Ensayo sobre el dolor

No nos conmueve el dolor, sino que nos moviliza el morbo.

Impacta un cuerpo desmembrado, una persona con deformidades evidentes, un rostro desfigurado por quemaduras o un miembro amputado en trágico accidente.

  
Pero el dolor interno e invisible no puede fotografiarse, no puede publicarse, medirse o demostrarse.  Aquellas personas que sufrimos de enfermedades crónicas  y convivimos con el dolor en menor o mayor grado; nos sentimos muchas veces avergonzadas de tener que explicar, fundamentar y demostrar la magnitud de nuestro dolor físico.

Acaso, ¿no pasa lo mismo con los duelos emocionales?  Todo lo que no se puede mirar, le parece al otro que es sólo una exageración, un delirio de nuestra sensibilidad o simplemente una forma vergonzosa de victimizarnos.

En realidad, el verdadero dolor del otro nos asusta, lo desconocemos, somos incapaces de escuchar, atender y creer aquello que es ajeno a nuestra realidad.

Del dolor hay que deshacerse rápido, tenemos que demostrar que somos capaces de superar racionalmente y civilizadamente nuestra crisis física o emocional.

Si vamos por el camino de la medicina tradicional, queremos una pastilla o una inyección que en menos de 24 horas nos deje como nuevos.

Si transitamos el camino de las terapias holísticas, creemos que con un par de meditaciones y diez respiraciones, todo se arregla.

Si predicamos alguna religión, el sufrimiento tiene seguramente alguna implicancia que nos beneficia, nos hace más buenos, nos purifica y hasta nos santifica.  Así que, ¡a sonreír que es apenas una bendición!…

Si de penas y turbaciones se trata, hay que fingir ‘cordura y compostura’ o acudir prontamente a un psicólogo que intente convencernos de que todo está en la mente, el alma no existe y el corazón es sólo un órgano físico.

El que está del otro lado, se asusta, se burla, se asombra, se aleja, se vuelve indiferente o simplemente deja de preguntarnos cómo estamos.

El dolor físico agudo, crónico e intenso comenzó en mi adolescencia; casi en la misma época que comenzaron mis etapas de penas insoportables y tristezas innombrables.  Siento, que no fue una coincidencia.

Una se acostumbra, por así decirlo, hasta que el umbral se corre en la escala, y ya dejamos de medir o cuantificar.

Cuando la herida es externa, hay cuidados extremos, cirugías estéticas, ungüentos para restablecer la apariencia y fisioterapia para recuperar la capacidad de jugar y bailar.

Cuando la herida es interna, la archivamos en algún rincón oscuro, esperando a que el tiempo, todo lo cure.  Y en esa sombra desatendida, la herida se agiganta, se pudre y un día encuentra la fuerza para destrozar nuestras lápidas.

Cuando las enfermedades son visibles, hay un cuidado extremo por mantener el funcionamiento correcto de cada una de nuestras partes, evitando por supuesto parecernos a bestias sin espejo.

Cuando las enfermedades son invisibles, se desconocen energías, emociones, meridianos, chacras y el equilibrio perfecto que existe entre cada órgano y cada sistema.  Se extirpan órganos, se recortan achuras con menos cuidado que el carnicero del barrio cuando corta las milanesas.  Se manipulan los tejidos con la misma pericia que un médico forense.  Aquello que no funciona se descarta y termina en un tacho de basura para alimentar a los perros de la calle.  Lo que ya no funciona, se reemplaza con un pedazo de plástico, un tubo, una bolsa o un pañal descartable.

Dolor crónico es aquel que tiene una duración mayor a seis meses, en algunas enfermedades pueden ser años.  En muchos de los casos con dolor crónico, puede haber crisis con dolores más intensos de lo normal.  Esas crisis pueden aparecer cada tres o cuatro meses, y pueden durar varios días. Si ese es el caso, es mejor inventar una gripe, una intoxicación alimenticia o una enfermedad contagiosa.  En esta sociedad, una crisis de dolor invisible no justifica que una persona no pueda trabajar o siquiera cocinarse un plato de comida, durante varios días.

En una crisis de dolor, uno puede rezar, meditar, escuchar música relajante, hacer ejercicios de respiración, dar mil vueltas en la cama hasta encontrar una posición que minimice el dolor y volver a rezar hasta que un poco de sueño nos adormezca los sentidos.  Uno sabe que pasará, que tarde o temprano pasará y podremos estar de buen humor, cocinar y trabajar con todas las luces encendidas de nuestro cerebro.  Mientras tanto, una aprende a respetar el cuerpo, sus tiempos y sus necesidades, cierra la persiana y deja que allí afuera sigan murmurando: “¿otra vez?”   “tenés que ponerte bien”, “no podés estar otra vez así”.

