Between Two Goods

Posted on May 30, 2017 by sstyves

We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto, I thought as we soared over the magical, red-soiled landscape and the ocean.  I felt myself relax a bit. The decision to come was not an easy one. Choosing between two goods has always been my downfall but I have become much better at trusting my discernment.  Last night at the hospital, I had anointed my father’s head with blessed oil and prayed over him. He fell into a very deep sleep  for my remaining time sitting beside his bed. Only when I got up to  kiss him goodbye and leave did he seem a bit agitated. His night nurse and I had been talking about my trip previous to that. I had told him that I would be gone a week but I am not sure  that he will remember.  I explained that his sister would be in for the remainder of this week and then his son and daughter-in-law would arrive after that.

I had been praying about whether to cancel the trip or not. I finally settled on shortening it. Because of my own unpredictable timeline, I am faced  with the decision that at another time would have been very easy to make. There are some things that I still want to do on my life list and there are memories that I want to create with friends.  I hope that I have chosen the greater good – a shorter trip, the opportunity to check off provinces 9 and 10  (the final two) as having  visited, and the chance to create some awesome memories with a dear friend.  Somewhere over the weekend the angst shifted. I was able to find peace that if Dad were to pass away while I am not there, I will see him soon enough for eternity.  I could be wrong, but I also feel serene enough that I suspect he will welcome me home  or at the very least has given me permission to go and to be free of any guilt. We have had this conversation in the past and so I trust this feeling.

Dad had had no seizures in the past 24 hours which made the leaving easier.  He is not by any means out of the woods yet and many decisions will still have to be made.  I think that my body needed a break though and it will find that here in the beautiful surroundings of this tiny province.  I look forward to exploring it on my own these next couple of days.

God has a way of letting me know when I cannot use good discernment. On the first leg of the tourney, the in-flight video system was down.  I would probably have watched a movie otherwise. I had actually fallen asleep prior to even leaving the gate because I was so tired. Hence, I missed the announcement. I pulled out a book that I had brought along with me and read until the flight attendant reached me with the beverage and snack cart. She smiled and repeated the earlier message  before recommending that I just keep reading. I actually chose to sleep. During the second half of the journey, I watched a film that I had sort of wanted to see but did not in theatres: Me Before You.  It is a controversial film about a man who decides after an accident that leaves him as a quadriplegic to  opt for a medically assisted death.

I could not help but think of Dad as I watched the film. Dad might well survive the seizures but his life could possibly be quite diminished by some people’s standards. It is too early to tell yet. Both his body and mind may betray him but does that mean he does not yet have a purpose in our world?  Even when he is confused, you can still make me laugh. Even when he has not been lucid for long periods,  my father suddenly appears and his goodness warms my heart.  I also think of my own end-of-life experience. I have no idea what that will look like – this disease can take on many forms in its final stages.  As my body fails me, will I be considered useless?  We live in a society that does not know how to live with brokenness.  We do not understand that we are in fact more than our bodies and our minds. We may not always understand our purpose when life suddenly changes for us, but somehow I believe that in my case God is working out a plan that I do not understand that I trust.

What I found most intriguing about this film is how the young woman hired to work with the quadriplegic decided that she would teach him how beautiful life is and how worth living it is. In the end, this would be the lesson he would teach her. Live well,  he encourages her.  How many of us miss our lives? How many of us don’t know that each and every day presents us with so many goods to choose from that narrowing it down to two can be next to impossible?  What if we just threw ourselves into life with such passion, abandonment and joy that every day was an awesome day?  I did not just arrive on this tiny island province as one of the final two places in Canada to visit. I have been traveling this vast country for decades, checking off each one,  hoping to see them all. I won’t make all three territories at this point but I am glad to have been to the north and seen one of them with its spectacular splendour,  fascinating culture, and welcoming people. I can truly say that I have been from sea to shining sea  and I am a proud Canadian who loves her country fiercely.

Live well, my friends. Create a life where you always have many goods to choose from and between.  Grab a hold of the life that you have been given and make it meaningful. Explore cultures beyond your own and you will become an open-minded person.   Meet people who are not like you and you may see something that you wish to aspire to. Soak yourself in beauty so that your soul knows the majesty it deserves. Push past your comfort zones so that you can never complain about being bored or let fear keep you constrained. You were born to praise, honour and serve.  Choose wisely. Choose life. Choose to live an extraordinary life in whatever circumstances you find yourself.  Do not wait until it is too late.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions 

If you could do one thing in your life and there were no restrictions, what would it be? Why? Why are you waiting?

Do you believe that your life has a purpose?

Prayer

Life-Giver, show me how to use my life for your glory all the days that I have breath. Do not let me hold back out of fear or unworthiness. Let me serve you through all that I do and in all whom I meet.  Allow me to be open to seeing the lessons you want to me to learn from others.  May I choose to use the gift of life in a way that shows others how beautiful that choice is. Amen.

Posted in #Consolation, #Miracles, #prayer, #Travel, Catholic, Christian, Faith, Ignatian, Spirituality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Eagle’s Wings Needed

Posted on May 26, 2017 by sstyves

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I crumbled emotionally today at the hospital.  I could have predicted it as a number of heart-wrenching conversations with my father have taken place in these weeks.  I am tired and fragile. My feelings are running the gamut of anger, despair, sadness, peace, and hope.  Watching someone become suddenly confused and disoriented is hard.  Without warning, the person you know and loved is different and yet, I am grateful for the moments when Dad is there, under it all, joking around or talking about something that reassures me he is still here.

