The wind is lashing a blanket of rain against the big window in my new room where I don’t have a view of the mountains anymore. I imagine there is a plywood booth off in a tree somewhere which is called The Call Button Dispatch Booth. People sit in there with their knees against the ledge and talk to far away places.

The red light on my bed talks back to me. It says things like How may I help you? There is a button for toilet, a button for pain, and a button for water. I think the button for toilet makes that ice cream truck noise out in the hallway. Whatever I tell them, they respond by saying We’ll let your nurse know. This is not the ICU anymore. I might have to ask them to let my nurse know two times or three times. And then, my nurse is busy so they’ll send the CNA.

I think of the CNAs as beautiful young deer. They are tasked with taking vitals and relaying messages. They do not dispense pain medication. Some of them take their jobs very seriously and follow all the rules, which means that they turn the bed alarm on so that I cannot pee without supervision. If I get up the bed will say, please get back on your bed. Oh my God, I feel so mischievous.

My CNA tonight is a special woodland creature who treats me like a young deer. I’ve been informed that I am asking for help during shift change. I realize I’m a difficult person and say, I’m sorry this is a bad habit but I’m in pain.

They say, we’re just setting your expectations.

I know, I say. I’m in pain. My day nurse and I have an agreement that I will tell you when I’m ready for painkillers again instead of taking them every 4 hours. 

Please excuse the poor punctuation. Punctuation for dialogue seems so laborious.

Now I am standing in the hallway, calling out, Who is my nurse? I am trying so hard to be patient but I’m in pain.

The CNA says, I will get your nurse. This is what they do. They respond to these junkies that need their pain medication every 4 hours. She follows me into my room and tells me it’s time for my vitals. I try very hard to be nice and I say I have one more request. Could someone please, please put a sign in my door telling people to close it ? Every single person that comes in here (food, housekeeping, transport, therapist, CNAs, RNs) leaves the door open and it’s driving me insane. She says oh yes, oh yes, I can do that. I hear the door slide shut and I hear lots of squeaking noises. She’s writing on the glass. More squeaking noises. More. She comes back in and says, I wrote it three times on the door. I don’t think anyone can miss it now. I am such trouble. She’s so adorable.

I ask, This is the neuro floor, right? Like, everyone has a headache.

She says oh yes.

I say, so we should just all yell down the hallway. then She says something nice.

When she comes in, in the middle of the night to take my vitals, I imagine it’s with little cooing noises because I am a wounded deer. 

I finally meet my nurse for the evening. I like her. I like all my nurses. I remember in high school when everybody knew that you could become a nurse because it was a good job. They are young and practical and very smart and put up with unbelievable stresses. She empathizes with my headache and asks me if I’d like the window shade down. I described to her the beautiful feeling of freedom I have now that I’m allowed to walk up to the window by myself without calling the call light.

My neighbor must be one of those people that has DELERIUM written on his door because he clearly doesn’t know how to use the call light.. He keeps calling out,

Hello!! Hellooooooohhhh!

No one is answering him. It’s this horrible, horrible feeling, like what an insane asylum in medieval days used to be like. He becomes impatient and then he really starts yelling down the hallway at the top of his lungs,

HELLOOOOHH!! HELLOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!

I found this place deep in my side myself where I can nap. The automatic blood pressure machine is no longer strapped to my arm to take measurements every hour, so now it just breathes all by itself.

Sssshhhhhhupp!

Cooooooooo!!!

There’s also a rhythm to the rise and fall of the laughter in the hallway because change of shift is a very social, very happy time of the day. I imagine lots of flirting.

Hello!! Hellooooooohhhh!

Sssshhhhhhupp!

Cooooooooo!!!

Laughter rises and falls.

Helloooooo! 

I’m no longer a gracious being of light. I want to go stand in his doorway and yell Shut the fuck uuuuuuuup!!!

Now it’s around 4:30 a.m. when I typically talk on my phone to you and my mother knows I’m going to call her soon. Don’t worry, she’s on the East Coast.

I’m more ready to go home than I was yesterday. Yesterday this doctor was proclaiming to me how he was advocating for me (big exclamation. point) I didn’t know what that meant and I felt like he wanted a medal. And he wasn’t listening to what I wanted, which is to not go home and die. Why can’t these highly educated men realize there is a difference between my being able to clean and feed myself and having someone discover me in my apartment, not knowing who I am because my brain slid to the left? I was explaining this to my day nurse, and he joked that it was probably not a good time to take my blood pressure.

