A day early this week...

We cannot tell what may happen to us in the strange medley of life. But we can decide what happens in us -- how we can take it, what we do with it -- and that is what really counts in the end.   Joseph Fort Newton

I heard in a meeting last week that gratitude is a commitment, an attitude, an action. I've also heard gratitude referred to as a spiritual elevator. What I'll say about that is, sometimes I need to visit the basement before I can get back to my happy place.

I appreciate being allowed the space to cry, to yell, to be pissed off (and actually, it's "me, myself and I" that needed to give myself permission to be angry about my diagnosis). As always seems the case, my emotions simply want to be acknowledged. Upset? Throw a fit, punch a pillow, piss and moan, and... exhale. Funny how talking about it (fill in the blank with the "it" of the moment), writing about it, sharing in a meeting truly does take the power out of whatever I'm ruminating on. Oh, I'm not the only one? Ah, you say this is normal? Fine. Now we can move on.

Trusting the process has never been my forte. When new I'd yell, "F*** the process!" mostly because I had no idea what it meant to trust - to trust that life was unfolding, that there wasn't much I could do about it anyway, that I was not.in.charge. And something I've come to understand is that my circumstances may change, but it can take a while for my heart and soul to catch up with the new reality. Out of a job? Out of a relationship? Retired?  Diagnosed with cancer? Breathing, breathing, breathing...

I'm posting a day early, thinking that there are some who read this post who may be wondering about my Monday procedure. I'm here, a bit tired (though slept much of yesterday), doing my best to follow instructions.

I will say, that as a former Quality Assurance person at a small local hospital (my title was Director of Outcomes Management, if you can imagine such a thing for an alcoholic!), I was pleased with the safety-check prior to getting knocked out. The surgeon (who's penned initials are still on the surgery site) went over my stats, her intentions, then checked in with anesthesia, the assistant (who assured that all instruments were sterile and accounted for), and a couple of others I don't now recall. As I was going under, the anesthesia person whispered, "Think of a happy dream, Jeanine. We will take good care of you" - pleasant to contemplate in the seconds before I went unconscious.

And so, here I am, sitting upright, with a planned walk at my husband's side later today, per post-op orders. He's back to work tomorrow and has asked that I put together a "just in case" list of people who live nearby. I've done so, but for the life of me, can't imagine what kind of help I'll need. A trusted other actually suggested that he contact my sponsor to rattle my cage about accepting help! That wasn't necessary, but I am taking a look at my self-reliance - not a bad thing, in and of itself, and... not a bad thing to be realistic about my abilities, especially when there is likely still some sedation in my system!

Is it tough or easy for you to ask for help? How about giving assistance to others (I, for one, am much better at that). How do you relax into resting when you're more accustomed to "busy"?  

See you next Wednesday... And thank you for all the positive energy and good wishes across the miles, stated or silent.

Riding the rollercoaster

 Random thought of the day - Does anyone else ever wonder about the back story when you see a lone shoe on the street or sidewalk? Just one shoe, all by itself, in good shape or bad? I often wonder how it got there, on a curb, a walkway, or middle of the street, making up a story about an argument, or a quick escape where one shoe fell off the back of a truck. Is it a heel? Did it get thrown at someone in an argument, or pulled off as a woman stomped away? Did some kid get in trouble for coming home with just one shoe where there should be two? The possibilities are endless.

Which is simply to illustrate that my mind can be an interesting, or terrifying, or silly place to be - the sometimes bad neighborhood where we're told not to go alone when we first get sober. OK, so no one can actually get in my mind with me. I think the warning has to do with not keeping secrets, from myself or anyone else. I don't need to tell everyone everything - that was a mark of my alcoholism. If we were drinking together, we were best friends. These days my life is pretty much an open book, and I'm realizing with this recent diagnosis and pending surgery, just how much I operate from self-reliance.  I have a solid spiritual practice, I'm a member of a strong fellowship, and I'll get my own groceries, thank you. My husband and I are fairly low maintenance, so I don't anticipate a lot of need, though right now, have no idea how I'll feel in a month or so. Again, the not knowing gnaws at my heels as I slip in and out of prediction mode, trying not to tell myself stories. 

As a recovering addict, I will say that one of the toughest things about this whole medical ordeal are the IV's, for the MRI and assuming for surgery. It's been a long, long time since I stuck a needle in my arm (or back of my hand, etc) but my poor veins never came back, which means a conversation every time there is a blood draw or an IV on the agenda. Fortunately, I am fairly healthy, so it doesn't come up too often, and I am very grateful for the nurses and techs who believe me when I say, "Please trust me on this" as I give them direction. Addiction isn't logical, but I truly never imagined during my two-year methamphetamine run that I might need my vascular system for valid purposes later in life.  And I just learned about a handy little gadget called a vein finder - kind of like the stud finder I use when hanging pictures on the wall. Who knew? I'm sure glad there wasn't a home model when I was out there!