I arrived earlier than normal today as I had woken up early and decided to go visit right away.  I arrived just after Dad had been sick again.  He had not been able to eat breakfast.  The baby docs, as I call them with great respect, came in to do their rounds. After two and a bit weeks of not getting any answers, I finally called a friend who could help.  I had put it off for awhile, wanting to make sure that the docs here could figure things out.  Goodness knows that they have tried and the good news is that Dad has not had a seizure in about 40 some hours. I asked my friend to think outside the box and knowing that this person could not see my father’s chart, I tried my best to answer questions and was given a couple of suggestions which I presented to the team this morning who listened with open minds.  The sad truth is we may never find the cause of these seizures but I hope that they can at least be controlled.

However, today still finally broke a piece of me. Layers of stress exist that the medical team does not know about.  Every time I have walked by my sister’s name on the memorial wall at the entrance these weeks I am reminded that this hospital could not help her either.  I had gotten past that I had thought but these weeks I am haunted by that memory, knowing that it was a doctor’s error that sent her away from the hospital.  Twelve hours later she returned but it was too late.  By the end of the day, she would be dead. So….yes, I am frantically trying to let the doctors do their jobs but at the same time, I am irrationally compelled to consult Dr. Google and real doctors who I know who might catch something others are missing.  I keep telling myself that they really are a stellar group of young folks but I cannot help myself right now. I feel fear and anger rising when I watch my father ask for the third time in 15 minutes why he cannot go home or when the food tray arrives and it still holds very little that he can eat even though we have filled out forms and the nurses have made calls. This hospital feels like an enemy more than a friend at times.

Late last week, Dad opened his eyes one night and looked at me, asking, “have you planned your funeral yet?”  Who would have thought such a question was a reason for rejoicing?  He had had a lucid moment and we were able to talk a bit about that.  I then asked him about his DNR order and he had simply shrugged, saying I have to die sometime. I agreed with him. This week, as I was getting ready to go home, Dad looked at me and inquired if his youngest daughter was coming tonight yet.  My heart stopped. I took his hand and simply responded, No, not tonight, Dad. I could barely contain my sorrow as this father asked his dying daughter if his dead daughter was coming to visit.  I thought to myself, You better not, punkin! Not yet, anyway. Then I thought maybe at this moment he does not remember that I am dying either and that would be a blessing. I will take whatever gold that glimmers at this point.

I am not even sure what finally pushed me to the edge of the precipice this morning. My dad rarely complains of pain.  He told me to move his leg which I did.  He said it was sore on and off.  Some time later, I saw him rubbing it and I asked if it was hurting.  The nurse had suggested just using a hot blanket on it to see if that helped.  I pressed the call button and no one came so I went in search of the blanket myself.  Placing it on his leg, I hoped it would help.  I could see he was still agitated.  I tried to get him to tell me how bad the pain was–this from a man who forgoes pain killers after–and during sometimes–hip and knee surgeries. I was expecting a three at most on a scale of ten. I held up one finger, then two, and finally three.  His hands moved. Both hands opened and closed. Ten, Dad? He shook his head.  All ten fingers flicked open three times.  Thirty?!  He nodded.  This from a man whose pain tolerance is incredible.

He was become harder and harder to comprehend as the morning wore on. He seemed desperate to have me understand what he was saying, taking my hand and drawing letters into it when I failed three times to guess what he was saying or spelling. For thirty years I helped facilitate communication for others and now I could not help him be understood. We tried pen and paper to no avail. The nurse had called the health care aide to help change Dad’s position and to wash him while she checked about what could be given for pain. By the time, the aide arrived, I was a mess, debating about whether I should go on my trip or cancel, wondering if Dad was just too drugged or if this damage was permanent or not, and predicting what family and friends might have to deal with when my time comes. My usual stance of staying in the moment was shattered. I was all over the place. Desolation was grabbing me and dragging me down into a sewer. I needed a pair of eagle wings to rise above it.

Thankfully, I had a lunch date with a friend and as she arrived at the restaurant asking how my father was, I shook my head as my eyes filled with tears. By the end of the lunch, even though I had hoped for a different interaction, I was very grateful for the one that did occur.  I was a different person when I got back to the hospital again, white board in hand and a clock with large numbers.  I hoped that this might enable Dad to either write or point to letters to spell out what he needed when he slipped into this land of the unintelligible.  Soon I found out that he could no longer write; he could not form letters, only jibberish.  Next I discovered that he did not have the energy or strength to lift his hand to point at the letters.  He could not say all the letters in the alphabet either, about G, he began to get scrambled.  I was being too ambitious apparently. We took a break.  I wrote some sentences on the board.  He could read the name of the hospital.  He struggled a bit saying the date.  He got stuck and read the next sentence three times.  I turned the board down and lifted it up again and we did another two sentences before he started repeating that sentence so I decided that was enough for today.

