Learning from the darkness

I was aware of the cosmic irony of being in the doctor's office exactly six months to the day of my last visit, the day before Larry died. Wednesday I had an appointment to get a physical and looked forward to getting acquainted with a new doctor, my former doctor having retired this summer. I took a face mask from the box by the front door and announced to the receptionist that I wasn't there because I was sick, I just happened to be sick on the day I had an appointment. 

The diagnosis was almost identical to what it was in June; sinusitis, ear infection, non-productive cough, low grade fever. The drug cocktail was slightly different, but now, four days later I can actually lie down and sleep without hacking up a lung. I am depleting my kleenex supply, the headache persists, the eyes still itch, but I am clearly on the mend.

In my working days, I took pride in my self-care tactics. When I had the flu or was running a fever, I would give myself three days to rest and heal, and get back quickly to the work of caring for others. Unless of course, it was only a post nasal drip, I ignored it until I developed laryngitis, which only happened twice on a Sunday morning.

 My decision to retire three years ago was influenced by knowing I could not care for Larry and the needs of a congregation and have anything left for myself. For three and half years, his health care was our priority. When I broke my foot and then later scheduled knee replacement, the reality of how little Larry could function as a caregiver became evident. We were often living in our own little island of denial. It seemed easier. It became complicated.

Now, feverish, coughing, blowing my nose, battling a headache, I felt bereft of skills to battle this attack on my system. I am not sure I would have bothered with an appointment, but would have just toughed it out. Sleep it off, give it time, get over it. 

And perhaps there is the lesson--time is not the only way to heal. It helps. But so does a little help from my friends (in this case a medical professional), the courage to admit the need for support, comfort, rest. It's still hard to ask. This time the universe came through.

One of our lovely family rituals is to observe the Solstice. We gather, eat, light the fire, release our pain, offer our intentions for the new year. As the light returns may we pay attention to the rhythms of the universe. I am working at appreciating what the darkness has to teach me.