No hay una medida para el dolor.  No hay comparación posible para determinar si hay un dolor peor que otro.  La persona que sufre porque su corazón ha sido destrozado, despojado, mancillado o sacudido por uno de esos terremotos que no dejan nadie en pie, no necesita que otra persona le diga que podría haber sido peor, que hay males peores, que hay dolores más graves, que hay perdidas más feroces.  En ese momento, para esa persona, la sensación de dolor, impotencia, vacío y desazón al enfrentarse a lo inevitable, es única.  Y la magnitud no sólo depende del hecho exterior sino de la sensibilidad de la propia persona, del apego, de las proyecciones y de los sueños que estaban ligados a la catástrofe, por así llamarla.

No se puede entender ni aún menos comprender lo que no se ha vivido, lo que jamás ha sido parte de nuestras experiencias.  Se puede imaginar pero por sobre todo se debe respetar.

Si ves una persona devastada, si me ves lidiando un dolor que no se puede explicar pero que transmuta y se transforma con el tiempo siguiendo patrones inesperados, si ves a alguien que se siente y se ve como un montón de esquirlas luego de la explosión…

Entonces, no intentes juzgar o entender, no pidas explicaciones, no compares, no intentes medir, no creas que puedes imaginar la magnitud porque no lo harás.  Simplemente prepara una taza de té, siéntate a su lado, desde tu corazón apoya tu mano en la suya, luego en su hombro y si ves que llora, abrázala para que sus pedazos no se vuelen con el viento.

No te apresures, no esperes curas milagrosas ni mejorías instantáneas.  Cada persona tiene un tiempo y en ese tiempo lo más sano es tomarse el momento y lugar para dejar correr el río, para gritar si hace falta, para dormir por semanas, para vestirse de pena y alejarse del mundo.  Porque si eso no se hace, tarde o temprano, el dolor que no se expresó y no se vivió, se volverá tóxico, como un agua estancada que nos consume poco a poco.

Susana Lorenzo ©
Soledad Lorena
Derechos Reservados
21 de junio de 2018







Esperame al otro lado de la nube negra

Notas técnicas sobre el dolor:

Existe una ONG en inglés llamada ‘But you don’t look sick’, (no te vez enfermo), donde se agrupan, personas con enfermedades como endometriosis, lupus, fibromialgia, fatiga crónica y otras más.  Es un espacio donde se comparten experiencias, consejos, tratamientos, vivencias y por sobre todo, es un espacio donde se puede andar sin antifaz, sin temor a ser juzgado, criticado, condenado, segregado, discriminado o humillado.

“Técnicamente hablando, Definir el dolor y hacerlo de tal manera que resulte una definición de aceptación “unánime”, resulta un proceso complejo y, se podría decir, se trata de “un imposible. Sólo quien lo sufre sabe lo que siente y no existe medio humano ni científico por el que se pueda transmitir a otros todos los detalles, matices y sensaciones que acompañan a la experiencia del dolor.El dolor crónico es percibido por quien lo sufre como “inútil”, pues no previene ni evita daño al organismo. Las repercusiones más frecuentes en la esfera psicológica implican ansiedad, ira, miedo, frustración o depresión que, a su vez, contribuyen a incrementar más la percepción dolorosa. Las repercusiones socio-familiares, laborales y económicas son múltiples y generan cambios importantes en la vida de las personas que lo padecen y sus familias: invalidez y dependencia.  La necesidad de uso de fármacos con que aliviar el dolor, se convierte en un factor de riesgo potencial de uso, abuso y auto prescripción, no sólo de analgésicos, sino también tranquilizantes, antidepresivos y otros fármacos.” UCPD Segovia

Prayer for my body

You can listen to the prayer here.

If you would like to get the pdf file to print or the mp3 file to download, just send me an email.

Blessings,

Susannah

My ill body at 53

This vessel of mine which has been neglected for so long, I was such a fool to believe I could become spiritual and mindful without paying due respect to my body.  Yet, it has served me well: it gave me my three beautiful children and becoming a mother was the most exquisite experience of love; it gave me pleasure and I was able to enjoy sex and love as a magic burst of divine energy. It was fun to do many things with my body: driving, repairing things, carrying my children, going to the gym, doing Aero box and Tae-bo, dancing, going for a walk, climbing stairs and chairs to make my home beautiful, climbing hills with my children or trekking on my own.  My body was always there to help me feel Wonder Woman who needed no man to raise her children or accomplish goals in life.  

But, I asked for too much, even when my body was tired I would keep moving and carrying furniture just to save money and to do everything on my own.  I would accept all challenges because the word ‘no’ is for the weak ones and you can always find the way to say ‘yes’ and make things work.

I would not take a break even if my ankle was twisted and I could not walk, if I had high blood pressure and my headache was killing me,  or if I could hardly breathe because my lungs were suffering from allergic asthma.  Even if I was in pain or if I was bleeding heavily, I would wear my mask and my disguise and I would always look like the professional woman who can beat anyone at work.