He slept for a bit before opening his eyes and asking me how he got here from a city out West where we had spent summer vacations with my mother’s family.  I side tracked the question, asking if he liked the lake there and commenting on other memories.  He loved the lake there and was soon smiling. At some point, I said I was bringing his wife up and that he should watch the new clock.  She would be here in about 20 minutes.  He looked at the clock and nodded.  My sister texted me in about ten, saying she had arrived at the hospital and Dad was asking for Mom.  I reassured her we were on our way.

When I finally came home I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head.  Desolation was claiming victory.  I woke up from an hour long nap and closed my eyes. I felt horrible on so many levels. I had a choice to make.  I chose eagle wings, hoping to renew my strength by trusting in the Lord in this hardness. I threw the covers off and rose up.  I went into the kitchen, turned on the radio, and danced.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Desolation spirals you downward away from God and into yourself.  Can you recall a time of desolation in your life?

Have you ever consciously made a decision to say no to desolation and yes to consolation?

Prayer

Eagle-Winged God, bear me up when I grow weary and faint.  Keep desolation from destroying my peace.  Call me gently back again when I lose sight of being able to soar during the trials of life. Give me sharp vision to stay focused on you alone. Amen.

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Faithful to the Lord

Posted on May 22, 2017 by sstyves

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Ah, Lydia, dealer of purple cloth, you desired to be judged faithful to God.  We share two loves obviously–God and the colour purple.  I love that the colour purple has so much personality and a variety of hues to it.  The same is true for my relationship with God and how being faithful has different takes on it too. Lydia, you invited Jesus to stay at your home.  I do too–even when the relationship is tumultuous.

When we are in consolation, we feel close to God.  Loving, honouring and serving the Creator comes easy then. Unless, of course, we are in what Ignatius calls hard consolation.  This is a trying time, when being faithful is put to the test.  We may feel the presence of the Divine and yet our world may feel as if it is crumbling. The desire to be found faithful still somehow burns within though. As my family faces this hard time, I stand on solid rock and though I am tired, I am at peace. I trust the One-Who-Knows.  This is not desolation at all.

When I was on retreat this week and was given the contemplation of Mary meeting Jesus after his crucifixion, the image that I had was not a consoling one in the traditional meaning of the word.  I heard Jesus call me by name, I turned and began to pound his chest until I started to cry.  He gathered me in his arms. I have often said that God can handle our rage.  Jesus took it that day from me and I have felt calmer since.  When my earthly father called me by name yesterday for the first time in almost two weeks, I felt a relief and joy wash over me. I am sure that is what Mary felt too but even stronger.

Consolation means staying with God and not turning away or inward.  The desert can be a lonely place; even Christ was tempted to take an easy way out but he remained faithful. Keeping your eyes on the Trinity and watching for small miracles along the way are key. Living out the Principle and Foundation of the Spiritual Exercises keeps me grounded–loving, honouring and serving God. The other night when out with a friend, we flipped over cards of random acts — her’s was to smile at someone; mine was to begin a dance party.  I am asking you to join me in that dance.  Many of you know my morning routine often entails a bit of kitchen dancing–or as my friend recently dubbed it the Smoothie Dance. Maybe I could get you all to join me in the Smoothie Spin or the Breakfast Boogie this week?

Here is a gift of a song from today from a new friend of mine who has been following the saga of my father’s health and my struggles via my blog.  These are lyrics written by someone who knows hard consolation:

Even when the fight seems lost
I’ll praise You
Even when it hurts like hell
I’ll praise You
Even when it makes no sense to sing
Louder then I’ll sing Your praise

She has noticed my faithfulness as have many of you, and in seeing mine, yours has been strengthened.  I will sing and dance even when it makes no sense –even when some believe it to be nonsense. I will dress in purple. I will be faithful to you. I will praise your name, Holy One, until my final breath.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

When being faithful is put to the test, can you stay the course?

What random act of kindness might you do to spread some joy?

Prayer

Dance Partner, let the world believe we are crazy, but I will be found faithful. I will stay the course, anchor myself to you, believe the best, and follow wherever you lead–through the fire, through the storm, and to the calm. I am yours. Amen.

Posted in #BibleStories, #Consolation, #Miracles, #prayer, Catholic, Christian, Faith, Ignatian, Spirituality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Accounting for Hope

Posted on May 21, 2017 by sstyves

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Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you, is the second line from the Second Reading today. I had read it earlier in the day and it did not really resonate with me.  I went to the hospital and sat with my dad who called me by name for the first time since this mysterious illness started.  He was fairly lucid today.  He had not had a seizure at breakfast and he would not have one at lunch.  He ate more than I had seen in a long time, allowing me to feed him graciously.  He slept after lunch and I took the opportunity to nap too.

The day was emotional.  We placed a videocall to my brother and his wife and he called them by name too.  He could not unfortunately remember anything from the past two weeks today though.  He knew where he was but he was not sure why.  He asked me several times. I patiently explained and had the nurse tell him one time.  I am pretty sure it feels fairly surreal to him.  The memory loss may well be from the medication but it could also be from the seizures.  Time will tell.  He is still very tired.