But I think we have a plan now. Don’t rely on statistics and science. Pick up the f****** phone and talk to someone every four hours and let them know that we are somewhat sharing the same time and space .

I started to hate it here last night. But I will probably miss it too. What will I do without these people?

You know. That super electric, lightning speed blue, urgent light of love in motion. And I have to say my body doesn’t really like it. I prefer the Earth. I talked to my spirits and they said that was okay and let me put my body into a copper vat of cool blue water, with mud and plants and steep. If they’re going to open these doors, I want it to all be connected to the Earth and then I will happily accept this gift. 

I had a dream last night that they brought somebody in from a car accident and  the angels were here for her. I told my nurse and it made me cry. I don’t know if the dream was someone they actually brought in like one of those code announcements over the PA or if it was me.. It’s 4:00 a.m. and I’m waiting for another CT scan.

My friend and I have been joking about asking the surgeon why there’s a staple on my forehead. Should I hang something on it? I mean I know about all the other staples that are closing the burr holes in my head but is there a purpose to the one on my forehead? They’re keeping me here for another few days, which makes me feel comfortable cuz I’m afraid of going home and then losing my mind and having a stroke. However keeping me here for a few days is the road to being very very silly. I mean you go to the bathroom supervised every f****** time, close the door so you can actually pee and then contend with the Georgia-Pacific toilet paper roll trying to find the end of the paper. I call it the Georgia Pacific intelligence test. I mean we’re on the neurosurgery floor so they gotta have all these hidden intelligence tests right? I have chocolate pudding. I’ve decided it’s OK to enjoy strapping young men helping me out of bed because I’m not supposed to use my wrist.

Yesterday I had a freak out because I realized that I posted my blog twice and I thought maybe I was slipping again. Things that freak me out: friends that come late and don’t tell me why. I imagine that they are strewn across the highway in a horrible accident. The whole concept of highway is insane and full of peril. Everyone. Please drive safe.

I’m really not sure what the big deal is about being in a physical body and why the trauma if you’re not in one, because being in one or not being in one are just two different places, but the laws of the universe here and how people respond with such extreme emotion are about staying in your body so let’s all stay in our physical lives cuz I think that things are juicier that way. It’s like good food and hugs and love. Love is more perfect and sound when we can feel it in the ground. Those are my thoughts.

But my wish has never changed. My wish is to become a good hollow bone. My nurse tells me that one of the most powerful messages she got from God was to love her husband as much as he does. It sounded like a palpable experience. I thought, who wouldn’t want to be part of that? If I was given a gift that would open a gate in my heart and let people receive that kind of love I would happily accept it. I think part of accepting a gift like that is noticing how it works through all the people around us. We all open the gates for each other, and the world is beautiful.

I am back in the ICU. A couple of my friends may have saved my life, or at least from having a seizure, stroke or paralysis.

I never intended for my blog to be used in this way so move on if this isn’t your flavor. I’m not supposed to be thinking right now, but I am a writer and I need to express myself. By the way, I am easily overwhelmed right now, so though I love your supporting comments, I might not respond to text very quickly. Here we go.

They engrave into our psyches that our lives are on a trajectory. But really, life is a creative process. Creativity only happens in the beautiful moment. All around us, there is budding, resting, expiring, all around us. All that matters is the now.

I am not out of the woods, they say. They put burrow holes in my skull a few days ago to release some of the blood and it immediately made a difference. Tomorrow we’re going to create an embolism or like cauterization in one of my arteries in my brain to lower the chances of a bleed happening again. Yay more crappy tube down my throat. Them 30 days of waiting with 10% chance of a rebleed.

The poufy, airbag-like clouds still surround me and there is no knowing the future, even the next few days. I wait for moments of sunshine that make me rise to the kitchen, perhaps out to the mailbox under the sky.
I realize now, with my lapses in time, that I truly did lose consciousness at the scene of the accident. This explains a lot. (I wrote that paragraph before I went back to the hospital.)

