Procrastination

 September 1, 2021

It is a welcome hot and sunny afternoon, after days of clammy rain. The birthday month is done. I’ve woken myself up with four cups of tea—one black Ceylon, and three from a pot of white tea with champagne tones. I am still struggling with sinus problems which manifested as the fearsome symptom of vision blurriness and intense headache on July 31. This time I don’t want to see the GP and be put on antibiotics. A part of me knows the sinus will only resolve if I travel away from this humid Singapore climate and allow the sinuses time to dry out. That is the only thing that has worked in the past, but this is not yet possible or desirable. So I curse these empty spaces in my cheeks that are not functioning as they should, and I treat the symptoms with warm liquids and home remedies that include lemon, honey, pepper and ginger. 

 

I wrote the following on my birthday:

‘Some times are bright, easy. Things manifest in reality almost the moment you desire them. This is not one of those times. It’s a demanding and dense time where any movement is almost non-existent. I’ve been a huge fan of such times, endorsing them for the learning and insights they bring. I’ve bonked people over their heads with, adverse times are the best teachers.

 

But now I am weary.  It is also true that when such times are prolonged and seemingly endless their learning value diminishes considerably. Of course one could say that they are testing times and I am failing that test, but it’s difficult to keep moving while a barrage of fists are battering me from all sides.

 

It is hard to set goals or feel hope for better during such times, but I don’t know what it is about being human that makes us keep going on the worst of days. I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about the millions in India, and elsewhere, that toil on with so little expectation of better. Their covid year has been a thousand times harder than mine even on my worst day. Their resilience defies the odds, it inspires.’

 

I had arrived at the beginning of the birthday month hoping for respite in which I could reflect on and absorb the covid year after my 60^th birthday. But right from the start, I had anxiety, scary symptoms and time spent in docs offices, instead.  

 

Nevertheless I hoped for a magical shift that would usher in lighter fortunes and after suspending visits to specialists, I set about planning my birthday week. Hmmm… why should the week be any different from the month or year, and it wasn’t. A new symptom had appeared—pain in the shoulder joint and immobility that I feared was from a torn tendon in the rotator cuff. It was on the left shoulder so I could still write in notebooks but typing and definitely karate were impossible. I persisted with leg stuff—kicks, running and biking, the things that release endorphins, dopamine, serotonins. 

 

On the eve of my birthday I surrendered to that Giant Obliterator—from the work on my sinus symptoms—who seemed to be pushing me to wander. I opened the drawer to pull out my backpack and was greeted by a terrible odour, dust and 'must' filled my nostrils making me sneeze, and setting off the current intense sinus bout. I found the least smelly bag in there and packed library books, a notebook and pen. It began raining the minute I stepped out. I felt disheartened but ran to the bus stop and just made the number 12 to the library. I dropped the books off and went up to the café. Chicken rendang pie, iced tea and a window seat. I stared at the rain and didn’t write in the open notebook. It had been sunny when I dressed for the library and I shivered in my sundress. I had not been out in so long that I had forgotten how chilled indoor spaces in Singapore are and not packed a sweater.

 

I went to the basement and wandered the shelves till I reached the back corner—poetry, biography, letters etc. I pulled out a pile of books by poets I had never heard off, took them to a chair and dipped into them. I drifted into a slower more beautiful space. Time and life felt real, felt true. 

 

I began to lose my fear of the birth day. I had been tense, worrying what disaster would explode the day, after the horrendous month I’d traversed. It was a pleasant day which began with stationery gifts—kanso noto notebooks with the tomoe river paper that fountain pen lovers covet, ninipies, a folding ruler, sticky notes and two black cat cases. The spouse and I spent the day eating dim sum and later mexican, drinking wine and margaritas, and chatting. The celebrations with other human family were reserved for Saturday and with cat family for Sunday. We drank a bottle of orange wine (my first try) with sea bass, prawns and burrata at Latteria on Saturday. Followed with an exquisite tiramisu, a raspberry and lemon meringue cake, and frozen vodka shots. On Sunday it was homemade Parsi style egg curry and a ginger pudding cake with toffee sauce. It was an indulgent 61^st after a time of sparseness and control. 