There was a time when I would give my body anything to keep it working and active: smoking, drinking coffee, taking pain killers every day (more than twice a day) and sleeping only for three or four hours, to be able to make more money and give my children the life I thought they deserved.
When I was younger and beautiful, I was not careful enough with lovers and boyfriends; I was too much desperate to fill the void, to make the unmothered child feel loved and cared.  I believed that if I found the right man I would stop feeling lonely and his love would fill every hole in my heart.  The wrong men did not respect my temple and did not treat my energy as sacred, they only cared about my body and their own pleasure, they left me or I left them, feeling more lonely and broken than before.  May be, my family had been right all the time, I needed some fixing, there was something wrong with me and being extremely sensitive and seeking for true love was just a crazy thing of a poet from outer space.

My body grew tired of not being listened, cared and respected, so, it forced me to change my habits through the only way I would acknowledge I had to stop: disease or illness.  First, it was my gall bladder when I was a teenager; then, it was a stomach ulcer when I was in my mid twenties; after that, my heart decided to play tricks when I was in my late twenties and high blood pressure became an issue; pneumonia and allergic asthma would become regulars in winter or during every change of season.  They would not come and go; they would just stay and combine with the previous ones, resulting in an interesting combination of medicines and pills which became a dangerous game for my metabolism. In my late thirties, Endometriosis and Fibromyalgia jumped onto the stage.  It was then, when I decided it was time to go for holistic treatments, herbs, spices and natural supplements.  Studying and researching became the best way to get to know this body of mine, to understand the emotional imbalance and to learn about the misalignment of chakras.

Natural remedies, holistic treatments and ancestral healing take a lot of time and make you dive deep into the ocean of your emotions, wounds and shadows.  Hence, when you think you are about to get better, there is a new layer which needs to be tended, healed and forgiven.  It is an endless process; you cannot give up, or expect miracles with just a cup of tea.

In my late forties, I had become totally disconnected from my Shakti, I was tired of kissing frogs and when I bought a new bed, I decided  nobody would sleep there with me, unless they were worth to share time with me in my sacred temple, in my blessed home.  If anyone was really fond of me should provide the place, the perfect date and all the courtship, I would not accept less than that. All the same, I kept attracting the wrong men: broken hearts, no love, no soul, and no respect for energies.  I did not care; I was too determined to make my life work without sex, love or a partner. 

Disconnecting from our Shakti, our first and second chakra, leads us to lack of abundance, scarcity and it breaks all the bridges with our creative goddess.  I became poor, unemployed, useless and helpless.  When two of my grandchildren needed a foster mother because they were living in chaos, with no education, school or values, it was the perfect time for Wonder Woman to come out and save the children, without saving myself first.  I went beyond my limitations, and once again I demanded my body to go with it.

My body took the shortest way: a combination of high blood pressure and heart issues to cause a fit.  I had had signals, I had been told by people and the angels that I should let them go, but I wanted to save those unmothered children the way I had never been saved.  When I came back home, my heart was broken (for my grandchildren and my daughter) and because I had to let them go, the same way I had to let go of my children when they were teenagers and I was homeless and sick.  I was also broke and my body decided to play the last card: POP appeared out of the blue as a way to show me that my body was not on the same train, not any more.

I felt ashamed, devastated, useless, helpless, ugly, dirty, lonely, disabled and gynaecologists were treating me as an old woman who had no chances for a normal life and no chances for a pension, when I was just becoming 50 years old.  There were suggestions of experiments, chopping parts of my organs, getting rid of some other ones and confining me under the protection of relatives who would not only decide upon my body but would tell me what to do nor to do.  I was not giving away my freedom; I was not letting the butchers touch my energy centres with their commercial hands.

I have been quite on my own since then, some friends and relatives may listen and try to understand, some may respect my decisions, some others would avoid seeing me or talking to me, they do not want to know details, they do not want to see the truth.  There are the ones who believe I would be a lot better connected to some machines, having been emptied and getting medicines and hospital food.  There are the others who believe my life would be a lot easier if I had gotten a good husband to pay for all the bills, the house and a car.  Most people do not want to know, they do not want to acknowledge, they do not want to see the ruins of a wonder woman who does not fly or jump any more.

Overweight has been an issue since I got my first period and my frightened mother started fighting my curves and hormones.  I have learnt, with time that emotional overweight is triggered by the need to protect ourselves from the environment or the people who hurt us.  As I wrote in my story ‘La Gorda’, overweight is the perfect shield to avoid sexual abuse and to prevent men from courting you when you are trying to work or get a job.  You can also walk along the streets and become totally invisible; there are no nasty comments or looks.

I have a tendency for curves and my hips do not lose their shape even if I am on diet.  I used to be on a diet every time I felt I was gaining too much weight, I would go to the gym to keep fit, look slim and feel well.  I can live on economy mode, eating almost nothing if I am going through poor times, and I can get really fat, just because my body develops this amount of fat just in case we starve long enough.  My hormones do work in a peculiar way.  I’m done with diets, I do not prohibit myself any food unless it makes me really sick or it is bad for any of the diseases I live with.  I’ve had enough times of scarcity and starving, so when there is food, I just enjoy it.