I'm doing my best to ride the rollercoaster, from competence and trust to tears. Being human is not a character defect. Being human is not a character defect (from Courage to Change). How I feel one minute doesn't mean I'll always feel that way, whether joyful or sad. I heard this week that if I'm practicing the "Accept the things I cannot change" in the Serenity Prayer, it means that I must change - my attitude or outlook, letting go of the illusion of control. 

And, after a meeting on the topic of powerlessness, I realized that as much as I'd like to get on with it, I can't really work Steps Two and Three until I fully embrace Step One. I sat down with pen and paper, arguing with myself about being powerless over cancer. I don't want to be powerless over my health. Am I really? Don't I have choices and generally practice good self-care? Yes, and, I can make plans, eat the kale, go for the walk, and any outcomes are out of my control. Damn it. I hate that part. 

I hate that part and am just coming to terms with the fact that I'm angry, pissed off, annoyed, with "god", the universe, my left boob. I can feel my inner-kid stomping her feet - "But I do all the right things! Followed by "What did I do wrong?" all tied up with the magical thinking of cause and effect. And then I beat myself up for feeling peeved - it could be a lot worse; there are folks who are in much worse shape; quit your whining. Can I hold gratitude and anger at the same time? Well obviously, because that's where I am, on the see-saw of "thank you" and "f-you." 

As I've been reminded, when I'm angry, it's usually because I've forgotten my powerlessness. I do realize this is all part of the process. I'm continuing to put pen-to-paper and will make an appointment with the cancer counseling my provider offers. I'll go through the preparation process as outlined in my fancy breast cancer notebook, sort of like getting ready for a race - hydrating, laying out my clothes the night before, thinking about what I'll eat afterwards. I'll show up on Monday, trusting my medical team and my support people, and will keep putting one foot in front of the other, whether that's slogging along in the mire or happy, joyous and free. 

Is your mind still a bad neighborhood at times? How do you come back to the present moment when you find yourself in a dark alley of negative thought? How are you practicing the principles of the Serenity Prayer this week?

Acceptance...

 And the beat goes on...  My mind keeps returning to p. 449, for those of us raised on the Third Edition (p.417 for any of you 4th Ed. newcomers). "And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed...I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment." Supposed to be? Maybe not, but what is, is. My new to me, Stoic Daily Reader reminds me that it is senseless to argue with or rally against circumstance, as circumstance is neutral, not aimed at me. Acceptance does not indicate approval or much of anything other than acknowledgement of reality. As a friend reminds me, "If things were supposed to be any other way, they'd be different."

I also keep thinking about long term sobriety and what that entails. If the disease had its way with us, we wouldn't be here to face life on life's terms, the joys and travails of aging sober - grandkids and great grandchildren, diagnoses, retirement, loved ones dying, getting wrinkles and gray hair, forgetting where we put the keys, long term friendships - none of which would've happened if we'd died at the end of syringe or behind the wheel, gone home with the wrong stranger, choked on our own vomit or any of the myriad and painful ways we alcoholics and addicts die. So do I view troubles as an opportunity to "cheerfully...demonstrate [god's] omnipotence"? (4th ed. p. 133)  I wouldn't go that far, at least not in the initial reaction phase. But as I've settled in to what is, I know that my current situation is very much an opportunity to draw on my spiritual resources, to open my arms and heart to those who express their love, to hunker down with my program. Isn't this what we do? I can tra-la-la along the road of happy destiny with the best of them, but it's when the road gets rocky that I'm called to dig deep and trust all that brought me to this moment. 

A new friend (as of now, zoom only) sent me a Rumi poem, The Guest House, that ends with the line, "Be grateful for whatever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." Again, do I believe in the Universe pulling strings? No, and I can learn from what shows up, I can relax into the now. I do know that I've had strong urges to phone my mother this week. Someone wondered if that means her spirit is near. I have no idea, but I like the image, so will picture her comforting touch, holding my tummy when I was sick, or rubbing Vicks on my chest, like she did when I was little, allowing the grieving and longing to pass through.

In another hit of mother-energy, the daughter of my friend and mentor, who died quickly and surprisingly from cancer 5 years ago now, is in India, and placed her mother's ashes in the powerful Ganges River over the weekend. Along with my spiritual sisters, I meditated on my friend's life and transition at the time her ashes were delivered to Ganga Ma, Mother Ganges, revered as a goddess who aids the dead on their path towards heaven. I don't know much about Hinduism, but I very much appreciate the symbolism of the river as mother, moving, and flowing. It all goes back to the "god as I don't understand god," my non-understanding of spirit that shifts and changes over time. As does my relationship to the archetypal energy of "mother," which today I see as caring, comforting, and guiding. Drawing on my spiritual resources, today, means calling on the energy of those strong women who've gone on, caring, comforting, guiding.

