~ From William Butler Yeats’ “The Second Coming”“Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Allow me to get dramatic for a few minutes…
Back in October when I decided to depart from the hospital I jumped headfirst into the process of establishing nonprofit status for Back to the Beat. I was both exhilarated and terrified as the application process revealed how much I had accomplished and was previewing the responsibilities and workload that would be falling on my shoulders as a new business owner. At the same time, my fulltime job with the Sarasota Orchestra had kicked into gear and I was in the midst of Rigoletto rehearsals when I started to feel run down and very tired. I thought I might be coming down with a cold aggravated by the return of red tide, but by our fourth rehearsal, I knew something was wrong. As it turns out, I was about to be taken down by that evil, sneaky germ, bacterial pneumonia. While it took a pointless visit to an unnamed urgent care center followed by a real examination and chest Xrays by my primary to be officially diagnosed, I was finally put on 7 days of Levaquin and ordered to rest and drink as much fluid as possible. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to begin a refresher course on what it’s like to be a “patient.”
In a haze of fever, fatigue, and antibiotics I saw Yeats’ widening gyre spiraling out of me. The falcon was my spirit and who I knew myself to be; the falconer was my sick body left behind; the anarchy and passionate intensity was anger at being sick, being isolated and having lost complete control of my life; the ceremony of innocence was all the hope & enthusiasm I had for getting the nonprofit materials ready to go: all drowned in the blood-dimmed tide of self-pity and fear. Ah, yes! Now I remember what it was like to be a patient.
By day four, the antibiotics started to do their work – both good and bad. I had enough awareness to consider “taking notes” on what was happening to me. That was going to be another epic battle as this Irish apocalyptic stew left me indifferent to journaling, painting, playing the cello, and anything that I used to love. The falcon had flown away from me and I was asea. I began to worry about having to take so much time off work as I googled horror stories of hospitalizations, complications and three-month recovery averages. My website and 1023 application would be delayed and pushed further out of reach with an indefinite hold. Things felt like they really were falling apart…
Funny thing, though; I think my falcon has a back-up system and it’s Irish too. It said to me, “Time to get off the Parliamentary side of your arse!” and I knew it was right. I had to force myself to move and the first movement I made was a simple doodle of that spiral I felt in my belly. I wrote down the words that described what was happening when the doodles failed to capture my body-in-despair. Then I put it away. A few days later, I opened up my Headspace app and looked for a new series on anger – yeah, that was still brewing hot. As the fever subsided, I started to journal again and fanatically clean any surface that I might have touched since getting sick. When the 7 days of wretched antibiotics ended and I could start to keep food down, I made it to the computer and started to gather materials to upload to the website. Then a few days later, I called into work and meekly asked if I could come back. I had missed all the dress rehearsals and more than half of the performances of Rigoletto, but I knew I needed to get back to a routine and behind my cello. I also desperately needed to be with my work tribe community. I had been alone and isolated for almost three weeks and needed to be brought back into the rhythm of normal life. Thankfully, the opera director and section principal took pity on me and allowed me to finish out the last three performances. My tribe had been working hard while I was out and was tired of Verdi, but being with them in the pit (a place that the falcon normally despises) felt so good. Talking to them, listening to them warm up and even complain was like sunshine on my face after a long, dark night. I sounded like James Earle Jones and coughed like an old man, but the falcon started to make its way back to me.
So the pneumonia-induced-patient-experience-review course was about managing the depression, anger, and their kissing cousin fear that comes with serious illnesses. The new part was acknowledging and accepting the grief that has accumulated since undertaking this journey in 2015. It also highlighted the importance of returning to a community as a part of the healing process. Recovering from any kind of illness can feel as if you have irrevocably changed and may need some re-introduction. But as I first introduced this topic, I believe its more about learning than change. On the other side of illness isn’t a new person but a deeper understanding of who we really are. We have gained a new perspective and a new appreciation of our routines. Everything is shiny, new and awesome… until the next time when the falcon flies away. I could always ground the falcon with more vaccines and genetic testing but until insurance can cover them, the falcon will be permitted to chose its own reconnaissance missions.