After POP became the leading actor in this play, overweight has become more than an issue, there are ups and downs, but I haven’t been slim for a long while.  I had to give up the gym, the fast walks, my bike and any other kind of physical exercise, because most places, gyms or centres are not ready to deal with POP or women with certain disabilities. Giving up my bike, which I rode to work every day and I would use morning and evening to visit my clients or do the shopping, resulted in stiff joints, muscle pain, loss of flexibility and even difficulty to climb a bus, the stairs or a truck.  Going out needs a lot of awareness of all our muscles, organs, bones and joints, we need to take care of our pelvic floor and watch that our organs don’t fall down; we need to check that we cannot carry heavy bags any more.  Therefore, you stop moving, you start isolating yourself and you don’t go out unless there is a kind friend who understands your limitations and disabilities.

Last year, I became aware, that I could not wear my jeans anymore and that I felt very uncomfortable with tight clothes.  I knew I was becoming fatter, I could feel it, I was heavier and clumsy and every movement required a lot of effort.  But you know, there is only a small mirror in the bathroom which shows only my face.  So, I did not feel that fat.  I thought the weight would go down sooner or later.
This year, I started with the Lift Series from Dr. Bri and I also combined them with Chair Yoga, it helped me feel really well, healthy and I could recover some flexibility after the first week.  Then poor times ruled the diet again and my organs got worse and pain was so intense, I stopped moving again.  The summer here was too hot and my menopause hormones were not comfortable with exercise.  I have learnt to listen to my body, too late, I must admit.

My body is tired of my bossy mind, it does not want to hear about pushy schedules or fixed timetables.  It just knows how many spoons are available for the day ahead and we proceed accordingly.  We just need to juggle the demands, we cannot do or achieve everything we want; sometimes, we have to choose: hours of work, cleaning the house, doing the shopping, taking the bus downtown, doing exercise, considering going for a walk, doing chakra dance, cooking or helping people.  Mind you, there are days when there are only two spoons and you have to choose wisely, especially when you are on your own and there is no help.

The truth is I feel sad, extremely sad, there are days when I am totally depressed and I feel hopeless and helpless. I try so hard not to show that, I try so hard to be professional and not to talk about my personal life, I try really hard to keep my vibes positive and to focus on the good things, I try hard to control all this process: I talk to my cells, to my organs, to my bones, to my joints, to Jesus, to God, to the Universe, to my higher self, to my Divine self, to my little girl inside, to the wise woman, to the curandera who helps others, I keep working hard and even when I go to sleep I am praying for my health and for the recovery of all my inner bridges.

There are days, like yesterday, today and the day before yesterday, when naps are longer than work periods, then I have to accept that I cannot clean my house if I want to be able to work.  And these days are the worst, I feel extremely tired, overwhelmed and I wonder: what’s the sake of living in pain, without enjoying life, without doing everything I like, without being able to talk about how I feel, and just by collecting every penny to survive and pay the rent?  What’s the sake of it?  I deserve better, I know better.

When I went to be last night, I was in pain, extremely tired, sick and feeling I was living in a thick heavy  Buddha who could not move but could not smile either.

A couple of weeks ago I had to travel to the south of Mendoza province, I stayed at an apartment.  The apartment had a huge floor to ceiling mirror,  Looking at my naked body was a shock, I realized I am really overweight, my shapes are no longer as they used to be, my curves have lost their beauty and I look so horrible with the clothes I manage to wear.  I tried to do some mirror work and I even considered tapping. But the image on the mirror was so shocking and disgusting that I only felt like crying. I can no longer wear nice clothes, they do not fit me anymore; I just wear second hand clothes which look old fashioned or I just wear trainers and some cheap pants which fit me.  I have been feeling like crying a river since that day.  I now know what I look like, I know that I am really fat and it is more than overweight,  I almost look like an obese woman.  I can feel it, it is hard to tie my shoelaces or to sit down on a sofa or stand up quickly.

So, when I went to bed last night, I started crying and touching my body, my limbs, my skin, my face, my hair and even my fat belly.  The more I did that, the more I cried, painful tears coming from my heart.  I started praying and talking to my body like this:

I ask you, my higher self, to help me align all my chakras and make my body healthy again.

Oh Lord, please show me the best way to be fit again and make good use of this body of mine.

I ask you, my Divine self, to take this body and fill it with light and love so that all the wounds are healed and all the shadows are no longer out of reach.

Oh my dear body, I am so thankful and grateful for all that you have given me: my children, pleasure, sex, joy, fun, exercise, dancing, hugging, kissing, touching, climbing, trekking, walking, riding my bike, driving cars and trucks, travelling and being a channel for God’s will and light.

Oh my beloved body, I now cleanse every wound, every dirty spot, every memory of abuse and neglect, every dark corner and every broken spot; I breathe out  my love so that this warm air fills every cell, every organ, every muscle, every joint and every bone; by the power of God that I am, I am health, I am love, I am light and you are one with me.

Oh my beautiful body, you are the sacred temple for my soul, my energies, the love and light of God and my mission here on earth.  Give me just one more chance, I promise I will take care of you, I will honour you, I will respect you, I will praise you and I will make you holy in everything I do.