 

There is an opening in energies, a loosening of shackles in my mind. I have ideas, I have excitement about two writing projects—one karate related and the other a renewal of Boiling Frogs—though words still are flowing only like thick molasses, heavy and laboured. I know writing this a distraction from the hard work of plunging into the projects.

Clearing

August 20, 2021

 

It’s been a ‘twilight’ kind of day. A soft light from an invisible sun has permeated the cloudy hours. I woke to a dark, very dark rainy sky, with lingering dreams wanting attention. In the second of the ones I remembered a wall in my living room became a collapsible door and the Japanese man from the adjoining apartment walked in and placed a dish of food on my dining table. We had never met but he walked around the apartment like he was ‘a familiar’, asking my spouse, daughter and I, questions about it. His family followed with more food, and then his guests, a family of white persons, also joined them. My family was surprised as we were sprawled on the couch not dressed for company, or in a party mood. 

 

But the dream didn’t feel intrusive, in fact there was a excitement of change in it. 

 

At 10 am I spoke with a very dear friend, a soul friend, whom I hadn’t been able to connect with since moving to Singapore. I told her that I didn’t understand it but I felt I, my persona, my intelligence, my awareness, my consciousness, had shrunk so much that I felt ashamed to speak to her. Fearful that she would no longer find me worthy. How silly, I added, I also know you would never judge me that way. I still don’t know where that feeling came from but instead of waiting to understand I am just going to blunder ahead and start breaking more ‘silly’ walls that have built up. We have a date to speak again. 

 

I don’t know what I am writing about. I know I want to say that though my healing from symptoms is not complete, I am done with doctors for now. I had a consultation with an eye doctor that confirmed, this time with thorough examination, that my eye is fine. Right now I don’t want to know more about the other symptoms as I feel convinced they are from my sinus infection, and I want to trust my body and mind to tell me things, and not necessarily experts or medical reports. Our bodies have wisdom. 

 

I don’t really want this post to scatter away in many directions, but I feel it is. While I was talking to my soul friend my phone started beeping with WhatsApp’s and I felt myself fly off in chasing so many conversations. Like dandelion seeds dispersing when blown by the wind or by human breath. I didn’t like that feeling and I knew that this was why I didn’t want to become that wall extending into infinity. So far from the centre, though I also knew for a wall like that the centre is everywhere. But I felt that I didn’t want to stretch myself, what if I became too thin. What if? Isn’t that like the collapsing apartment wall in my dream. 

 

I do know that allowing the hand, of that Giant, that symptom maker, into my life means sweeping away everything. Good and not so good. What works and what doesn’t. It is the thing about hoovering off that which works that is scary, right? And how do I know what will replace it? But the energy about scouring clean feels right.

 

I did clear a friendship that no longer worked, earlier this month. Or rather I understood why it didn’t work anymore. It’s one which I’ve had trouble letting go though the other person has brushed me away more than once. I had to know for sure if all the possibility from the friendship was done before I allowed the wind to carry it away. I knew possibility was when I saw her words, now she is immune, after I wrote to her that my sister had covid. I knew I couldn’t follow her into that light, that brilliant positivity, that ignores the shadows and truths. 

 

But perhaps it was that clearing that gave me the courage to reach out to my soul friend. That feels right, doesn’t it? At dusk, when misty clouds descend to the skyscraper tops, everything feels wiped, clean. 

 

What things do you need to allow the wind to carry away?  

Three Pronged Healing

 August 16, 2021

 

Healing is complex. I want to document the current journey from discomfort-disease and uncertainty, to health and knowledge. This time my approach alternates between three things. Investigating the symptoms medically, processing them, and blogging about the path. 

