So, why is it every time I fly to Buffalo I’m on a prop-plane? Okay, I’ve now come here twice (the first time on my honeymoon), but both times I’ve been on one of those old, rickety puddle-jumpers. I’m convinced they don’t have jet engines in Buffalo.
Anywho, my client this week is actually a large cancer institute:
As I walked past the main entrance and gardens, I was transported back in time to my stay at Yale New Haven Hospital. Back then, there wasn’t a dedicated cancer institute or anything. I recovered from my various surgeries alongside other ICU and emergency room patients. Recently, Yale New Haven opened a new cancer wing, along with a rooftop garden for healing and meditation. That would have been nice!
I stopped and watched the patients in the Roswell gardens yesterday and I recalled my trips via wheelchair out of the hospital. The first such trip was weeks after my coma and surgery – I hadn’t felt sunlight on my skin for way too long. I know it sounds like a dirty cliche, but that little jaunt really felt like my first trip out of doors – it was exhilirating! My mom wheeled me around the mean streets of New Haven (hospitals are never in the greatest neighborhoods). There were no gardens or fountains, but I distinctly remember a hot dog stand – and that’s all I wanted. Too bad I was still being fed via a tube down my nose… that hot dog would have tasted better than it had any right tasting.
So, though I am cranky about my low-amenity stay in the hospital, I actually know better. One of my surgeries required an artery replacement (or some shit) from my arm to my neck… yes, you read that right: they took a fucking artery from my arm and put it into my neck. Anyway, I guess 30 years ago, they didn’t have the tech to do that replacement gracefully, and patients walked around with a tube between their arm and neck… yeah, that’s pretty gross. Though I like to shake my fist like an old man, I really have no right to complain.
What’s my point?
I don’t fucking know! I guess, sometimes it’s good to be reminded of the traumas of our past. For me, they have a way of focusing my energies on the present. No, I don’t ever want to go back there, so I’m making the most of the ‘extra’ time I fought so hard for. I’m no shrink (it that an 80’s word?), but my suggestion when you’re feeling crushed about something that happened in the past is simple: focus on the now… sure, you may carry those scars (some more visible than others), but the present and future need not be grounded by some anchor in your personal history. If you can, use that anchor instead as a springboard into your now.