I met with the surgeon this week - liked her a lot, heard what I hoped to hear regarding my options, and have an outpatient procedure scheduled in a couple of weeks. Again and again, this is about suiting up and showing up, staying in the moment, doing what's in front of me - waaaayyy more manageable than the big chunk I often try to bite off. Figuring it all out, or trying to see around corners, doesn't work in this situation, and probably never did, which never seems to stop me from getting ahead of myself. One day at a time, one step at a time, moving forward.

What are some of the gifts of long term recovery that you would've missed had you not found sobriety? Are you able to reframe the tough times as teachers? What "one day at a time" situation are you facing today, and how can you surrender and relax into what is?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

More revealed, and yet to come...

 Ah well... my pathology report indicates the Big C, as in cancer (though I'm hoping for little c), damn it. At this point, I have an MRI scheduled and a consultation to talk about next steps and next decisions, so am still, again, in waiting mode.

As I've recently quoted, "waiting is an action." I think of times I made a poor decision rather than sit still, as well as the times (more so in these later years of recovery) when I was able to actually pause for the next right thing to present itself, like when I felt pressure around work when waiting for clarification was all I could really do. I'm reminded of the suggestion, "If you don't know what to do, don't do anything." Ha! Easy for you to say.

Waiting takes so many forms - waiting for my dear mother to die, waiting for test results, waiting for a phone call, for time to pass (sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly) with the choice to spin, or simply get on with the day. Dentist appointment, regular meetings, a trip to the grocery store, my usual morning walks, laundry...  the beat goes on.

I had a sweet time visiting my good friend this past weekend, with a drive out to the spectacular Point Reyes on the northern California coast. I must say that while I was in awe of the amazing beauty and power of crashing waves, a herd of deer, a tough walk down and up 313 stairs (each way!) to the lighthouse, I felt somewhat muted, like I was in a fog - probably because I was in a fog. I was trying not to think about the biopsy results, but of course, in trying not to think about it, that's what I was thinking about. 

There are lessons here about self-acceptance vs self-criticism, as well as letting go of the "should's," especially as related to emotions. I'm also aware of my inner addict yelling, "F-it! Let's get pizza!" before my saner self remembers that it is likely best to be on my game for this next leg of the journey rather than slogging my way through a cheese and ice cream fest on the couch. 

I do so appreciate all who've reached out to let me know of their own cancer journeys. When the nurse asked about my support system, I told her I'm covered in that department. Whether it is a close friend who has my back, those good friends who've "been there, done that," or the many acquaintances who've also walked this path, in AA and Alanon, I do know I am never alone. 

I have plans for a fear inventory, and maybe more Step 4 or 10 writing (these would be the pen to paper inventories rather than columns - often the simple act of writing what I'm feeling, leads me to truths and insights I might not have otherwise reached). And, as I've said and been told, I'm putting one foot in front of the other. The biopsy doc thanked me for staying calm, saying it made their work easier. I wanted to tell him that in my family, we're good patients - calm, and we do as we're told, usually with a dose of humor. 

I may be in denial, but I truly don't feel this is my time to die. I might need to go through a bit of a rough patch, but my confidence is bolstered by all those (and I mean ALL THOSE) I know who've walked through this journey, or one similar, extremely grateful that this is 2023 with all the medical advances, not 1950.  So, as Mary Oliver writes, what am I to do with this one wild and precious life? 

What that meant on the way to the dentist was giving a few bucks to a street person, directing him to an agency where he could get socks and gloves. I have troubling circumstances, but I am so fortunate. Another earthquake in Turkey and Syria? My "problems" are miniscule. I have a warm home, a strong marriage, good insurance, and great friends, a full pantry and gas in the car. Life is good, even when it may seem otherwise.

Thank you in advance for your well wishes. I'm more a text and email gal on a good day, and that hasn't changed much, so if you phone, don't be offended if I don't pick up. Sometimes talking can feel overwhelming, especially when I don't yet know exactly what I'm talking about. One day at a time, this too shall pass, turn it over - thank goodness for the silly sayings that come to me automatically. Stay tuned, and thank you for coming along for the ride.

How do you put one foot in front of the other when the road of happy destiny seems rocky? Who do you call on for support? What slogans or program tools do you rely on to get you through what can feel like a tough time? How does a gratitude practice fit in?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th