 

The medical investigation so far has been patchy. My regular GP wasn’t in when I visited the clinic, though I had called to confirm her presence, she had an emergency and didn’t come in that afternoon. The specialists I met were disappointing—mostly in terms of not listening to either my symptoms or my fears, instead pushing ahead with their normal MO. This left me feeling unsure about seeking second opinions. I came away from both doctors blaming myself in different ways. It took a while to let go of that feeling. What if the new ones I meet are not different? My boxes will remain unticked and I will feel again like it is my fault. After all many others in the doctor’s office seemed fine with the approach the doctor had. Better I do nothing. But I do need their expertise. Sigh. The mind goes in a circle but I have made an appointment with another eye doc. 

 

The processing has released energy as I have connected to the power of the symptom makers. Both the obliterator and the breaker opener have tremendous vigour and it flows through me when I access them. Their message is clearer this week. I need to demolish what is and allow new patterns to emerge. It is extremely difficult to do. I try to do it in small ways thinking these will lead to bigger changes, but this is not ok this time. This time it is very clear that I need to make a clean sweep. I see a large hand, the hand of ‘God’, sweeping through my hours, upending everything it touches. When I make a small change immediately a body symptom reminds me that this is not the way. Whether I can clear myself out with the force required or not I don’t know, but  I will try. 

 

The last, blogging and inviting other’s experiences, has been the biggest contribution to my healing. I feel connected to others, not alone anymore, and listening to stories has shifted me into a more positive feeling state. I suppose because many of those who shared, in their own way rejected the system of external expertness that was subsuming their own internal wisdom. Some had expensive experiences which left them feeling broken, despite possibly successful surgeries, but they began trusting themselves more. Thank you, to all those who wrote on my wall and sent private messages, these have helped my healing journey in a huge way. 

 

It’s a sunny Monday afternoon. All morning my ears have been assaulted with loud drilling from the apartment below us. The headache amplifies with such noise, shrinking my whole self. The workmen are probably at lunch and the space feels expansive right now. They will be back soon though. It’s more than two weeks since my symptoms appeared. Today they are mild but I know they will not disappear till I absorb the messages they have for me. Part of me feels like I should stop the medical investigations as I feel sure that the symptoms are the result of my sinus infection which has aggravated intensely during these covid months—masks and not being able to travel away from Singy where my sinus allergies peak. The ENT’s say this is because of the moist Singy air and many suffer. Normally I travel away 3-4 times during the year and it breaks the cycle of the building sinus infection. But since my symptom is one-sided many doctors think it may be something else—a nerve issue or even a brain problem. I suppose I cannot ignore that.

 

I remember such one-sided headaches and pain from my past. The symptoms began in August of 1997. It was my first year of exposure to Mindell-ian process-oriented psychology and a time of much change—emotionally, psychologically, spiritually and also externally as in change of residence, job, new relationships. I drew a lot of interesting pictures during that time to process the symptoms, the last drawing of the series appeared in January 1998. The upheaval initiated then continued until 2004 and I hope this phase too leads to change. I’ve been feeling entrenched, stagnant, restless.

I'd love to hear what helps your healing.

Seeking the Healer

August 12, 2021

I’m still so shaken from my experience yesterday. So I’m going to write about it.

 

Again I’m writing in bed, this time in blue floral pj shorts. I’ve just made a pot of tea in which I mixed the Assam Spice with a Taylors black. My socked feet feel snug and I wish my heart and mind would feel the same. I’m more confused than ever about seeking medical help for my symptoms.

 

Many of us, I’m sure, have had health issues that left us fearful and unnerved, scrambling to find answers but instead being sent down a seemingly endless rabbit hole of investigations. I’m sure in many cases the tests were needed to provide more information for proper diagnosis and treatment. I’ve met many excellent specialists in my time on this earth. 

 

But, I’m also sure that many of us have met doctors that left us wondering if there was something wrong with us for asking questions, for trying to understand more about the tests being ordered, for simply wanting someone to listen carefully to the genesis and process of the symptoms. I think we’ve probably also met doctors who seem to have forgotten that the organ they are treating is situated in a body with other organs and tissues and vessels interacting with it, and all of these are part of a human being with a mind of her own, who is seeking an expert opinion but also can think for herself. 

