Last month, I wrote about several challenges facing me. One of them was my concern for our editor, David, as he faced open-heart surgery May 24. I'm pleased to report that all the challenges I wrote about have melted into blessings, but none so dramatically as David's situation. The speed and completeness of his recovery have amazed his doctors and inspired me: less than a week after his operation, he was off pain medications; 12 days afterward, he returned to work part time; as of June 21, he resumed his full-time schedule! Starting with an already always-positive attitude, David actively planned for and achieved sure and swift healing. I'm delighted to turn my column over to him this month so that he can share his remarkable and miraculous story with you. — Deverick
About 15 years ago, a congenital heart condition called aortic insufficiency became pronounced enough to warrant having the care of a cardiologist in addition to my regular doctor. "If I were a betting man," he told me then, "I'd lay odds that one day you'll require valve replacement surgery. It's just a matter of time." Every year since, he tested my heart's performance. On St. Patrick's Day, ten days after this year's test, he called with the bad news: it looked like the time had come. Ten days later, I had an angiogram, which indeed confirmed his diagnosis. After the need for surgery was verified, I "only" had two days to wait before meeting with the surgeon for the purposes of deciding upon a treatment plan and setting a date for the operation. The word "only" seems ironic to me in that these were perhaps the two longest days of my life, filled with every nagging uncertainty, paranoid fantasy, and bleak scenario my tortured mind, working overtime, could conjure. Once I'd met with the surgeon, I was much more at ease. Mind you, some of the answers to my many questions were downright scary, but at least now I had answers, and compared to a head full of questions, this was very empowering. The first step in taking charge of my care was declining to decide on a date for the surgery during that office visit. There were so many factors to consider that I didn't want to be pressured into choosing on the spot. My work schedule as the editor of this paper was a primary determinant, but I also had travel plans and concert tickets I wanted to take into account. In addition to all this, it was very important to me to choose an astrologically auspicious date. I took as much time as I needed to comfortably research and reconcile all my considerations before making the appointment. This process was key to the rest that followed, in that it taught me to tune in to what my highest self wanted for healing before, during, and after surgery. The next thing my soul craved was to solicit prayer partners to sustain my body, mind, and spirit. I made many calls and sent many e-mails, and was touched time and time again by the level of tender support that was mine for the asking. Over the course of my healing journey, my appreciation for the power of prayer and loving energy has expanded from the realm of faith to the realm of experience. Once this level of support was in place, I was free — and, indeed, felt more strongly guided — to plan other elements of my healing strategy. I went to several hypnotherapy sessions to prepare myself for what was to come. I allowed the fearful parts of myself to have their voices heard and needs honored; then they were introduced to my future self, a radiant, robust, beaming fellow that put their fears to rest. I was given some powerful relaxation techniques, and my body was instructed to expect a quick, complete, and relatively pain-free recovery. In the meantime, I was the recipient of both distant and in-person Reiki sessions, and, for two weeks prior to the operation, also suspended my normal Wednesday night activity in order to attend spiritual healing services at a nearby church. In addition to having an in-person Reiki session the day before surgery, I arranged to have a hospital chaplain trained in the practice do one immediately upon my release from the operating room into the intensive care unit, as well as another session the following day. This man was actually on staff at a different hospital than the one I was in, but after the chaplain at my hospital, who had arranged for his presence at my request, learned how exceptionally well I was doing, he came to observe the second session. I took this as a sign that Reiki will soon be "on the menu" for those requesting it at my hospital. (Interestingly, both chaplains are named Ross, and the operation I had is called a Ross procedure.) The Reiki kept my life force moving noticeably proactively, allowing for maximum well-being and energetically reinforcing the messages I was already inculcating in hypnotherapy and meditation. I became aware that it would be valuable to have the surgical staff repeat such positive affirmations aloud as they worked on me, adding yet another level of subconscious fortification to my communication with my deepest self. I'll admit that I was slightly self-conscious asking for this, but as it turned out, I was hardly the first to do so, and they were happy to oblige. I realized early on that I wanted to have the valve being removed saved for me so that, once well, I could perform a ritual honoring our time together and celebrating the completion of its job. Again, the doctor indicated there was precedent for this request, expressing his support of my decision and promising to let me take the valve home to do with as I saw fit. When I saw him the day after the procedure and asked him about it, he said he'd been unable to accommodate my desire after all. My aortic valve was among the five worst he'd ever seen, and, in