My dear Lord, if you still want me here on earth, if you and the angels need me, please  take my heart and my body and use my tears to make the clay wet and give it a new shape for your will here on earth.

I now rise from the depths of sorrow, carrying the pain of all the women in my family, I now undo all the painful words, the insane laws, the broken promises, the selfish spells, the angry curses and all the fears which have led us to this mar of lloronas.

I forgive myself for not looking after my body, for not listening to it, for not honouring it, for not praising it and for not respecting its sacred energy.

I forgive my body for pushing me into diseases I did not want to bear and for flooding myself with feelings I was not ready to bare.

I forgive my ancestors for not teaching me about healing and joy, for showing me the way of fear and making me believe I was a sinner with no right to glow.

I forgive all the men who were not ready to love me or those who were too afraid to love at all.  I forgive myself for loving men who were too broken to accept love in their lives.

I ask my soul and my divine self to forgive my ego and my selfish attempts to control everything in my life.

I ask my sexual organs to forgive me for neglecting them or for trying to go further in the spiritual path without considering them as part of my magic and sacred energy.

I forgive myself for feeling ashamed, useless, hopeless and helpless, for feeling that I needed to be fixed and that I did not deserve living here.

I forgive myself for seeking death too often in my life and for letting me die without living fully awake.

I now accept that I deserve all the best and the very best.

I now stop seeking beyond myself and trying to fix everything outside.

I now accept that it is time to look inside and take my time to heal this vessel and to show it my almighty love.

Oh this vessel of mine, may you be free from pain and sorrow, may you be at peace.  May you be healed and blessed, may you be kept sacred.  May all the light of the universe make your garden glow like never before.

Oh this body of mine, you are loved, you are cared, you are respected, you are needed, you are blessed.  You are healed, you are whole and pure again.

So it is, so it is, so it is.

Susannah
Susie
Meherdeep Kaur
April 3rd, 2018 

The art of taking naps...

The art of taking naps and not giving up

Each of us faces a time when when the holy well within needs tending. When we’re no longer able to bestow blessings on others because we’ve overgiven, or when something precious has been taken from us, or life’s demands are too great on our fragile system. But when the moisture goes out of our lives, and we’re no longer able to see beauty or converse with magic, we must ask ourselves how we can replenish our well-ness...
Toko-Pa

March is Endometriosis awareness month and it is the time when I honour and celebrate myself for choosing my own treatment and going with holistic therapies instead of letting the ‘butchers’ take away pieces of my sacred flesh.

Not long ago, I was brave enough to write about prolapse which stepped into the spotlight just when I was having Endo under control.

Yet, there are many days when I do not want to get up, there are lots of days when I feel ugly and being sick becomes a curse.

Isn’t it exhausting to work hard every day to make the spoons count, to look healthy and professional and to be positive? OMG! ... to be overwhelmingly positive because we have to focus on our blessings and not on our sufferings...

Let it be!

I mean, only when you have lived with a chronic disease and chronic pain on a daily basis, you can fully understand the amount of effort we put to be positive every day and keep on with our lives, even when you have to give in and make peace with a body that can no longer do what you used to enjoy.

I know there are people who have it worse; they were born with pain and disease.  I was lucky: There were times when I went to the gym twice a week, did Tae-bo, Aerobics and rode my bike to work every day.  I could climb hills, carry my children and grandchildren, do all the housework and move the furniture around home every time I felt like a change was necessary.

When POP broke in my life I found myself disconnected from my Shakti, I felt useless and helpless as a woman and I was lost in a world made for healthy people with no physical disability.  Physicians made me feel there was no way out for a woman in her early fifties.

Learning about the Spoon Theory, Dr. Christiane Northrup  and Dr. Bri from FemFusion Fitness , has helped me on my journey to emotional healing and peacemaking with my body.  But this is a huge onion and peeling off never ends, so it seems.  If I am careful with my diet and I take care of my body, there are nicer days and I can make use of my mornings.  Then, I feel happy, I do meditation, I can even go for a walk if the weather helps, I go back to B-School with a clear mind, I do gentle exercises and start a self care routine. I feel like I can reverse and improve my condition and I feel truly powerful.

But shadows are there waiting, it might be some stressful situation, it might  be a poor diet because of lack of abundance, it might be the moon or the hormones on their way down to the hidden secrets of wounds yet to be healed; it’s a lot easier and faster to feel sick, bloated, in pain and physically disabled.

Waking up in pain and discomfort can be really discouraging, no matter what meditation you try or what attitude you adopt, you can feel it’s not going to be an easy day.  You do your best; you get up early, have breakfast and take your pills.  You try not to schedule activities involving other people in the morning, because you know whatever happens with your organs after using the toilet may determine if you have to go back to bed or you can have a normal day.  Mind you, when our organs are out of place, fighting with gravity, it’s really hard to align your chakras and balance your energies.