I came home and rested a bit before heading to church.  During the reading I heard those words from 1 Peter 3 and thought exactly.  Cling to hope and know that God has this too. The music at mass tonight brought me comfort a few times.  I felt a strong need to sing praises despite the frustration that is trying to settle in.  I have just called the hospital for an update and he has been fine.  This appears to have been a no-seizure day, the first since his admission two weeks ago. As well, friends have sent encouraging emails and texts.  One of the followers of this blog, wrote a beautiful comment on a previous post that heartened me. I will take these small gifts as they come and thank God for mercy.

Hope is a fragile gift but a precious one that I believe in. Finding God in all things is a challenge some days but I keep coming back to my faith and knowing that God is here in our midst, even when we struggle with our situation. I cannot live my remaining days believing anything else but my truth regarding my faith. The protection of God is always there, St. Catherine of Labouré reminds me. My graced history tells me this is true. I am placing Dad in God’s good hands and trying to trust that all shall be well for him. I feel hopeful and that is all I need right now.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Would you be able to make an account for hope in your life?

What signs of hope have you seen this week?

Prayer

Great Physician, you hand us hope when we need it.  May we sing your praises even when we have no strength left, even when we are bewildered, and especially when doubt tries to crowd out your presence.  Keep our eyes on you, O Hopeful One. Amen.

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Walking Through Hard

Posted on May 18, 2017 by sstyves

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The medical student was being thorough, trying to leave no stone unturned.  At the end of her preparation for rounds, she looked at my sister and I and said two words: I’m sorry.  This was the first time a doctor had acknowledged any emotion to what our family must be going through.  We gratefully received it. The one resident had come very close, and perhaps yesterday had said something to my sister after my father’s seizure. The nursing staff have been terrific and are at their wits’ ends in caring for a number of patients.  I arrived today to find Dad’s roommate gone, replaced by a crabby man.  I nodded to his space with a question mark on my face, asking my sister silently what had happened to him.  He was taken to ICU in the middle of the night, she whispered. We both teared up. He had waved to me yesterday as he went out for an appointment.  Life can change in a heartbeat.

The medical team came in and the student presented.  No magic words, no solutions, and no new information came forth. We need a miracle. A whole host of people are praying and I think that helps.  The doctor who has been incredibly disappointing made no appearance today and that seemed like an answer to prayer.  God responds in small and quiet ways when you are walking through hard, as Kara Tippetts called it.  A community of faith and keeping your eyes on God will lay down a solid foundation to stand on as everything known crumbles. After a long, cold winter, the crocuses refuse to stay in the darkness.  They push past the limits and the seed breaks open to new life. We must walk through the hard, trusting that the shattering will not have the last say, but that hope will bear us to a new day.

By mid-morning my sister who had done the overnight shift had gone home to sleep. One of the health care aides offered to give Dad a sponge bath.  This was the man Dad had threatened to hit when he came out of one of the seizures.  I stayed on the other side of the curtain listening to them interact to ensure Dad was calm.  The aide was upbeat and positive.  Dad responded to his requests–turn over, lay back, etc.  The man was gentle and affirming. At the end of it, I apologized to him for Dad’s earlier behaviour.  His gracious response was that it was long forgotten.  The man who had taken a swing at him was not my dad, he reassured me, and besides my mom had already apologized. He was kind and generous too. Dad has no memory of the incident I suspect or he would be horrified and devastated. I found myself teary again.

Walking through hard requires strength we do not have.  These days demand a leaning on the Divine in ways that are new and bewildering. Life does not stop happening while the undertow threatens to take you down. The hospital vigil watch, the attempts to be bright and chipper at the bedside, and the information sharing are wearing. At the same time, laundry needs to get done, groceries must magically appear in the fridge, emails pile up unanswered, and the daily routine asks for attention.  Some of it can slide by.   Canceling plans, attending my own medical appointments, trying to manage my fatigue, and worrying about friends and family members who have their own issues right now crowd the silence.  Then it happened.  This morning, as I made my morning smoothie, I danced. My little act of rebellion and joy surprised even me. Later this evening, a friend would send me Kara’s link and I would receive it with much gratitude.  Yes, Kara, you walked through the hard and danced, twirled as only God provides.  I do too.  Where does that grace come from?  I know of only one place.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

When you have walked through hard, have you received grace beyond what you thought you were capable of?

Do you have an image of hope or survival that helps you to know that you can walk through hard?

Prayer

Great Physician, we are walking through hard and your grace is all that sustains us. Help me keep my eyes on you, even if I am too tired to pray.  I know you hear us and you are at work.  Help my unbelief right now.  Amen.

 

Posted in #Consolation, #Desolation, #Miracles, #prayer, Catholic, Christian, Faith, Ignatian, Spirituality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

When Life Sucks

Posted on May 13, 2017 by sstyves

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Last spring after I had my Ignatian pilgrimage in Spain, I headed south to Portugal to the Shrine of Our Lady of Fatima. Today is the 100th anniversary of Mary’s appearance to the three shepherd children.  I still do not understand exactly what happened in Fatima to me…or the message for the world that the children received. I do know that I was faithful to complete what I was asked by the priest there despite my desire to resist.  None of it was easy.

Tonight after spending time at the hospital, I came home and dropped on my couch for several hours. I binged on junk food even though I had bought some healthy food before coming home.  I really needed comfort food and rest.  My great desire was to numb so I turned on the television and watched a few of the shows that I had missed earlier this week.  I maxed out at some point. Now I am thinking about ice cream but I do not think that is a wise idea before bed.

