Subconscious mind


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It dawned on me yesterday that this time next week I will have two breasts again. And I can’t quite believe I have finally come full circle. The end of a long journey. There are mixed emotions. Relief, excitement, guilt, apprehension, an overwhelming sense of being able to finally exhale. Because it feels like I have been holding my breath for just this moment. Last summer, battling the prosthetic I called ‘the jellyfish’ every time I wore my swimmers, I knew I never wanted to experience another summer in this way. Small things, yes. They only got a measly 500 grams from me. But sometimes it’s the small things that give us the most grief, isn’t it.

The birth of the bump my girlfriend called it. Stage one of my reconstruction. An incredible gift, worth every cent. Because the joy this bump has given me in the last six weeks is beyond words. The freedom to embrace my femininity again. The joy of normal clothes. I ditched the prosthetic immediately. And the image of swinging my half kilo bra around my head and wildly letting go, prosthetic and all, like some sort of catapult, delights the wickedness in me. I get a sense of why our foremothers burned their bras.

And the really amazing thing is that even though the reconstruction is not complete my brain seems to have accepted my body as ‘whole’ again. I am fascinated by the workings of the mind, the brain in action. Proprioception they call it. That ability we have to recognise ourselves in space. Before, I was so keenly aware of the deficit. Funny, I never hated the scar, I hated the absence of me. But this bump, in all its rawness, has been accepted by my brain as ‘me’ and the sense of wholeness in my quieter moments brings tears of joy.

But the guilt I feel? Because in some ways it is just a small thing. Just a breast. Hidden away, no-one need ever know. I saw a man at the shops in a wheelchair with an amputated leg, and I felt lucky. It’s a strange thing when I work with people facing other challenges, because in listening to their stories, I feel so fortunate. And yet, knowing my story I’ve heard them question their own challenges as being small. But I guess each of us has a story of our own and it’s a wonderful thing when we can feel fortunate in the face of it, isn’t it…

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I spent some time talking to a young woman yesterday about her choices. Locked into a particular paradigm yet still struggling with depression, she realised that perhaps she needed to open her mind to other possibilities for healing. She was scared. Reasonably so. Because when we try anything new, it’s natural to be nervous, or cautious or uncertain, isn’t it. It’s just the nature of doing something we haven’t done before.

And it can be the same when we begin to reinvent ourselves. And that’s a necessary part of healing, isn’t it. Because when we keep doing what we’ve always done, we’re going to keep getting what we’ve always got. And there are some things we don’t want to repeat, aren’t there! Once in a lifetime is enough to experience some of the things we’ve experienced.

Most people don’t realise we actually become addicted to being ourselves. Every time we think a thought, or feel an emotion, we release chemicals in our body that form receptors on our nerve cells. And the more we repeat the thought, or the emotion, the more receptors that form and the more our body feels the need to keep repeating the thoughts, or the emotions, to get its fix. Being addicted to bitterness, or judgement, or anger, or anxiety, or stress, or sadness is no different at a cellular level than being addicted to smoking, or drinking or drugs. In fact, there’s a great smoking ad on tv that actually shows how it happens. We get into the habit of being ourselves. And because our bodies get used to being a certain way, they can kick up a real stink when we try to change. Like breaking any addiction, it has to be a multi-level approach. And that’s why we need to go below the surface, to focus our healing where the true problem lies. 

Shortly after chatting to this young woman, I happened to notice the date yesterday and it took be back two years to my own journey. My 14th wedding anniversary. And I remember being beside myself on that day. Breaking down. Because two years ago, I didn’t know if I was going to live or if I was going to die. I didn’t know if I was going to be around ‘next year’ to celebrate with my husband and my children. And the fear in these thoughts can be a terrifying thing, can’t it. But thankfully, now it is only a memory. And I no longer live in it’s grip. And it seems such a long time ago. Such a different life to the one I have now. Because the choices I have made have helped to reinvent myself. To break the old addictions. To help me get here to where I am today, a safe passage through the storm, and now more alive than ever…

How many people get to live their dream life? Today I realised once again how perfect my life is, just as it is. Sure there are a few little things I might wish were different, but all in all, I wouldn’t change a thing. I was standing at the bus stop this afternoon waiting for my girls, watching the sheep with their lambs in the paddock across the road, and that deep sense of knowing that I am living my dream came over me. There are so many little things that fill me with such joy. The morning light that illuminates the spiders webs in the paddocks that have been spun during the night. It’s an incredible sight. I didn’t realise what I was looking at the first time I saw it. The white frost that sparkles as the sun hits it. The new born calves, the filly born on Melbourne Cup day. The old church across the road in the middle of nowhere, where the dogs chase the rabbits. My neighbour who turns up on my doorstep with the regular gift of two dozen freshly laid eggs. Our beautiful bus driver that cares enough to bring flowers the day I finished radiation treatment. That my life is full of people I love and work that fulfils me.

Years ago I could only dream of this life. But it seems it has now found me. And I feel with every ounce of my being that this is my special, healing place. It is such a gift to live here, waking up to this life everyday. While I was going through surgery and chemo, it helped me to know that even though things were a bit crazy around me, I had my safe place to retreat to. It would be the same beautiful place regardless of what was happening with me. And it blows my mind that seven years ago, I described the very home that I am now living in. An old rambling farmhouse on a hundred acres, big open rooms with small cosy nooks, surrounded by mountains, snow sometimes. Well it’s all come to pass. It’s snowed twice in the last two weeks, reminding me I am exactly where I am meant to be. I was like a kid in a snowdome. It was beautiful. I put it out there and this special place found me, the very year I said it would. Many people don’t realise we all have a special part of us that seeks out what we set our hearts and minds on. And it’s happened so many times in my life, I’m now very conscious of where I put my focus. And I encourage others to do the same.

