to be working.  Monica had asked me a few different times if I wanted her help, so today I decided I would take her up on it.  

I thought she would just guide me through some stretches and exercises for 20-30 minutes and send me on my way to do them on my own.  Well, no.  She had me meet her at her house.  From there she walked me over to an office that she shares with several doctors and a couple of other physical therapists.  She asked me a few questions about my pain and then proceeded to do a full treatment on my back.  She hooked me up to a machine that sent small pulses of electricity into my back.  A little scary at first but overall pretty cool.  She then used some kind of wand type thing to rub the painful area and then she massaged the area for another 20 minutes or so.  While she was doing it, It felt better, but it wasn't until I got up that I realized how much better it truly was.  

Given how much time and energy she spent on my back, I was relieved that she had me come to her office because this way, I knew I would be paying her for the service which I seemed important to me given the extensiveness of the treatment.  Except...when I tried to pay, she adamantly declined and insisted that it was a gift that she wanted to give me for all the work I had put in at the nursing home.  It was hard not to push back, which I did a little, but she made it clear that she did not want a payment and so I wanted to be gracious in accepting her generous gift.  I told her that I felt so much better, which I truly do and thanked her for her generosity.  Again, I feel so blessed.  

An interesting side note about my back pain.  The second day that I was at the nursing home, I was going around trying to work up enthusiasm among the residents to come do exercises.  I came across a man, Guido, who was not interested and explained how his back hurt too much.  Sor Julia jumped in and told him that I would massage his back before and after the exercises, to which he agreed.  He toddled his way over to the exercise room and I gave him a good back rub.  My efforts proved worthy, as the next day, without much prompting, he joined us again for exercises and another back rub.  By Friday, he told me, as he came in for exercises, that his back felt better and he didn't need a massage that day.  He has been coming to exercises everyday now and has not complained of his back since.  By Tuesday of that 2nd week, my back began to hurt.  As it got worse, I felt myself walking differently upon first standing and was aware that my motion was much like Guido's.  That little, stiff in the lower back shuffle thing that you often see old men do.  Some might say that I ended up with Guido's back ache and that's why he doesn't have it anymore.  If so, I don't mind because it has left him able to come in and do exercises with us everyday and he has become a good friend.  We have had great times together, including a day when we sat for a half hour or more, and just bounced a ball back an forth between us and laughed and enjoyed each other's company.   I'll have to find a way to set what's left of the back ache free somewhere over the gulf of Mexico so that it won't come home with me, but it won't find its way back to Guido.