August 15, 2018
Kim: Crista! Crista! Will you talk to me?
Me: Mmmmm … what?
Kim: Will you talk to me? Something’s going on and I want you to talk to me.
Me (groggy): Are you sleep talking?
Kim: No. I feel like there’s a rock concert going on in my head and I’m trying to figure out what’s real.
I’m jarred wide awake. Something’s seriously wrong. Three years ago he had a seizure-like episode and this sounds familiar but different.
I turn on the light. It’s just after 3 am.
Me: Mind if I turn on the light?
Kim: No, but keep talking.
His eyes are darting all over the room. Trying to figure out what he can see. Something strange is going on with his vision and he has a horrible headache.
I’m talking to him, rambling really, and trying to get him up. Is his coordination okay? No. I’m now firing questions. And looking for the phone … we don’t keep it in the bedroom anymore. I want to call 911. He wants to wait a minute … go the bathroom to look in the mirror … get dressed. I call 911. My husband might be having a stroke. Come quickly. I wake my daughter and ask her to open the door for emergency services when they arrive. I keep talking to make sure he stays conscious while I dress and pack a small bag, just in case. I text my prayer girls, knowing they’d all be asleep at that hour. Miracle of all miracles: one was awake. I’m on it. Keep me posted, she said. I’m so grateful.
Emergency services comes in moments … they’re volunteer in our town … lots of teens in training. I recognize one from my 17-year old daughter’s school. They’re competent, professional, efficient, and caring. Questions, field test, vitals, stretcher, lights on, I follow behind with my daughter. Who’s gonna feed the dog in 4 hours? Does it really matter?
With his history and symptoms, they order an immediate CT scan where they find evidence of a brain bleed. They can’t treat it at our local hospital, so they transfer him to a teaching hospital, 45 minutes away. He’s admitted to ICU. Wait, what? Isn’t that for really serious stuff? This is serious. Oh, Lord, we need you. Heal him!
The next 48 hours involved test, after test, after test. Two MRIs and another CT scan. His BP and pulse are perfect. He’s healthy, and enviably fit, even coming back from knee surgery last February. The ACL is stronger than ever now and he’s back to tennis and running. He doesn’t fit the profile of someone who has a hemorrhagic stroke. That’s what they said he had after two days and all those tests and scans. That, and, “It’s an anomaly. We don’t know what caused it. We don’t know what could’ve prevented it. Go home and resume your usual life. No driving for 6 months with your visual deficit, while on anti-seizure medication. Hopefully as the swelling goes down in the brain, your vision will be restored in the next few months. Come back in 3 months so we can see how you’re doing.” The team of doctors in their white lab coats then signed his discharge papers and start walking out of the room. My eyes locked with theirs as they left. They seemed to be moving in slow motion, reading my thoughts, now screaming … WAIT! Come back here and FIX this! I suppose it’s the best news we could possibly be given, especially in light of all the things they ruled out. But something inside me felt this just wasn’t okay. What did they miss?
Kim never made it to the 3 month follow up. Two months later he received a diagnosis that made the hemorrhagic stroke seem minor. Glioblastoma, grade iv. That’s a story for another time. For now, suffice it to say that the stroke in August and all the specialist appointments in the weeks that followed shook us to our very core. Everything that we took for granted up to that point became precious to us. Gratitude that it was an anomaly, not something much worse, overwhelmed us. So did the fear of the unknown. In a moment, I’d flip from panic to peace, fear to faith, feeling a bit like a wave being tossed about.
So here’s the thing …. I’m not telling you this to invite you to a pity party about our life. I’m telling you this to illustrate a point. Sometimes, without any warning at all, life throws us a curve ball, and we have to choose how to respond. This was without a doubt the hardest, most unexpected thing we’d ever faced, and we didn’t see it coming. Life wasn’t perfect. It never is. But it had been a great summer and a great stretch for a while now. Our marriage was strong after investing in it for the past several years. We didn’t take that lightly. We were both excited about our start-up businesses. Our faith had grown. Our kids were making good choices and going in a good direction. Life was good. We were grateful. If something this scary had happened five years earlier, when we were struggling in our marriage, we would’ve had a hard time navigating through it together.
So, I had a choice to make. I could allow myself to spiral into fear and panic, or I could fight to keep myself in peace and faith. I wanted the latter. But, how do I do that? Recently, I’d been learning how! I knew what I needed. Focus. One day at a time. One moment at a time. Just one breath at a time.