This week, I think I lost 36 hours. More blood pushed my brain further off center. Andre says how metaphysical… that to become centered, you have to let your brain expand slowly and physically find center
Here’s the before and after picture. Grey is blood and black is air. They couldn’t take out all the blood or I’d be an airhead then there’ll be too much space for my brain to move around in. My brain needs to expand slowly. Thinking contracts, the brain. Stop thinking.

Pretty cool, right?
I have pictures of staples in my head too, but I don’t wanna gross you out. Instead, I’ll give you this one. E.T. PHONE HOME!

So, how am I doing? So much of ‘Am I happy?’ has had to do with ego, my standing in the world, whether I feel loved or am accomplishing things. But in the past years, I’ve been publicly humiliated, vindictively fired, and thrown out of an organization with no apparent reason. All separate chapters. My patch quilt, awkward ego has been stripped off. I am down to the bare bones. A lot of things don’t hurt or confuse me anymore. It is quite freeing to notice where and how life really rushes into the room.
The hardest part of not being able to work is a small, fierce remnant of my ego: my pathological desire to impress my boss’s new boss whom I have not yet met. But my boss (who is really my friend; we have been through thick and thin together) has already been on my case for taking things way too seriously. Many people go to work and they just be there. I would like to try that. My life-long East coast (puritan?) work ethic has been so severe, I am guilty of harshly judging those around me, whilst bewildered in how people even get or keep their jobs when so little is done.

This thinking is a thorn in the thicket. I can be still. There is no reason to walk right into it. I see that more important than bullet points checked off a list, is being part of the fabric of community. The gentle eyes, the seeing how we fit together, the purpose of the work we do, what can be done and what cannot be done. In every space, the woods, the weeds, the high hills, the edge of the ocean, there is space and time to feel and perceive. It’s just how close the thorns are. Slow down.

The unmentioned secret from my last blog is that during the shamanic healing, I was able to reabsorb Raven into my being. Years ago, I asked one of my mentors where the line was between ourselves and our power animals. In true form, he mentioned that these mysteries, we will never understand. All I know is that I feel my bones are my bones again. Even my feathers. My body is familiar, the best place to hang out. I am home. Raven sees so many things. I have been in double-trouble for my mismanagement of the things that I see, but this time I was told I will be well. If I feel an uncontrollable urge to speak, ask the Raven for the right words. No need to throw away a gift. Let her compassion seep through and trust. I love her with her rough-and-tumble sense of fun and courage, her resilience and self-sufficiency, her knowing of the back roads in the night.

Move carefully in the woods. Swoop high in the skies. The attention is the same. The sense of wonder, the same.

Who is your power animal?

If two very nice Honda dealers send the exact same email verbatum, does a bear shit in the woods?

I have been in the hospital since last Monday. I texted my friend Mike and told him that if he had come visited me, he would have fallen in love with my ICU nurse. He replies, “And you didn’t get a selfie with him?”

Ha-ha. I wish I’d had the good cheer to get a selfie with him. I went to the ER in Edmonds after noting that throwing up in the kitchen sink is a signal to call a friend and get there. I was ushered from there to the ‘Harborview of the North’, up in Everett. The entire time I had my eyes closed because my head hurt so bad.

I love heated blankets. I imagine they have a kiln that smells of the earth where they keep them. My friend Cheri was given keys to that kingdom and I wondered if there were any blankets left for anyone else. She is by my side for days.

I snuck a picture of my head scan. There is blood on one side.. and my whole brain moved off the center line. That made me cry a little and just close my eyes again. They slid me from one cot to another, there must have been a highway involved, then another scan and another cot and then I was in ICU. Quiet beeping.

Intensive Care Unit. All I have is a headache and exhaustion. I really don’t understand why the big deal but if everyone else is doing all those things, I accept being in their hands.

Let me introduce you to Riley (name changed). Riley sits to my right and quietly calls my name. His presence is tender, intuitive, a channel of love and care.

Tell me your full name.
What is your date of birth?

Every hour.
Do you know why you are here?

The next night, the same routine, every two hours.

A flashlight gently brought to my right eye, my left eye.
Squeeze my fingers.
Pull with your toes.
Push.

It took me days, after ICU for me to understand they were checking for stroke symptoms or worsened brain functioning.