 

Last week I met an eye doctor who left me feeling rather stupid and blaming myself for asking for him to have a look at my eye before his assistant began administering drops and tests. It took a while to absolve myself of  my need for reassurance from the doctor that the drops would not further aggravate my symptoms and I still am wondering if indeed all is ok with my eye. I didn’t tick that box.

 

Yesterday I walked into the office of an ENT feeling very hopeful for answers. I liked the room with no carpet and soft lighting. There were several patients already there. We waited a long time, almost an hour, after my appointment time, to see the doctor. What surprised me right away was that there was no desk in the room, just a bench on one side where my spouse sat and the chair in which the nasal scope was done. The doctor was standing throughout. In ten minutes I was out of the room, having finished with the scope and other investigations, and on my way for a CT scan. 

 

The scan centre was quiet and I felt relieved to have space to think. The specialist had barely spoken to me but I thought, perhaps he would after the scan. The CT staff were these two sweet women who were very kind to me. Back up and another wait. I read ‘Three O Clock in the Morning’ on my phone. Many people with films in plastic bags like the one I had, traipsed in and out. One woman in deep green top and stylish black shorts came out with a bent head, she slumped on to a stool and her companion went close and squeezed her shoulder. He was carrying a plastic bag and went to talk to the receptionist. My heart went out to with the woman's exhausted demeanour. I was called in. When we entered the room my scans were already up and he pointed out that my sinuses were relatively clear. I was confused, I felt the post nasal drip constantly on my left side trickling into my mouth and down the throat. He said yes, there is fluid there leaking down. The next step is an MRI. But I will be away from Saturday for six weeks and need to get it all done tomorrow. 

 

I asked why I needed the MRI. What more would it show. He got angry. I felt like a fussy, demanding, troublemaker. Do you want to do it or not, he said. I crumbled. Neither of us had sat down during the minutes I was in the room. 

 

I went outside and was given the MRI slip and instructions on what to do the next day. I couldn't identify what I felt. I thought about the woman in the green top. 

 

I’ve been spoilt by having excellent family doctors since childhood. First the father and then the son. Careful listeners, not prescribing too many tests or meds, looking up information on new advances, treating according to symptoms described and not just medical reports. They sent, and sometimes accompanied, us to specialists. Here in Singy too I found a meticulous GP with a patient ear, whom I adore. Both my spouse and I have had to have emergency-ish procedures. Me for my bleeding uterus and gall bladder stone, him for kidney stones. Those times were stressful but I don’t remember feeling the agitation, confusion and sleeplessness I experienced over these weeks. The difference of course was that the specialists sat down across the table, showed on tablets or computer screens, why they were recommending what they were. Carefully answered all queries like experts who were talking to humans with thinking brains. Also, except in the case of the kidney stone lodged painfully in the ureter, we were told to take our time to decide. 

 

None of this happened over these last weeks. I came home last evening, called my daughter on speaker to help think things through, and cancelled the MRI. I will wait. I deserve a doctor who actually sits down and talks to his patients. I can’t describe how unnerving that was. Both my spouse and I felt like he couldn’t wait to have us out of his room. But, the worst thing was, as I said above, that I left feeling like I was a trouble maker. Also unfortunately I haven’t been able to tick any more boxes and the origin of the symptoms is unknown. 

 

At night I was sleepless and finished ‘Three O Clock in the Morning’ at 1 am, returned the book and promptly borrowed another and read for a while longer. I slept barely 4 hours but feel better for deciding to slow things down. I think two pots of tea and writing this also helped. Our family doctor passed away in May after a long hospitalisation for covid. I wish I could speak to him. He was a healer and not just a doctor. 

 

What would you have done in similar circumstances? Would love to hear good and bad stories of your experiences with doctors.

Unpacking the Eye

August 9, 2021

I’m typing in bed in my striped pj shorts and white tank. Sipping a steaming spiced assam tea even though it scalds my tongue. I drink my tea too hot. I’ve slept barely four hours last night but there is an urgency that I haven’t felt in a while. I’m tapping, tapping, tapping on the keyboard. Fast and furious.