Because it’s so important to surround ourselves with things we love as a part of our healing, isn’t it. I wonder how many people realise that when we feel good, we release healing chemicals into our body. Our own drugstore, the pharmacy we carry within us. Not something we want to take lightly, is it. Because our feelings are actually some of the most important biochemicals in our healing. And the wonder of our minds is that even when we can’t physically be in our special place or with those we love, when we choose to focus on the people or places or things that fill us with joy, those healing feelings are released anyway…

 

If the sight of blue skies fills you with joy

If a blade of grass springing up in the fields has the power to move you

If the simplest things of nature have a message that you understand

Rejoice

For your soul is alive

http://www.affirmations.com.au

I am so deliciously peaceful. A few hours past surgery and I feel good. And excited. My breathing is deep and restful and my hands are warm. And I am basking in this moment. I now officially have two bumps. And though new and raw, I treasure them. Dr David managed to do my expansion while I was under. I was never huge. There is a quietness in how blessed I feel. And the special people around me. The love of family and friends and people I’ve only just met flowing to me and through me. My body is responding beautifully. Just a mild pressure, nothing more. I woke as I asked myself to do so. Comfortable and peaceful. I am so in awe of how special we are.  The special abilities we all have inside. How that deeper part of us responds to our gentle directions when we allow it to do so.

Miracles. Yes. They are possible. And they often come in the most beautiful and unexpected ways…

I wonder, have you ever noticed how we are surrounded by mirrors in our lives? Some are a true and clear reflection. While others are more like the foggy ones when you get out of the shower. Or the mirrors with a crack in the glass. You only see a snippet of yourself. A distorted image and not your true reflection. And then there are others like the ones at the fun park or the museum, where your body is stretched tall and thin, or shrunk short and stumpy. And we laugh at these mirrors, don’t we, because we know they are not a true reflection of who we really are. Safe in the knowledge the real us, the true us remains unchanged.

My husband became a true mirror for me the other day. As I took my shirt off, he whistled. You know, one of those appreciative wolf whistles. I could never work out why they have been rendered politically incorrect. They never offended me. In fact, I love them. And they make me feel good about myself. It feels good to be appreciated, doesn’t it. This one took me completely by surprise and I smiled with delight. Because I felt so unconditionally loved in this moment. I find him amazing. He doesn’t see the scars. He only sees me. In the days following I realised at an even deeper level that it is ‘me’ that is attractive to him, the real me inside. The outside bits, although desirable, are not as important. And in reflecting this back to me, he is teaching me to see myself this way. He became a mirror for me of what really matters. A true mirror. And I love him all the more.

The young woman speaks. “Will my mouth always be like this?” she asks. “Yes”, I say, “it will. It is because the nerve was cut.” She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. “I like it he says, it’s kind of cute.”

All at once I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with a god. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate hers, to show her that their kiss still works. I remember that gods appeared in ancient Greece as mortals, and I hold my breath and let the wonder in.

Richard Selzer – Lessons from the Art of Surgery as quoted in Love, Medicine and Miracles by Dr Bernie Siegel

Sometimes it helps me to remember that cancer is really only a cracked mirror. Just a snapshot of a moment in time. Because it’s not a true reflection of who we really are, is it. And it can be comforting to remember that no matter what happens, our real self, our true self will always remain safely tucked away inside…

I can’t quite believe it’s July already. And in ten days my next adventure begins. I feel my body recoiling a little, perhaps remembering what happened the last time I went under the knife. And the bits I left behind. I must confess I feel a little bit of apprehension. Opening up old wounds. The need to heal again. But it’s different this time. This time they are putting me back together. And today the overriding feeling is calm anticipation mixed in with a dash of ‘little girl’ excitement. In two weeks I get to grow my breast again for the second time in my life. How many people get to do that twice!

And I know the shift in how I feel is because I am surrounded by people who love me, people who are helping me prepare for this surgery. Mentally, physically and emotionally. And there’s so much we can do to prepare, isn’t there. I wonder how many people realise that choosing a doctor with a good bedside manner has been shown to minimise the need for pain relief? Important decisions, aren’t they. Because for a time our physical and emotional self is in their hands. And I want to know what sort of people they are. Positive or melancholy? Gentle or brash. I once had an anaesthetist sing me to sleep in Persian. Precious memories. Later tonight I’ll crack the lid on the jar of supplements to reduce the bruising and inflammation. Building my buffer I call it. Some people, of course, poo poo the idea. So I love it when a doctor actually asks me to take them. Then I really know I’ve got the right guy. Because nutritional support can work miracles with healing too. And I am choosing to be as gentle and kind on myself as I can this time.

And once again I’m spending time getting my head in the right space. Isn’t it incredible that when we’re under anaesthetic, our conscious defences are down and we can actually hear what’s being said? For better or for worse. So just as I have been taught, I now teach other people simple ways that protect us while under the anaesthetic. And I’ve heard it said that mental preparation has actually saved lives…

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