Broken Open
A few weeks ago my dad woke up with his whole body aching. He stayed in bed that morning and I thought he was just having a slow day. He's eighty years old and some days are a little slower but for the most part my dad is very active, he has a schedule, a routine and he sticks to it. I taught my morning class and then went back to his room to check on him. He was still in bed, he hadn’t eaten breakfast. I touched his forehead and it was hot. This was the beginning of a very difficult week for my dad(and for me in a different way.)
Each morning I would wake up hoping my dad would be up and back to his routine only to find him in bed with a fever, no appetite and less energy than the day before. The only thing anyone wanted to do was test him for COVID(which they ended up doing three times, all with negative results.) After several days I took my dad to the ER in desperation and after doing bloodwork and a urine test they were getting ready to release him with no answers as to why he’d had a fever for four days. He could barely walk, he was so unsteady on his feet and they wanted to send him home? I begged the nurse on the phone to do an X-ray but he said he was doubtful the doctor would approve it because my dad’s blood and urine had come out fine. My dad was anything but fine and taking a look at him that day it would have been obvious to anyone. Somehow the nurse was able to convince the doctor to take an X-ray and they diagnosed pneumonia. Can I tell you how grateful I am to the nurse whose name I do not remember? He might have saved my dad's life. Maybe that sounds dramatic but I felt how tenuous life is watching my dad grow weaker every day.
I have had this feeling when my children were babies too. When my son Diego was three we went to Peru and after a week there he started vomiting and couldn’t keep anything down. It was likely from the water and the first day he was vomiting I was concerned, then the second day I was afraid and the third day I was starting to panic. The fourth and the fifth day were total panic. His little body was withering away and I felt that same feeling I felt with my dad a few weeks ago. I felt then and now how little control I have over making someone well. Our bodies are resilient and also so fragile.
It’s been over a week since my dad came home from the hospital and he is bouncing back. His body that was fragile is choosing resilience and I am grateful. Just like my son Diego who was finally able to hold food down all those years ago and will turn eighteen next month. Last week I had the distinct feeling of trying to hold myself together and being so, so tired. I cancelled a few things I was supposed to do. I’m trying to take my own advice and do less. There’s an uneasiness though in my dad and myself as we grapple with the unknown. What was the cause of his pneumonia? Did we miss a sign? Were we not listening enough?
The week my dad was sick I had the sensation of having something stuck in my throat. Something that was going down by millimeters everyday but I could feel it when I ate anything and all night I would wake up and feel it there. I told my acupuncturist about it and she called it, Plum Pit Qi:
‘In Chinese medicine, this lump is called Plum Pit Qi, for obvious reasons. The Chinese believe that Plum Pit Qi is the result of a situation that is figuratively too hard to swallow, so it gets caught in your throat. That’s why almost everyone who suffers from this condition is also struggling with some kind of life stress, change, or mental health issue.
...The emotional cause of Plum Pit Qi needs to be addressed, too. This means doing whatever it takes to resolve stress and anxiety you may be experiencing, as well as dealing with any situations in your life that you find too difficult to swallow.’
Wow and yes. Stress, sadness and frustration are emotions I have been feeling abundantly. I’m just trying to hold myself together while I take care of my dad and everyone else. I’m pushing my own stuff down and saving it for later. Last week I decided to post a picture of my Dad on Instagram and as I was writing about his pneumonia I felt everything coming up. Tears falling and I thought, ˋwhoa, whoa, whoa, it’s just a picture´. Nothing is quite that simple though. A picture is not just a picture, it has a story and emotions connected to it. Looking at this picture everything that was trapped inside was coming up. I don’t want to feel like I have a plum pit stuck in my throat. It feels awful. I want to let this sadness and frustration go. The fear, the lack of control; the fragility and the resilience of our bodies, not just my dad’s or my son’s. I have to acknowledge it, not hide from, ignore, push down or cover up. As I allow everything to come up I have the sensation of being broken open. Not broken but broken open. Peeling back the layers to softness, to vulnerability. This is the way. The tears that need to come up happen when I allow this opening. Again and again and again.
I walked with my dad and the dogs on this day that has felt so surreal. He is strong again and it is a walk where he is not tired and I am not worried. The sky is orange and the sun hides or maybe it is fighting to make its presence known. The smoke, the clouds, the sun all competing for our attention. The house is dark and it feels like the world is once again (or still) upside down. How much more is there? I feel panic rising and will myself to stay soft and to keep committing to the work of being broken open.