This week has been incredibly hard.  I have had to let go of many things.  I had a to-do list for May and I realize that very few items will be checked off.  I can handle that. I am becoming quite skilled at letting go of what I think I need.  Dad’s admission to the hospital on Monday was frustrating.  Three times in six months he has gone by ambulance to Emergency and I sense we are no further ahead in knowing what is wrong.  This time though he appears to be having seizures, even on anti-seizure meds.  Today during lunch I noticed a different behaviour–more of a head tic than a twitch. I called in the nurse who observed it during a brief conversation.  She gave him some more meds.  A few minutes later I popped out to see her:  I know you just gave him that pill but it is getting worse.  She came right away.  Almost immediately she said she would call the charge nurse but a minute later a young doctor walked in and watched my father uncontrollably lift his hands to his face and involuntarily jerk his head.  He could answer all the doctor’s questions while he was doing this. The nurse gave him the anti-seizure meds intravenously. Whatever this malady is, it happens after his meals.

Add to this, the fact that Dad is lucid enough to know that we are spending long hours at the hospital.  He looks at me oddly when I arrive.  I cannot really tell what he is struggling with each time he sees me.  I may have gotten a glimpse of it this afternoon though.  He turned to me at one point and asked if I had my funeral planned yet.  I am working on it, Dad, I assured him.  Truth is, I am still discerning a number of pieces of the puzzle but some are in place.  That was one of the items on the to-do list for May, as well as having a family meeting.  I suspect that will be moved to June.  After that, he told me not to leave him any money, but to give it to my siblings.  I am sure my illness weighs heavy on his heart.  When I did my overnight at the hospital recently, he opened his eyes, looked over at me in the chair wrapped in my quilt, and inquired if I was comfortable.  When I assured him I was, he nodded, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep. My sister is taking the lion’s share of the overnights and so he keeps asking where she is when she is not there.  Even in his own struggle, he cares about us.

I got together with some former colleagues this week and though we laughed a lot, there were also some tears.  We all need somebody to lean on as the song lyrics say, and that night we did just that as we sang loudly those words with two friends leading us with their ukuleles. I am also holding in prayer a number of concerning situations that break my heart.  This world seems so cruel some days.  Following Christ and even encountering the Divine does not ensure us an easy life.  Quite the contrary! Two of the three visionaries at Fatima did not live into their adult lives, dying as young children.  The third did survive into her nineties.  The message of Fatima is not a happy one. Much darkness and harshness accompanied Our Lady’s words.  I never know what to do with these visions as I believe in something completely different.  Mary has been a gentle presence these past couple of years and I cannot imagine an after-life where decent people are tormented.

When life sucks, it is easy to give in to despair.  Tonight’s retreat into a silence of sorts–of shutting out the stress and resting–has been helpful.  I am in hard consolation as Ignatius would say.  God’s presence is very real to me during these trying times.  I feel the prayers of many who are lifting up prayers on behalf of my family for our needs and those who are united with me in prayer for our friends who are suffering right now. I am keeping my eyes on God right now, knowing that the earth is trembling beneath me right now.  I am asking Mary to wrap her mantle around my family and those who are in need.  Please pray for those who may be struggling to take to their last breath tonight and for the loved ones who are keeping vigil for them.  Say a quiet prayer for the many who are grieving the loss or impending death of someone.  Pray for those who are exhausted with the burden of illness. Your prayers do make a difference.  God will answer them in different ways, often not as we wish, but they may sustain someone who is ready to give up on God.

Life sucks sometime.  Tragedy bowls us over.  Illness threatens our sanity.  Natural disasters destroy property.  Unfair events shake us to the core.  We start to cling to everything and I pray that one of those things is the Rock until we can find our bearings again. None of us get a free pass in life.  Sorrow will visit each of us.  Trust that God has whatever it is you need.  Believe that God is right there with you in this tough moment. Know that someone is praying for you right now and that holds power in ways we cannot explain or understand.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What has shaken your world and caused you to cry out to God for help?

Has the response from the Holy One brought comfort in ways you did not expect?

Prayer

God, I am crying out to you, asking for mercy as I place myself in your hands.  The earth beneath me is crumbling yet I am held up my those who lift me in their prayers.  I see pain all around me and I lean upon you, resting in your grace and love.  I trust that all will be well and know that you will give each one what is needed for the difficulties ahead. Suck the yuck out, O Holy One.  Thank you. Amen.

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Dear Health Team

Posted on May 10, 2017 by sstyves

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Dear Health Team,

We see you as we sit with our sick family members.  We understand in part some of the stress you are under.  We hear the codes–blue, yellow– and other urgent announcements constantly over the loudspeaker.  We notice the patients that are causing you grief and are harassing the female staff in unspeakable ways.  We know that we add to your stress with our many questions.  We witness you snap at your co-workers and treat them disrespectfully.  We know that you feel the care slipping out of the health care system.  We comprehend that beds are full–hallways are crowded with the overflow.  Yes, it is hard to miss.

