Signs, Omens & My Magical Band of Allies

Signs  Imagine you’ve just been told that someone’s going to drill into your skull with some sort of fancy Dremel tool. Which of these two logos would you prefer that person be wearing?

Yep, the one on the right, unless you're twisted and evil. Now take a look at the logo for my neurosurgeon’s office.

I took that as a good sign. Often when people are facing a big, scary Unknown, they look for signs and omens that mark the path to either encourage them or warn them away.

Omens  In early September, when Dr. Mullan told me he wanted to do surgery in the next three months, I had to consider my timing options. His weekend on-call schedule had not yet been posted, but he recommended against choosing a Monday or Tuesday because of the possibility of his having a less sleepful weekend because of it. (I’m sure he would only operate under safe conditions; as the schedule was wide open, he was just steering me toward optimal days for surgery.)

September was out – too soon to make arrangements. Besides, the new semester for my grad school class was starting in three days. If I had surgery too soon, I would just have to drop the class entirely, and I was really looking forward to this class. (Taught by Peter Geye!)

October had its own wrinkle. My husband’s parents were planning a big party in Illinois for their 50^th wedding anniversary. Brian said that if it came down to it, we would just go ahead with the surgery and miss the party. But there was no reason to do that, as I wasn’t experiencing any symptoms and there was no danger in waiting. Plus, we both really wanted to go to the party, which was the final weekend of the month.

That brought us to November. As a foodie, I love Thanksgiving. I didn’t want to miss it or be miserable. If I waited until after Thanksgiving, then I’d be too close to Christmas, and I am a house-decorating, cookie-baking fiend at that time of year. So the holidays needed a buffer, which pointed me to the first week of November as the best bet for surgery. November 1^st was a Wednesday, a mid-week point so that my surgeon would be well-rested.

And then this thought occurred to me: The year before, my husband’s grandmother died on All Saints’ Day, November 1^st. That solidified it for me.

For some people, that might seem like an inauspicious choice – actively selecting the anniversary of a very sad day—but when you get beyond the sorrow of missing someone who has died, you can see the power and comfort in that choice. Juliann, my husband’s grandmother, died peacefully with all of her faculties intact and with the dignity and grace she exhibited throughout her long life. She was a beautiful, caring person – and she liked me. I knew, as much as a questioning agnostic like myself can know, that she would be looking out for me on such an occasion. She became the first person in my Magical Band of Allies.

Magical Band of Allies   In my initial couple weeks of freaking out about brain surgery, I made a post on Facebook about my stressed-out state. One of my friends recommended a meditation CD to me that was designed specifically for people about to undergo surgery. Belleruth Naparstek has created a series of meditations called Health Journeys to address various health issues, and though I’m not a regular meditator (I try, though, I try), I needed something to calm me down or I’d be in danger of a cardiac event before I ever got on the operating table. These meditations are used in hospitals and clinics throughout the country and have been shown to improve patient outcomes.

The Successful Surgery CD has an introduction, a guided imagery meditation, a track of affirmations designed for post-surgical recovery, and some soothing music that can be played during surgery. At night, I listened to the guided affirmation. It starts by having the listener imagine s/he is in a comfortable, soothing environment, either real or imaginary, inside or outside. Time is taken to flesh out the environment, look around, feel the breeze (if there is one), smell the scents – really soak in the sense of this calm place.

I grew up on the outskirts of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, at the edge of a forest. There would be trees in my calm space and softly swaying grasses. I’ve always felt a sense of magic in the woods, and because I was a big fantasy nerd as a kid (and I still am), one image from a J.R.R.Tolkien calendar I had became the place I went to in the meditation. (Notice the month on the calendar!)

From there, the meditator enters a screen that turns into an operating room where the person watches the busy, competent surgical staff prepare and sees him- or herself being wheeled in. Around the patient is a “magical band of allies—past, present, and future—some you may recognize.” These allies surround you and cheer you on, keeping you safe and comfortable. They follow you into recovery and watch over you with care and love.

In addition to my husband’s grandmother, here are some of the frequent faces I imagined in my own Magical Band of Allies:

·       Grandma Anderson. The last time I saw her alive was when she came to visit me at Abbott Northwestern Hospital when I had my colon removed at age 13. (My craniotomy was at the very same hospital.) Less than an hour after I returned home from the hospital, we found out she had died. I couldn’t go to the funeral due to my major gut incision.

·       Aunt Audrey. My aunt was an active, happy person. The day before she had heart surgery—which she didn’t want, as she didn’t think she needed it—she planted hundreds of tulip bulbs and climbed on her porch roof to clean out the gutters. She didn’t survive the surgery. She would make sure that I, who also questioned my need for surgery, would survive mine.

·       Dave Carlson. A lovely, wickedly funny man whom I knew would appreciate my slightly slanted take on these bizarre events. He also understands what it’s like being married to a Schallhammer.

·       Grandma Djock. She died of a stroke when I was maybe four or five, so I don’t have many memories of her. However, the one risk aspect of my situation that was slightly elevated was the stroke risk (tumor’s proximity to a major blood vessel), so I called on her to guard that.

·       Uncle Roger. I’ve mentioned the Djock family hospital demeanor (read: jocular), but I actually think it got its start on the Anderson branch of the family and in particular with Uncle Roger. My mom talked about how Roger would tell her about some medical misadventure he had and she’d feel bad for laughing but he was just so funny. My Aunt Pat and my cousins Dana and Andy are all that way, too. You’d think they’d never been through any hardships by the way they’re all so positive, uplifting, and goddamned funny, but you’d be quite wrong. It’s just their default mode of dealing with the world, and it’s very inspiring.

In the ICU, concepts from the affirmations came to my mind—in particular, one about a blue-green wave that washes over you with a healing warmth and cleans out the crud. (Okay, my words on the last bit there.) It actually eased my head pressure when I imagined it.

A couple days after I got home from the craniotomy, I listened to the recovery affirmations again. There is a line that recalls the magical band of allies. Suddenly, tears just started streaming down my face. I cried softly for a good two minutes, though I was not feeling any speck of sorrow.

I think it was my mind/body/soul’s way of saying Thank you.