his words, it "turned to grains of sand" when he touched it. Knowing how much it meant to me, though, he was kind enough to take a photograph of the fragile remnants for me to use in my ceremony in place of the actual tissue. In the midst of aligning my systems for perfect healing, I felt it appropriate to face realistically the possibility of other outcomes. The Ross procedure I'd chosen promised greater long-term benefits than the other options available, but at the expense of the greater likelihood of short-term complications or death. I took advantage of the opportunity to review my will, durable power of attorney, advance health care directive, and cremation instructions, making sure they were in alignment with my current desires. For the first time ever, I also wrote down some wishes for my memorial service. Having lost my previous partner to death, I knew what an incredible gift this would be to those left behind, and found the exercise a valuable and healing one in and of itself. Perhaps the single most meaningful thing I did to enhance my healing was to assemble an "altar" to take with me into the operating room. Once again, this was prearranged with the pastoral care unit, and I never felt like I had anything less than their full understanding and support. I chose certain stones for their metaphysical properties; other stones and objects were selected for their symbolic value; many were gifts from others whose loving presence I wished to evoke. Pictures of master teachers and guides with whom I feel a special connection came along, and no one who knows how much music is a part of my life will be surprised that a copy of my favorite record, The Ronettes' "Be My Baby," did too. I was told ahead of time that I wouldn't be able to burn a candle in the operating room, but I took great care in selecting one that represented the qualities I wanted to invoke: a heart-shaped one a dear friend had lovingly handmade for me in my favorite color and fragrance. As I placed each feather, bead, stone, candle, photo, flower, statuette, and memento into the plastic freezer bag that would serve as my altar, I spoke aloud the reason it was being included, blessing it and myself with my words and intent. When I was finished with each individual item (and what an emotional process that was!), I affirmed the collective power of my sacred objects to help me achieve my goals. As the anesthesia was being administered, I went through my well-rehearsed litany of affirmations and visualizations, bringing in the images, colors, and masters that I knew would assist me on my path. Even though I was deeply unconscious, I can say that the presence of my helpers was palpable. When I regained consciousness, I quickly learned to tell the difference between hospital employees whose jobs represented a calling and those whose jobs represented merely a paycheck. I rose to the dual challenge of accepting selfless care when it was offered and, equally unashamedly, respectfully but firmly demanding better when it was not. In fact, as this journey began, I had perceived my primary concern as loss of control, but, looking underneath that, I realized some persistent worthiness issues were at play. Two equally important aspects of heart healing emerged and enhanced each other as I got deeper and deeper into my work. Once out of the hospital, I continued to claim my deserving nature through allowing others to cook for me, massage me, and, most importantly, just love and care for me. The icing on my post-surgical self-care cake was some profound physio-emotional release work accomplished through several SHEN therapy sessions. I share all this not because I think anyone else should do exactly what I did. I do so because if you're lucky enough to have the kind of advance notice I did before going through a major medical event, I want you to know that you have options, too, and an opportunity to consider which ones are right for you. You can take charge of your own healing; you don’t have to just take what the doctors hand out. On the contrary, you may be touched, as I was, by how well they respond to your taking an active role and by how much support they’ll give to the choices you make. The bottom line is being clear on what you, at your deepest level, want. People understand the desire to be happy and comfortable, and, generally, want to contribute to the happiness and comfort of others. When the drainage tubes were about to be cut from my chest two days after my "valve job," I asked the attending nurse to come and hold my hand. Her angelic smile as she took my hand in hers expressed in one precious, silent instant what I'd learned through my process: It's okay to know what you want and to ask for it. I am riding a tidal wave of gratitude these days for the gift of my renewed health and for the astounding splendor of life itself, and am deeply indebted to so many who have supported me through this journey. I especially wish to acknowledge Pat and Suma at Aquarian Foundation, Arlene Arnold, Carol Barbeau, Tess Beauchamp, Rose De Dan, Lynn Larkin, Collen Marquist, Deverick Martin, Kathy Mooney, Amanda Patrick, Maggie Phillips, Barbara Reid, Jane Lister Reis, Cat Saunders, Suzanna Solomon, Starfeather, and Linda Ross Swanson for their special gifts. I am particularly thankful to the woman whose valve now keeps my heart beating. God bless her and all organ donors! |
I answered the phone the same way I'd answered thousands of other calls, but I sure felt different when I hung up than I'd ever felt before. I'd known for years that the call was virtually inevitable, so I can't honestly say that I was surprised when it came, yet it's not an exaggeration to say that I was in a state of shock when I put down the receiver.