Even when I complained about the green, night nurse, Riley had kind words to say about her. Because he is a loving person. He showed me the ropes, telling me it’s kind of like a locker room around here so just let me know if I needed anything or felt uncomfortable, and teased me with threats to turn on the bed alarm if I didn’t call him before getting up to use the commode. But with real concern. I cannot fall. I sensed his talent and I knew then that I will worship caregivers the same way I have always placed teachers above everyone else.

It is the tenderness that really got me. Every time I had to get up, he fished my socks out of the covers and not complaining, put them on my feet. The housekeeping woman left me a card, in which she wrote “Things are changing for the better.” That made me cry, too.

When I graduated from ICU, I was sad because I knew I was headed to a floor where the nurses would be more busy. But I reveled in all the different people with names like Tatiana and Venus and Mariana, Elizabeth and Kim. They had varying levels of emotional boundaries and I enjoyed it when they shared about their lives. One nurse sat on my bed and talked to me for what seemed like 20 minutes about her life. I felt honored.

There were teams of providers. They often said different things and then went away and talked and came back with different plans. This was stressful but I did not get too upset because they were spending so much intention trying to make the best decisions for me. Their whole jobs were to make the best decisions for me. What could be a more important job? I wanted to talk to someone about almost dying and they sent me a chaplain who was accompanied by that purity of a spiritual presence and a curiosity about my power animals. I told him about Bear. I told him I felt like the car was still spinning. I told him that all of euphoria (see the last blog) and the care set me down in a place where nothing, nothing matters at all out there in the world but being in loving presence with people.

My old friend Carol, who always thinks of the best things, got me a protein smoothie. Perfect, because with all the love and care flowing in my direction, the food tastes like cardboard. Yummm.. protein smoothie. Peppermint Almond Milk London Fog. She even returned my rental car, called a lawyer and got me a Good Will cane for my stupid knee. John, my old dear friend, in his 80’s..I put him on speaker phone and he drums for me for 20 minutes.

Everyone keeps putting my socks back on. I am a kitten.

Tell me your full name.
What is your date of birth?
Do you know why you are here?

There was a neurodivergent surgeon. He was kind of an asshole, but then I became really fond of him. I work in tech. I get it.
He said things like, “Sorry about your emotional thing (I was crying), but neurologically, you are getting better.
“Yeah, well we can’t do anything about a time bomb in your head. That is what this condition is.
“ No we can’t scan you every day. That’s too much radiation in your head.
“The headache may or may not go away. We don’t do surgery for headaches. I’m just concerned about the blood.

Now, admittedly, I’ve had a head injury but I seem to remember the first time meeting him, or maybe that same time, when he was joking about how as much as he likes cutting into people’s heads, he was trying to avoid cutting into my head, I may have said “but I know you really want to”. (I mean really, I watch Grey’s Anatomy.) I think I declared that I’ve realized I feel better when people hold my hand. I wanted him to hold my hand. He immediately went for the hand sanitizer and said, “I have a cold heart.”

I said, “That’s ok”.

He said, “I have a cold, cold heart.”

I think I said, “It’ll be good for you.” He held my hand for a quick, firm moment.

There there was the other surgeon, who looked beautiful and talked about the incredible healing powers of Mother Nature. My mom and I liked that. I told mom I was accepting prayers from everyone, from every religion. Mom told me the goddess is in charge.

The neurodivergent surgeon was the only one who told me on my last day that I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I am grateful for that. I will be as careful with myself as everyone showed me to be, while waiting for my next scan.

At the beginning I was thinking, I would be upset if I didn’t know someone I cared about was in the hospital so let a lot of people know…and then become overwhelmed. I thought about what ‘appropriate boundaries’ are and whether I should accept so much help. Then everything became simple. Both giving and receiving are nourishing blessings and we all get to be part of this party of joy and love.

I came home yesterday, so I am about to learn what I can and cannot do. I am so lucky to be in this tribe of warm, shamanic folk. Leslie spent good time with me and I received soul retrieval healing, along with something else that I know will significantly change my life. I asked my neighbor to come by twice a day and ask me funny questions. There are other people coming over to make my place look less like the aftermath of a car accident. I need to get into a heavy box for my title. I am looking forward to a hot bath.

I guess my point is, Tenderness.

We are most likely to learn to love people in powerful ways after we have received it from someone else and ….thank you, Riley. I have learned an embodied, powerful form of tenderness from you. May you live well and be whole. You are a gift to everyone they send into your care. You were my angel.