We are also grateful for the kindness and humour that you manage to pull out from somewhere deep inside your reserves.  We hear your words soften as you take a minute to assess–and reassess–the situation we are facing.  We know you are juggling a dozen balls and leaping over land mines to get the job done. We only know a tiny piece of the story.  That woman over there is Stage 4 and in tremendous pain.  That man has ongoing issues because of addiction and you are not sure if his friend just brought him some painkillers.  I am pretty sure that other man is just a complete pervert but I am trying not to judge what he is asking you to do but I do notice how professional your response is to him when I think I would have slapped him.  In truth, we only see a fraction of the professional stress you are under and we probably do not even take the time to think about your own personal lives that may be equally as stress filled. I honestly do not know how you manage in this climate. You have our respect.

I know that you also know how challenging it is for us.  When my father was admitted to Emergency two days ago, you observed a man who seemed coherent and not too ill in your eyes.  However, you missed the fact that he was not well.  Yesterday when I arrived, a doctor was kindly telling him, my sister, and my mom that because his vitals were stable and all his tests were coming back normal, that hospitals were for sick people and he was not sick so he was going home. I could feel the anger rise within me.  All those crazy hospital television shows that I watch had deceived me.  There were no residents here willing to rack their brains to figure out what might be occurring and no doctor who had enough of a breathing space to think outside the box about what might be missing from the picture. It is not your fault that TV makes you look like demi-gods.

It was me who first noticed that something was terribly wrong with my dad that first afternoon at the hospital.  It took me about an hour to realize that he was having mini-seizures–or at least what appeared to be.  When I finally did, I called out to someone on the health team that I thought my father was having a seizure.  I did not balk when I was told that he would be there in a minute–I knew I was not a doctor and that he was in the middle of something.  When I got back to my father it was clear he was having a seizure so I stepped out and said calmly but insistently that he was having a seizure. The bay was suddenly filled with the health team as Dad appeared to have a larger one. Watching your loved one have a seizure for the first time is scary when you are not a medical person.  As Dad cried out, a piece of my heart crumbled. Only those people who have witnessed this will understand that visceral reaction to the shriek.

Twenty four hours later, the doctor was saying he was well and needed to go home.  There was no explanation as to why he had the seizure or even if it was a seizure. The original reason for admittance was forgotten and not being addressed at all.  Without a diagnosis after this sudden onset event, someone wanted his bed more than his wellness.  The face twitching that would occur three hours later was downplayed.  The goal was to send him home and the shift in care started to happen. While the medical team was getting ready to dismiss him, my sister and I were in the hall whispering, making a list of questions for the doctor, wondering about a stroke. We were not convinced that going home was the right option.  He had to walk before he would be released. The doctor refused to talk to us.  He was rude to the nurse that made the request for us.  Had we stepped on toes, driven staff crazy with our questions, or done some other medical no-no that had created this scenario? Did we not know this patient best and know that something was very, very wrong if someone would kindly listen to us for a moment instead of insisting politely that he was not ill?

I was not there when Dad collapsed during his mandatory walk and had another episode again.  By the time I returned that evening, he was a completely different man.  As I sat with him until 2:00 am, I could see his deterioration.  I am incredibly angry this morning but I hang on to one thing.  God intervened on our behalf when the hospital staff stopped listening to us.  If Dad had gone home, he might be even worse than he currently is.  The doctors are completely stumped as to what may be happening. They now are parading their team of residents around Dad.  I hope those baby docs are listening and considering carefully how a patient was almost sent home, now may never have a normal life again.  My father is a resilient man and my prayers are lifted that what has been lost will be restored. I still hold out hope that the doctors will be able to come up with a diagnosis. I understand from my sister that he is currently under 24-hour supervision because he is confused and belligerent.  He fell out of bed after I left last night. Luckily, no harm was done.  He got up to lock the door of his apartment where he thought he was. Sigh. I have to believe that God has this one too.  It has been a highly stressful time for the family.  Last night, Dad had lovely nurses who listened to me as I said he was hallucinating.  One of them came by as Dad was plucking a potato out of the air to eat.  When asked where he was, Dad responded hell. I turned to the nurse and shrugged, saying, I guess that is a baked potato he thinks he is eating.  We laughed, but only because I did not want to cry.

I sat there reading about seizures from a site that a friend of mine sent me and wondered if he had had all kinds of them.  I was mentally checking off what I had observed and wondering if the medical team knew how complicated and varied seizures were. I told the resident at 1 am who saw him that I had been consulting Dr. Google. I did apologize but I am at my wit’s end.  I simply had some questions from the reading that I needed to ask but she had no answers because she was not a neurologist.  I cannot channel Drs. Grey or Shepherd to help you get to the bottom of this mysterious case. Those TV shows do not help you with patients who want answers and fixes yesterday.  We really do not mean to be annoying.  We are simply frightened and frustrated because we have known all along how sick Dad really was and we are desperately trying not to blame you for not having the time to listen to us. We have felt the wolf nipping at our heels the whole time but somehow could not make that clear to you. I am sorry there was not a real conversation about our intuition compared to your knowledge.

So dear health team, thank you for your work in a very stressful environment. I do not know how you do it. Ours is one of the families that you had to deal with these past few days and we were not always kind and generous.  I am sorry for that. I suspect you want to do things differently but that your hands are somewhat restrained.  I am hoping that the Great Physician will keep intervening on all of our behalf.