Once we are feeling lost down the dark hole of pity, it is useless to count how many hours we can be productive and to keep track of how many hours we spend in bed trying to relieve the pain or ease our discomfort.  I tend to get grumpy, depressed, sad, lonely, tired, exhausted; and I feel totally overwhelmed by reality.

I have learnt to accept my moods, like the phases of the moon. “This too shall pass.”  I allow myself to feel awful.  I respect my pain, my sorrow and my grief.  Because I know that the harder I try to achieve the jovial mood, the longest the time I will spend trying to create a kind of energy I am not able to radiate.

Struggling to be positive when you are not, can cause killing headaches, insomnia, digestive issues and can make your condition worse.

I agree, movement is good, my body knows it, but there are days and sometimes weeks, when my whole system needs only to rest and relax; and when I finally manage to get some good sleep, I need lots of that, until my own body gets tired of the bed and tells me it is enough, even when it is 8.00 pm and I will only be up for a couple of hours.  I used to believe chronic fatigue was something you could ignore or avoid just with your attitude; it is not.

Every time I write one of my therapeutic stories or I write a post sharing my experience with other Endo sisters or women with POP before their sixties, I tend to celebrate by  believing  it is the end and that every  difficulty has been finally overcome; there is no easy and magic way out; there is no instant perfect solution.  There are baby steps, there is patience, there is tolerance, there is respect, there is the slow journey of belonging, and there is the humble learning of acceptance. 

I am 53 now and I will be 54 in September.  It’s been almost 4 years since this nightmare started.  Have I managed to completely heal myself from inside out?  No, I haven’t.  Have I managed to reverse my condition?  No, I haven’t.  Not yet. Have I been able to get my life back? No, I haven’t.  Have I succeeded in feeling happy in spite of? No, I have not.  Have my condition got worse? No, it hasn’t.  I have managed to keep the same stage all these years.

I have learnt to feel less guilty for the short and long naps I have to take several times a day.  I have learnt to feel less ashamed for having to cancel appointments or even take a day off out of the blue.  I have learnt to enjoy the good moments, the sunny days and the rainy days, the simple things one does not normally feel gratitude for: cooking, cleaning, making the bed, ironing some clothes, working at the computer, helping other people, making a change in other people’s lives or just being able to climb on a bus.

We are constantly bombarded by posters, quotes, videos, TED talks, inspirational movies, gurus, teachers, masters, coaches and different posts on social media.  I do share that kind of content and I try to cheer up people who need it, but I have also learnt to hold the space for those who are too tired to climb up the dark hole.  I’ve learnt not to pull them because everyone has a different pace and timing. So, come on, give me a break... 
I may need more than one break and some breaks may be longer than others.

"I believe dignity emerges in the way you finally carry your own story. Through your painstaking reframes to write yourself as the heroine at the helm of your own life, your losses cease to consume you. They are not forgotten or made invisible, but rather aggrandized in your telling, passed on through the line of mothers and daughters, as the mythical ‘obstacles to flight’ that they were. But dignity also lives in one’s willingness to step wholly into a new life of love, even as its first strands are being woven together to create a shape that will warm you." - Toko-pa Turner, Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home (belongingbook.com)

I am a holistic therapist and I help people build and repair their own bridges.  That doesn’t mean I am perfect and totally healed and cured.  I cannot be Zen 24/7.  There are times when I am just a regular woman living on this planet trying to keep all her s... together.

If you need a helping hand, I am right here.  I can either tell you a story or sing you a sweet song, but I can also stay quiet and just let you know I will be here.

We all need that.  

If you love someone who suffers from Endo, chronic pain, any other chronic disease or even chronic fatigue, there is no cure, not yet; so there is not much you can do to change that reality.  But you can hold the space for that person; you can learn about the little things which make our days better or easier, you can realize when a hug is needed or when you should wait for a call.

I do believe many of the health issues my body and I are dealing with are the result of not listening to my body, of not ‘tending the well’ as often as possible.  Thus, to be fair, after so many years, we both deserve to be heard, to be tended, to be cared, to be respected and to be honoured.

Even in my darkest hour, I will never forget that I am light, so, sooner or later I will fly once again, like the Phoenix.
Susie
Susana Lorenzo
Marzo 2018 


I am light

Please accept this guided meditation as a gift.

You might also like to read:
My life with POP

About Endo

Being an unmothered child

My life with POP

Esp/Eng

Part 01

Cuando comencé con el Blog 'Susie Intima' hace ya varios años, lo hice con un artículo sobre Endometriosis, escrito en inglés y que luego fue premiado por una asociación internacional de endometriosis.  Escribir fue en aquel momento una manera de hacer las paces con la enfermedad y de dejar registro de un camino de sanación emocional y una elección de tratamiento personal basado fundamentalmente en terapias holísticas, fitoterapia y suplementos naturales.  Escribir en inglés me ha resultado siempre (desde la adolescencia) una manera segura de mantenerme a distancia de las emociones y de filtrar lectores cercanos que tienen fácil predisposición a juzgar o a creer que saben lo que es mejor para mí.