 

Yesterday a friend in Bombay helped me explore the unnerving phenomena of the left eye’s occasional dysfunctionality. It’s one of the scariest symptoms I’ve had in ages, or in all my life perhaps. A bleeding uterus and vertigo being the others. 

 

Anu is one of my oldest, newer friends. I met her, through a common friend, in 1997 when The Process Work Institute of India had a Worldwork seminar in Lonavla. She was the main organiser. It was the beginning of the most chaotic and painful time in my life and without me really asking or wanting—as I was going through a phase of intense introversion and suspicion because of the complex betrayals in my life around that period—she became one of my most supportive and, yes I’ll use the word, loyal friends. Of course being a process oriented therapist she was non-critical of any emotions and stunts I acted out then. And of course we had our fights, very tangled and hot-blooded, but through it all the care just strengthened. 

 

We hadn’t talked in a long time, but we are together in a WhatsApp group that chats very infrequently, so more or less, though less than more, we know what’s going on in each other’s lives. Somehow the prolonged covid had made us both less able to reach out and connect to people though at the same time we were also aware that what had previously been precious solitude had turned into agonising loneliness over the year. We chatted about our lives a bit and then began to unpack the eye. 

 

I'd been journaling about the eye. Drawing little diagrams, making cartoon characters say things, and generally just feeling the different aspects of the combination of unpleasant sensations around it. There was the poking, the compression, the pulling at the outer edge, the dark heaviness, and of course the blurring and blocked nose that began it all.

 

I picked the pokiness to start on. It’s hard to describe the process of unfolding but I remember starting by using the fingers of my right hand to poke at my left palm. Slowly and more intensely till it hurt. Anu gently suggested using a pillow and finally when the right palm was red I picked up a book, I needed a rigid surface not a pillow, and began poking fast and furious. 

 

It pokes below,

It pokes above,

poke. Poke, poke, poke, poke,

faster and faster and faster

like the relentless woodpecker.

Deeper, go deeper.

Find that heart’s desire, explore persevere,

penetrate the impenetrable barrier. 

Never stop till you open the way.

I am the barrier stretching endlessly into eternity.

I am also the spearhead fast and furious,

Seeking the way.

 

The spearhead, nukite, came from karate. Karate has flowed in this broken year. Karate has energy when everything else is limp. Anu said, use that energy in other things. I’ve heard other’s say it too but there is that yet impenetrable barrier I am just beginning to know. As I worked the pokiness ebbed and the compression increased. I scrunched an A4 page into a ball and squeezed it.

 

Compression. Inward pressure

Squashing the eyeball

Between two strong palms

‘I want to obliterate you.

Crush you in my palm,

Wipe you out.

I won’t stop until I do.’

 

Another powerful symptom maker. This one a giant, a thousand times stronger than me. 

 

Just beginning the exploration. Much yet to unpack with the blurriness and the blocked-ness, being the heart of it all. But I was done for yesterday. 

 

We spoke of the similarity in some of our blocked creative processes and then talked about our children and their lives. Anu about her four adorable grand-children. We laughed about how when my daughter was young I would insist on processing all her body symptoms before seeking medical solutions—like the stomachache from which trampling elephants emerged. Of course that turned her off process work for the longest time. It was time to end the call. We promised to talk more often but didn’t set a date. I will beep her next week. I miss her. I miss the gang of old-new friends that I first met at that seminar.

Adapt or ____

August 6, 2021

It started last Friday. I woke with blurry vision in my left eye. Several uncomfortable hours later the vision cleared though the headache, anxiety, inability to read or write, also to train as having unequal vision in the eyes made turns and fast movement difficult, remained. Finally I fashioned an eye mask from a well-washed, soft cotton face mask and went about my day. 

 

But really, all I wanted was to curl up in a ball, feel sorry for myself, and perhaps nap. 

 

The next morning I was pleased to see that the vision was fine though my headache and cheek pain had intensified. Karate eased some of the feeling—endorphin rush I guess, but also worsened the sinus pain since we train with masks. By the time I got home my eyes were tired and my temple pain explosive. I couldn’t bear to look at the book I was hoping to finish that day. While my spouse washed up the lunch things I googled the causes of my symptoms and found sinus cancer as one of them. He was angry when I told him. ‘Why do you have to look that up.’ He didn’t want to consider the possibility. 