Sincerely,

The daughter of a patient who was always sick despite the lack of obvious signs

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Soul-Guardian

Posted on May 8, 2017 by sstyves

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Vocation Sunday and Good Shepherd Sunday have marvelous readings today.  I proclaimed the second one tonight at mass.  As I had prepared earlier in the day, the final words spoke to me: …now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your soul.  I love that image! I smile thinking that God is the Guardian of my soul.  I am in very good hands. The Good Shepherd discourse continues with the insight that the One-in-Charge knows each member of the flock by name. The Shepherd goes ahead of us and we follow at the sound of the voice that calls us.

As my 56th birthday ends, I take comfort in knowing that my soul is guarded well by a Shepherd who has an intimate relationship with me, leading me with a solid staff and a tender heart. This is a God who knows me through and through, and calls me by name, not some distant deity who is clueless about who I am and what I need. This is the Guardian of my soul to whom I will return when my time here on earth is done.  My brother introduced me to a song the other night that made me weep with joy.  Ed Sheeran’s song SuperMarket Flowers has these lyrics in it, captures the essence of Soul-Guardian:

Spread your wings as you go, when God takes you back
He’ll say, “Hallelujah, you’re home.”

This is the One who Knows, the One who Awaits our souls to welcome them home. I welcome this gift of a new year.  I had not expected to still be here and to be functioning fairly well so I raise my Hallelujah too each morning I awaken.  I also know that one day, probably sooner than most of you, I will spread my wings and fly heavenward, to be greeted by the Guardian of my Soul and we will rejoice together because I will be Home. I hope you will rejoice too when that day comes, knowing that I am in the arms of my Beloved, at my final and most desired destination of this grand adventure of life.

Until then, I am very grateful for the opportunity to still enjoy life, to love and be loved, to marvel at the wonders each day brings, and to see another year unfold.  I look forward to serving this Good Shepherd and following wherever I am led in whatever time is granted me.  The love received last year at my big Freedom 55 birthday bash continues on a smaller, more intimate scale. I am part of an amazing flock that makes me happy. Thank you for that, my dear friends.  I go to bed with a full heart.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What does it mean to you that God is the Guardian of your soul?

With what words might God usher you Home?

Prayer

Soul-Guardian, who sings Hallelujah upon greeting, you are abundant love. You gather your flock, call each one of us by name and lead us home.  You watch over us each and every moment of the day, hovering nearby, protecting us from the thief who wishes to steal, kill and destroy.  Thank you for your abiding care. Amen.

 

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Carry Out Your Ministry

Posted on May 6, 2017 by sstyves

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Today and tomorrow have the readings from the Gospel of John about the Good Shepherd.  This feast day is always a bittersweet day for me because it is the day my former pastor died.  A friend called me to let me know prior to arriving at mass that Sunday evening.  Fr. B was a great shepherd to many of us. Deeply missed still by so many, he instilled in his flock the message from the First Reading today from 2 Timothy 4: Carry out your ministry fully. 

Serving with him for seven years on Pastoral Parish Council (PPC) allowed me to find my own voice in a church setting. He encouraged me to grow and valued my contributions.  A friendship developed that I cherished.  He one time told me that I knew his essence and I know he was a private person so that surprised me. Several examples come to mind as to the gifts he gave me but the one that is crystal clear is that he helped me to carry out my ministry fully.  He entrusted me with a task that was daunting and even though it never flourished, he was satisfied with the results and my commitment to project even though it was not a success.  I remained too long on PPC in my mind but because he asked, I stayed until I finally insisted he find another person.  The truth is though that PPC allowed me to use my skill set in a way I had never been able to.  I blossomed in that setting.  I cried at the last meeting, wondering if I would ever find a different place to serve using the very best of me as I had in that group. I perhaps have but that was one of the ministries in my life that I will always be grateful for.

These past two years have made me wonder what it is to carry out my ministry fully in these circumstances of mine.  I have rejected the notion of battling and waging war–I will not be a victim to this cancer that resides in my body.  I have always said that I win either way–whether I die or live from this disease.  I seem to be embracing a ministry of living until I die–of showing people a way that is somewhat different than the norm.  I cannot quite grasp it in its entirety but I catch glimpses of it through the eyes of those around me who report that they are watching me carefully and learning from me.

Two years ago I struggled to walk the length of the hallway at the hospital but it would not be long before the doctor released me and set me on my road to recovery.  Some challenging lessons came out of my hospital stay.  My body was traumatized by the ordeal but my spirit stood strong.  My ego kept letting go of expectations and standards as the days went on. I needed to find my voice again and I needed to listen well to the Good Shepherd and shut out the other voices that nattered away.  I had to articulate my needs while trying to be respectful of the opinions of others. I listened carefully to what my body was telling me and then trust that I knew what I needed.  Any sense of false humility was stripped away–just as my clothes were and my body washed my both male and female health care aides.  The painkillers made me loopy and the hallucinations were wild until I crashed. The happy male nurse that I had a few nights made me wish for a kinder persona for myself as he whistled while working. My hospital stay taught me some lessons that I will need for later. Mostly I will need to learn to turn quickly towards the Shepherd’s voice when I hear it.