El camino con Endo fue un viaje de autoconocimiento, de aprendizaje y una ceremonia para honrar este templo donde habita mi alma. Entonces, cuando creía que ya todo estaba bien y podía tener una vida 'normal', apareció POP en mi vida.

Writing in English has always felt safe, it's a way of keeping myself emotionally dettached from whatever is bothering me or keeping me out of alignment, and it is also a good way of keeping unwanted readers from judging my spiritual path or my personal choices regarding treatments and health care.

I started writing this blog to make peace with Endo and to reach other women suffering from the same disease and sharing my experiences with holistic treatments, herbs and emotional healing journeys. When I was happy enough with my life, going to the gym, going for fast and long walks and when I was starting to believe that my life could be quite 'normal', POP showed up in my life.  Once again the pelvic area was calling my attention and looking for the spotlights.  That was almost four years ago.  Far in the distance, I can now tell, there are no coincidences, there are still unhealed wounds related to the emotions which are manifesting in that southern region of my body.  I should admit it: most of my spiritual life was based on the hard work and practice  with my heart and mind, becoming totally disconnected from my navel downwards, as if it was a piece of useless flesh of which I could get rid.  You name it.

Me ha llevado casi cuatro años poder sentarme frente al teclado y comenzar a escribir sobre eso que no se nombra, que da vergüenza mencionar, porque apenas si tengo 53 años y en aquel momento, la doctora que me atendió dijo que era una condición que sólo afectaba de ese modo a personas de más de 70.  Por momentos leí mucho, investigué, tuve algunos intentos fallidos de buscar soluciones y luego me fui encerrando, aquietando, avejentando y de algún modo oxidando; multiplicando las dificultades para movilizarme, trasladarme o mover mi cuerpo sin experimentar dolor o molestia.  

Así como había sucedido con Endo, los médicos que visité en su momento, no supieron darme ninguna solución viable, segura y libre de efectos colaterales adversos.  Mi intuición, mi cuerpo y mi sabiduría interna me decían a gritos que nuevamente, la cirugía no sería la solución.

Una deja de hablar, por vergüenza, por miedo al rechazo, por todas las veces que intentó explicar y los rostros incómodos nos llamaron al silencio, para callar anticipadamente los juicios y las opiniones que no respetan nuestras decisiones, y porque simplemente nos cuesta aceptar que nuestro cuerpo ya no pueda hacer libremente lo que antes hacía.

Sin embargo, una conversación a corazón abierto con una mujer menor que yo, donde cada una se mostró vulnerable y compartimos experiencias de una misma dolencia, me sirvió para recuperar mi instinto de conservación, archivado con los estudios médicos que decretaron esa incapacidad latente que no alcanzaba para pedir una pensión pero sí para limitar mi vida.

We all have that inner wisdom which tells us what our body needs, but there are times when we forget about the wild woman's instincts and we try to be normal enough to find magic solutions with a GP or a soulless gynecologist.  I started behaving like an elderly woman because I was told my condition was only usual with women above 70 and there were no effective solutions for someone who was about to become 50 years old. ( I am 53 now.)

Words can be dangerous and powerful when we give away our power.  We do not realize how deep they go into our emotions and mind until we feel how  fast our body is aging.  We keep ourselves isolated, not only because it is hard enough to climb on a bus, but because if we do not go out it is easier to avoid awkward questions about our health.  People tend to ask far too many questions when you don't look sick and your condition is invisible to their eyes.  We prefer silence, we are ashamed of talking about what is going on with our organs but we also keep people from judging our choices and we avoid nasty looks when we give accurate information and too many details.  Hence, we feel lonely, helpless and hopeless.  Loneliness brings misery and misery calls defeat.

I was talking to a woman the other day,  just out of the blue we ended up talking about prolapse and how difficult it is for her to go to work every day.  She is younger than me and she also believes surgery is not the way out and it cannot improve our lives but make them worse.  She told me how her mother, who is more than 80 years old now, had taken some pills (I guess they were hormones.) and her prolapse was just reversed when she was about our age.  It was  like tapping on the wild woman's head.

I started researching and reading again and I found the way to start moving my body.

Como terapeuta holística, sabía que mi cuerpo estaba envejeciendo por la falta de movimiento; podía sentir, más allá de las limitaciones por el desgarro muscular interno, que todo estaba dejando de funcionar, que las articulaciones habían perdido su capacidad y que la flexibilidad había pasado a ser sólo un recuerdo.  Intenté varias veces en los últimos años buscar ayuda, pero después de una o dos clases, abandonaba.  La mayoría de los centros holísticos que ofrecen actividades físicas, están diseñados para gente joven, sana y sin dificultad alguna para moverse.  Todas las actividades implican sentarse en posición de loto, relajar o elongar sobre una manta o apenas una colchoneta fina y poner en riesgo la poca salud que queda.  La primera experiencia fue Pilates, porque en sus orígenes era una practica para generar movilidad en las personas que no podían moverse o levantarse siquiera de la cama (pacientes con heridas de guerra en aquel entonces).  Sin embargo, la mayoría de los centros de pilates, poco saben de limitaciones y te indican una rutina que debes repetir tú sola y que es igual o parecida a la rutina que hacen todas las personas que asisten.  Luego vinieron lugares con escaleras empinadas, actividades de piso que nunca podía seguir y explicaciones (lágrimas mediante) sobre porque no podía sentarme facilmente en el piso.  También había intentado al principio con Tai-Chi, que me había servido muchas veces para recuperarme físicamente y conectar con mi cuerpo, pero las molestias me desalentaban demasiado rápido.

