Post-traumatic growth

The last few months have been extraordinarily long and yet, somehow, incredibly short. I've spent so much time resting and recuperating that it seems the world has gone on and left me behind. I started the year with a list of items to do, big and small. Take the car to the shop for the recall notice, sort and clean the reusable grocery bags, find a new job, write a new script, return a ripped contact to Costco. None of it has happened.

Instead, I've watched entire series of television shows. I've read more books than I've read in the past two years combined. I've learned to take naps and not wake up in too much of a bad mood. I've practiced asking for help and letting others see me when I feel most vulnerable. I've changed. A bit.

And I think that's normal. I think it would be weird if I had gone through all of this, a life threatening, a life changing experience, and stayed exactly the same. My body is no longer the same and neither is my brain. Or my heart. Or my soul.

A few weeks into all of this my friend Krista, who sends the best e-mails, they're like old-fashioned letters and I love that, sent me a link to a TED talk by Jane McGonigal. Jane is a game designer who experienced a concussion and turned her healing and recovery process into a game that saved her life. She needed the game to keep her sanity and to ensure her healing. Here's just one quote from her talk:

The game was helping us experience what scientists call post-traumatic growth, which is not something we usually hear about. We usually hear about post-traumatic stress disorder. But scientists now know that a traumatic event doesn't doom us to suffer indefinitely. Instead, we can use it as a springboard to unleash our best qualities and lead happier lives.

I love the idea of post-traumatic growth. I don't think it diminishes the idea of post-traumatic stress at all. I think instead, it supplements it and makes our experiences that much fuller. Back in January I almost died. I didn't realize it then. The doctors didn't even realize it then. But now they do. Now I do. And it's terrifying. You know what else is terrifying?

Being told when I went to the hematologist on Monday morning that I have a blood disorder. That I'll be on blood thinners, medicine, for the rest of my life. That I may also have an autoimmune disease that I'll need further testing to suss out. That I now face an existence that includes doctors and drugs and a change in lifestyle. That I will always be at an extreme risk for DVTs. Again.

And yes, I sat there in that doctor's office Monday morning in stunned silence. I noticed a few minutes into the appointment that I'd quit taking the notes I always write furiously. I sat there and I listened and much of what he said bounced right off me. As he left the room, my doctor patted my arm and said, it's okay, you'll be okay. I wasn't sure I believed him.

I got to my car and I sat there for a moment. I cried. I felt so alone in the world. I tried calling a few family members but everyone was out of range, literally and figuratively. I wasn't sure what to do next. So I drove home. I drove home in shock. And then I talked to Angela. And then to Trace. And then a friend texted and asked if I had time to talk. She didn't know what the last two hours had been but God's timing is always just exactly that way, isn't it?

And then? Well, I thought about Jane and her TED talk. I thought about the healing game she's created called Superbetter. And I thought about that thing called post-traumatic growth. I thought about how none of what I'd just learned or heard was a death sentence. I thought about how I was at my doctor's office for a hematology appointment and not an oncology appointment (he's also an oncologist). I thought about how amazing life really is and how all of this, some how, some way, must be a part of my bigger picture.

I thought about how less than two months ago I couldn't move my leg. I could hardly walk. And I'm now walking over a mile a day. I thought about how I couldn't breathe without pain. And now? I have a twinge now and then but pretty much all I can't do right now comfortably is get on the floor, and really who needs to get on the floor anyway. And how I was having panic attacks every few days. And now? It's been over two weeks since my last one.

PROGRESS.

I have a quote above my desk by Virginia Woolf that says, "Arrange whatever pieces come your way." It's one of my favorite reminders in life. It's a reminder to continue focusing on all of the pieces and how they form me. To deal with them, one by one, as they come in, and to not let one piece sink me. A reminder that just as these new pieces of sickness and disease entered my life, other pieces will come too - hopefully better pieces - but ultimately, they'll all come and I'll have to arrange them in the best way for me. To create the best me. Growth. The best me. All good things.