Carrying out our missions fully is a gift that is entrusted to us by the Good Shepherd.  The wolf will try to scatter the sheep when they feel vulnerable. The Good Shepherd knows this and will make every attempt possible to ensure our safety–even if it means risking his own Divine life.  Whatever your mission, may you carry it out fully, knowing that you are safe to do so and protected by Jesus.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What is your mission that is entrusted to you to carry out fully?

Who in your life calls forth and affirms that mission?

Prayer

Good Shepherd, thank you for the mission that you have gifted me with.  Help me to carry it out fully and with joy.  Thank you for those who call forth and affirm the task you have blessed me with.  May they know fully their own missions and be able to embrace them for the greater good and for your glory. Amen.

 

 

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Lifting My Eyes

Posted on May 5, 2017 by sstyves

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Two years ago today, I placed my life in the hands of God–and a capable surgeon with a fantastic medical team. I did not know if I would wake up on this side of heaven or not.  That liver of mine did well in growing enough to handle removing a huge portion of it and there were no major complications. I remember coming to and knowing that the recovery room light was not the Light. I cannot ever really find words for that moment–incredulous, grateful, awestruck, stunned, disbelief–do not quite capture the essence of the mix of emotions. As my eyes opened and focused, I knew I had received this great gift of life. The thousands–no exaggeration–of prayers lifted for me by strangers, friends and family had gotten God’s attention and mercifully I was given a precious opportunity to remain here a while.

I was recently in the Canadian Rockies, or at least the foothills.  I could not help but think of the first two verses of Psalm 121: I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. I continue to trust that I must keep my eyes lifted to this magnificent Maker. How do I encapulate what these past two years have meant to me? I would like to say that I am a completely different person who does not ever forget to pray and thank God now but that would not be true.  I am grateful as I always have been and some days hours pass before I offer my thanks to my Maker.  In those moments, these past two years have been very real.  The whole experience has changed me profoundly and yet not. I have not become more saintly; I remain ever so salty. I still disappoint myself and others.  I struggle to discern my purpose in the time that remains.  Yet I watch as the sunlight glints off a window at sunset, or smile at the purple flowers that spring up at this time of year, or marvel as I fill my lungs with breath. Now, as always, I notice but now, I will stop and watch that miracle unfold right before my eyes. My soul cries out:  Stop! Look! Enjoy.  I do not want to take anything for granted and I am sorry when I do.

I am acutely aware that each day now I open and unpack is a pure gift.  The medical team did their work.  God agreed to let me stay for whatever reason (still to be determines).  I was given a year to survive when the cancer returned.  I have surpassed that. I did not expect to see my 56th birthday which soon arrives. The surgeon took a great risk in doing the operation and I was all in.  Something in my psyche has changed dramatically because not every goodbye is heart-wrenching.  At first whenever I visited far away family and friends, I would cry, even weep, at the thought that I might not see them again before dying.  Now, I have accepted that I have no control over what will happen and what God continues to do with my life.  I just know that my task is to live each day to the best of my ability and to try to joyously attend to each blessing before me. Being told that I have a terminal illness has not changed the fact that I still have bad days.  In fact, today, I sort of had a meltdown about something.  As I talked with someone in benefits, I heard the emotion in my voice. This lovely staff person who I have yet to meet lifted my gaze back to those mountains. She often makes me laugh and I could tell she knew that the stress of what I was experiencing at the moment was a concern.

I do not comprehend the complexities of prayer or God’s plans.  I am grateful when prayers seem to be answered in odd and wonderful ways.  Why am I still here while someone else may have bled to death in a similar operation?  I am no more deserving than others, of that I am very certain. A thousand prayers may have been lifted for someone else with different results.  I know I do not believe in an indifferent God or a God who is a coin-flipper.  Heads this one stays; tails this one goes. No, that is not a God that makes sense to me.  I believe in the power of prayer and yet I cannot explain why it works for some and not for others.  God who created those majestic mountains knows the plan.  I am invited to trust what is unfolding and know that at some point we all meet our Maker face-to-face.

In these past two years, I have rejoiced abundantly and sorrowed deeply.  Life has proceeded in a routine manner and yet…..not.  I am a different person on many levels.  As that liver has grown so have I.  I sense I have gotten used to being in a new skin too.  I do not always live in the disease state of mind, but I do sense that I live more on the precipice of awareness that time is precious. Who do I want to spend time with? What do I need to say? How do I embrace this moment? How do I continue to live with passion? What skills can I still utilize? How can I serve, love and honour God as I am now?  What still needs to be stripped away before I stand humbly before my Maker? What lessons are left to learn? What wisdom is still to be shared with others? This day is almost over and the frustrations from earlier in the day were replaced by a delightful outing with friends.  I am feeling calm and content.  These past two years continue to show me life here is still utterly amazing.  I keep my gaze heavenward, knowing that the Maker will help me with what it is I need. Perhaps I will not recognize it when it appears, but like those on the road to Emmaus, I will know it at some point and my heart will burn with the joy of having encountered the Maker here on earth.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Where do you lift your eyes up to?

Are you grateful for your life–the blessings, the sorrows, and everything in between?

Prayer

Maker of heaven and earth, keep my eyes lifted and attentive to you as you move through this world. We are all given the gift of a new day, a new chance, a fresh start.  May we use this gift to the best of our ability to praise, reverence and serve you. Amen.

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