Whenever I felt a wave of panic or fear, I’d sit down right where I was, I’d silence out all the noise, and just breathe. While my faith has always been central, I’d been practicing daily meditation for the last 8 weeks as part of an online workshop on the Enneagram. My favorite part of the course was the daily reading and meditation that came to my inbox first thing each morning. It was summer and my schedule was more relaxed than usual. Since early July, I began every day on my screened in porch, sitting in my favorite white wicker rocking chair. With my coffee and journal beside me, and the reading and meditation homework on my lap, I’d start my morning. I’d read the lesson, then my meditation assignment. Putting my papers aside, I’d set the timer for ten minutes when I first started the practice. In the beginning, I’d mostly squirm. I’d check the timer frequently, sure that it wasn’t working, only to find that three minutes had passed. Being still was hard for me. My thoughts raced. I’d fidget, being uncomfortable with “wasting” time like this. The birds’ chirping was loud, distracting, and a little annoying … but musical compared to the noise from the internal resistance I felt towards getting physically, mentally and spiritually still. A battle raged as so many thoughts and things competed for my attention and beckoned my activity.
As I faithfully practiced meditation daily, I noticed progress as time passed. My ability to be still and stay with my breath was lengthening. I didn’t judge myself as much. I got curious about what I was resisting, and why. I learned to give myself grace, and to even have a sense of humor about the process I was going through. When the ten (as time went on, twenty) minutes were up, I didn’t usually feel much different. I didn’t have any profound spiritual revelations, besides peace as I grew to enjoy the stillness. But as the weeks went on, a persistent peace and noticeable clarity suffused my daily routine. I was less focused on whatever was coming next, and more able to stay present with what was happening now … with the people, tasks and projects in front of me. I realized multi-tasking is really just my brain fidgeting. I was single tasking and felt more productive, realizing so much of what used to occupy my time, thoughts and energy was unimportant.
Those eight weeks, I learned a lot about myself through the class and meditation. What makes me tick. What motivates my behavior. What my stumbling blocks are. I learned that as a Type 7 on the Enneagram, I seek out fun and adventure in life. As much as I love fun and adventure, a typical coping mechanism of Type 7s is avoiding pain. That explains a lot of my unhealthy habits over the years, some of which I’ve broken. It’s amazing all the ways that I can find to numb pain. If not a glass (or more) of white burgundy, then mindless eating. Busy-ness. Shopping. Escaping in a book or movie. Making jokes when conversations go deep.
One of the things Type 7s do is plan lots of fun stuff so they can look forward to what’s coming up. The daily grind is bearable when 7s know that the next blast of fun and adventure is coming. We can put up with a certain amount of current pain for future excitement and adventure. The antidote to the future focused behavior typical of Type 7 is being present in the moment. For Type 7s, meditation is one of the best practices to overcome unhealthy coping mechanisms! I was getting better every day at meditating, right when I’d most need it.
So here’s what I’ve learned, and I’m grateful to share:
1) Now is all we ever have. We never know what good or bad lies ahead of us in life. This present moment is all I (we, my husband and family, and you too) have. That’s all we’ve ever had. But now that this truth is in our face in a new and fresh way daily, we can’t pretty it up or ignore it. This is our new norm. I can plan ahead loosely, but today’s my only guarantee.
2) There’s no better time than now. When things are going well and life is sailing along beautifully, it’s in those times that investing in growth prepares us for the unexpected. I had no idea how much the online class would prepare me for what was coming. Understanding the Enneagram, how I typically respond when things are going well, as well as how I tend to cope when I’m stressed, helped me choose to show up and be present when everything in me wanted to escape. I learned what I needed just in time, for a time such as this.
3) Soul care is the deepest form of self-care. Beginning a practice of meditation when my life was in crisis mode would have been infinitely harder than establishing a practice in the quiet summer months. Peace when life is calm can be stored up to sustain us when crisis hits. Had I not started the habit of meditation several weeks before our lives were turned upside down, I don’t think I’d have been able to respond the way I did. In fact, three years ago when Kim had the seizure-like episode, I remember already being at my limit (exhausted, overstretched and fragile), and my response was one epic fail. SPLAT. The frenetic way that I tried to create order from chaos resulted in disconnection from my relationships and emotions. Looking back on how I was numbing the pain in 2015 makes me sad. I was hurting, and from my pain, I was hurting the people I loved most. That event made me want to do better next time. It set me on a path to find healing. Gratefully, this time, from my healed soul I’ve been able to connect with the people I love most rather than put up self-protective walls that don’t really work.
4) God is always near. My meditation practice taught me in my stillness that God is truly as close as my breath. When I remember to invite him in, I’m reminded he’s always right there. Reminding myself of this when things are going well makes it easier for me to remember when crisis hits.
5) I can do hard things. I can feel painful emotions and not crumble to pieces. And being willing to feel the painful emotions without stuffing them allows me to feel the positive emotions in all their fullness. Yes, the pain is real. But so is the gratitude, peace and JOY that are equally present on a daily basis. I get to choose whether to experience or stuff my emotions. Having done both, I’ll choose feeling the painful with the positive emotions any day. Feelings remind me that I’m fully alive.
What effective coping mechanism works for you when life gets stressful?