Luego de la charla de hace unos días que me hizo recuperar mi instinto de conservación y las ganas de estar bien, retomé la lectura y la investigación: descubrí Chair Yoga y recordé los videos específicos que había visto alguna vez con secuencias para fortalecer el suelo pelvico y retraer el prolapso en muchos casos.  Con POP son todos 'baby steps', hay que tomarse todo con calma, ir despacio, prestar atención a la forma en que caminas, te mueves, respiras, te sientas, te paras, te acuestas y haces las cosas rutinarias de todos los días.  Uno de los comentarios que había hecho 'click' en mi cabeza, durante la charla, fue la historia de su mamá, que a nuestra edad, hace más de 30 años atrás, el médico le había dado unas pastillas que habían hecho que el prolpaso retrocediera y los organos volvieran literalmente a su lugar.  Esta anciana mujer no recuerda qué tomó, pero, luego de leer e investigar, supongo que fueron estrógenos, alguna terapia de reemplazo hormonal.  La anécdota que contó fue muy específica porque ella recuerda cómo sus órganos de algún modo se 'desinflamaron'  y nunca más volvieron a salir fuera de su lugar.  Ya había leído  y visto unos videos en inglés sobre los ejercicios de suelo pélvico y cómo con fisioterapia se puede revertir POP, pero creo que escucharlo en mi idioma nativo y de alguien que conozco, produjo el efecto que mi mente necesitaba.

Cuatro días consecutivos han marcado mi propio record.  Sé que han sido varios años de posponer mi propia rehabilitación.  Afortunadamente he sido lo suficientemente cuidadosa para que la condición no empeorará.

El primer paso, el primer día fue probar la secuencia de Yoga en una silla y un ejercicio de meditación/respiración específico para restablecer la salud en el cuerpo.  La secuencia de ejercicios que estoy usando se usa con pacientes de cancer, con adultos mayores y con personas que sufren de dolor crónico.  Entrando en el quinto día, puedo decir que el cuerpo se siente diferente y el sólo hecho de recuperar la esperanza en una mejor calidad de vida, determina una actitud de salud emocional que nos conecta nuevamente con el amor, respeto y cuidado que merece nuestro cuerpo.  Al segundo día agregué la rutina de la primer semana de una de las series de Lift Pelvic Organ Support Series de Fem Fusion Fitness.  Eso significó animarme a trabajar en el piso con la asistencia de una silla.  Volver al piso es todo un desafío, las articulaciones hacen ruidos extraños como bisagras viejas; pero el alivio tenue, leve, a cuenta gotas, es una gran bendición y hasta parece que el cuerpo pesara menos.

Chair Yoga was a great discovery and the first step.  It is practised by people who suffer from cancer, chronic pain or elderly people.  It has allowed me to start moving again without pain or discomfort.  I also started doing the Breath of Ten Meditation to Become Dis-Ease Free. On the second day,  I was brave enough to start working on the floor again, with the help of a chair; thus, I started with the first week of the Lift Pelvic Organ Support Series from Fem Fusion Fitness.  It's been four days without giving up and that's a lot for me.  Relief, flexibility and moments without pain or discomfort are slowly increasing;  but every tiny achievement is a blessing for my body.

There are other natural remedies which I am trying, but I will only share them when I am quite sure they work.  Meanwhile, just being able to write about POP for the first time represents a bungee jump into the vast ocean of light where my soul dwells. It means starting a whole new journey of self healing.

Estoy experimentando con otras medicinas naturales para mejorar y reparar los tejidos, pero sólo hablaré de ellas cuando tenga seguridad de que funcionan.  Mientras tanto, haber tenido el coraje de escribir sobre POP y animarme a publicarlo (Porque hay muchas mujeres allí afuera, de mi edad y más jóvenes que se sienten tan perdidas como yo lo estuve.) es como saltar en caída libre y navegar ese océano de luz donde mi alma reside para descubrir que así como puedo ayudar a otras personas, puedo ayudarme a mí misma.  Es comenzar un nuevo viaje de sanación emocional y arrodillarme frente a mi cuerpo para honrararlo, perdonarlo, pedirle perdón por tantos años de descuido, amarlo, respetarlo y reconocerlo como el templo sagrado donde mi espíritu habita.

Susie
Writing before dawn
January 18th, 2018

Nota: El próximo paso, quizá sea escribir una historia como hice con Besos Amarillos.