When Sarah went skydiving it was different than what I imagined it would be like.
I always imagined the free fall as – well – “free”. Wouldn’t it be first the amazing feeling of falling – like the initial drop on a roller coaster. Then would come the part where it would be like superman flying around in the sky. Next would be after the parachute opened. You would be floating gracefully through the air. You would be looking around from way up in the sky with the amazing feeling of peace and freedom.
She tells me it wasn’t like that at all. Not at all.
The Go-Pro video recording showed the reality.
In reality she stepped off a plane flying at speed (150 mph). The free fall was instead the sensation of getting blasted in the face with wind at 150 mph. At that speed – she said it wasn’t really that easy to appreciate the beautiful view. The video shows her cheeks violently flapping around in the wind in a not very graceful way.
And then the shock and pull of the parachute against her arms and legs pulled into her skin. The pressure and bruising and associated pain made the parachute ride also less idyllic then what I imagined. The trip down was a balance between trying to look around and wondering how long it would be before she would be free of the pain of the harness.
So also, with my life.
Everything in my life seems to move at 150 mph.
More often than not I get blasted in my face with the forceful wind of life. I try to look out at the trees and grass and sunsets. But most of the time I am just feeling my cheeks pushed back and pretending to enjoy them and wondering why I can’t. My iPhone is a constant temptation and a constant pull into the wind. Just when the wind slows, one email or text speeds it up again. One comment can be a reminder that triggers worries or thoughts of things that I have not done or that need to be done.
There are good things in my work. But once again, the beautiful sunsets or the glint of the sun on the leaves get only a cursory appreciation as I pound through on dozens of things grabbing at me. A success on one patient but yet a long note to write in Epic and several patient calls and the enormous number of unread emails.
Someone told me once about eating a hot sauce that was so hot it just numbed up his tongue. In the end he couldn’t feel it – and he couldn’t even taste it. My life feels that way. I feel numb and long for times when I felt more human. Could I really have time to indulge emotion. Could I even know what I feel – and then be free to express it. Artists and poets and song writers get to do this. Can’t I get to do this also please?
Last night (10/3/18) I had the gift of driving alone with a sunset outside my window. Recent events made me not care about anything else. It could all wait. Putting on music and turning it up loud enough so that I could feel it was like the greatest indulgence.
And for a moment it was there again: emotions. Appreciating what it means to be truly human. Unlike the real skydiving – it was better. I was floating and able to look around and see everything. Not blasted by the wind. But able to feel a gentle breeze and see colors and feel pain and beauty at the same time.
This is chapter two of my discussion of burnout.[1] I wrote this three days after I was told that I had a “large retroperitoneal mass” that was likely cancer.
I had been feeling the blast of life in my face for years. It was only with the threat of my own mortality that I could get angry enough to defy it all. It is odd that it took anger to overcome the stress of the world, but I think that was what the emotion was. I was finally determined and strong enough to fight against the pressures that would keep me from enjoying life. Sometimes you have to get angry at the circumstances that are destroying you.
It is now more than two months later.
I am still only functioning with training wheels on. I am continuing to learn. My cancer diagnosis and the associated treatments are training wheels. They are keeping me from falling back into living a more certain life that pretends to let you feel and see and smell and love but mostly just keeps you numb. I am more human today than I was two months ago. I am working hard via prayer and study and writing this blog to learn.
All of my family, friends and coworkers are making it easy. Their kindness to me has been overwhelming. Thursday night a large group of them from the transplant and VAD programs showed up outside my front door. They sang Christmas carols to me! They were all bundled up in the cold. They held candles. Their voices were sweet! Their faces were some of the greatest beauty I have ever seen!
I tried to not cry. Their sweet children in the front were so adorable it made it easier. They made my heart happy. I had to steady myself on my wife because the emotions were so intense – so good – so real. I was fully human standing there. Thank you for making it easy. I didn’t need my training wheels that night because of you.
I promise that I will continue to learn. My last week of radiation is next week. I hope that as I recover from that I might regain some energy and stamina. I am warned that the fatigue can persist for a while. I am also warned that the chemotherapy doses will be ramped up after this and they can and will cause fatigue and nausea. I guess the Lord thinks I still need training wheels for a while longer.
But I must learn because I feel a deep obligation to teach it to you. I want to somehow teach you to truly:
- Feel
- Taste
- Smell
- See
- Hear
- And love.
[1]I promise a chapter 3 with more insights and answers will come in a few weeks. I have written it based on the feedback from many of you but I want to spend some more time in reflection and study before posting it. So please bear with me. More will be coming.