 

Adapt, I told myself. I borrowed an audiobook from the library and listened to it all day. But the more I listened the more agitated I felt. It was the nature of the book—a lot of violence, but also simply that it ‘wasn’t me’. I’m a very visually oriented person and when I couldn’t use that channel I felt cut off from the core of me. At night the sense of disembodiment peaked and I couldn’t sleep. Feelings of failure and inadequacy hit hard and I began crying at 2 am. I couldn’t do it anymore was the refrain in my brain. I needed a break. Also I needed my spouse to listen to my anxieties instead of denying them. 

 

Part of me wanted to fight this nonsense and keep going and part was succumbing to the fear and pain. I don’t know what will it took for me to wake on Sunday, and catch the bus to Chinatown, but we were trying out a new training space and I had to be there. I told the few seniors in our Sunday class, ‘I will take a break in August.’ We did an hour of partner work, and an hour of kata. It rejuvenated me. It was three seniors and I, and their presence reminded me that this was my Singy karate family — I trusted them to carry on the training and the admin if I need that break. 

 

I’ve seen two doctors this week, a GP and an eye specialist. On Tuesday I woke with blurry vision again and my friend in NY urged me to see the GP. The doc gave me antibiotics for the sinus but was more concerned with the blurry vision. The eye doc was a disappointment. ‘Nothing wrong with the eye,’ he said, and wasn’t interested in exploring causes for the pain, though he did offer me painkillers, which I refused, and an incredibly good eye drop for dry eyes which is allowing me to type so long here. 

 

I haven’t been able to read or write much all week. I processed the symptom in spurts. I squeezed and pulled at the blue gel bag which I heat and use as an eye compress. The pain intensified as I did that. I know it’s to do with adapting and breaking out of stagnating routines. The symptom is about affirming that writing is a necessity in my life and not something I do when all the chores are done. It’s about actively breaking moulds, and not just saying I want to discover the next door, but doing more to find it. It’s about realising how much it is my dream to learn to write better and better and better. Simply for the love of it. Simply because it makes something internal visible. Simply because it is what I want to pour myself into.

 

Early in the week a fiction podcast popped into my email. I closed my eyes and listened. I searched for more. On the Wednesday zoom with my artist friend we shared our trials and eurekas from the week. We grinned at the similarity in our processes. I've been saying that I want to experiment with shorter pieces of writing though earlier my medium was the long form. ‘But with shorter pieces I can write the piece, then play around revising and improving all in a matter of weeks or months, not years like a novel,’ I told him. His art work has always been huge canvases, paintings and sculpture, but now he wants to master pen and ink— a very small, very detailed, and very different medium.

 

Adapting to symptoms or circumstances that feel like chains holding you back is growth. I've wanted to work on my third novel but have been dithering, scared because I am convinced I don’t know what to do. And it is likely that I don’t. I need new skills to do the revision. But right now it is obvious that I need to put aside the visual and use my ears. Using a different sense opens a previously unseen door sometimes. 

 

Nothing is certain, but everything is possible was the spirit that hovered in the transition between 2020 and 2021. I lost that precious feeling during these last months as deep ravines and overflowing rivers suddenly appeared in my path. In this harrowing week I heard that message again. 

 

Late last night, after the ibuprofen, I took to sleep pain-free, had kicked in, I read my spouse a story. We don’t normally read to each other. I said I wished I had written that story. I’ll tell you more about it the next time I write. Early, too early, this morning I woke on the verge of tears. I couldn’t take an ibuprofen so early. I told my spouse to google and find a face relaxation massage. I closed my eyes and followed the instructions as he read it to me. I dozed for another hour before waking for the day.

 

I still have to investigate the cause of my eye pain and headache. I probably have to see an ENT next week. I want to record this time as it happens while I feel maximum frustration and fear, as I adapt to this new, hopefully temporary, reality.