How to Do a Hospital Visit

I do have a post in progress on attachment, a concept at the heart of Buddhism - or to be exact, detachment (from our desires and delusions) is what we vow to awaken to.  But today I had a post from faithful reader Karen that I am going to respond to instead.  Here are pieces of it:

Jeanne, I'm sorry I'm out of the loop, and don't know what's "up" with your back.......I hope you do write a post on how to do a hospital visit. I cringe away from them too often I think......Have you read "On Vit, On Parle" by Victor Hugo? I think of that poem so often as it brilliantly sums up all the big and little things we do everyday and ends with "Puis, le vast et profond silence de la mort."

I am glad to say I do know today that my thoracic spine (mid-back) does not have a compression fracture or tumor; nothing to worry about, then.  I see that doctor Wednesday to explore options for decreasing the pain.  His usual options are physical therapy, exercise.  Meanwhile I'm reading about how rats are cured with vibration therapy to the spine, things like that that my insurance probably won't pay for.  As for now, my relief is incredible. I am very attached to this body, in fact, that's what I was going to write about.

Last week I did not pay a hospital visit to my friend Tina, who had let the hospital know she did not want visitors, and had not called me when she went in. I imagine she is too tired and sick (COPD, heart) to want to entertain anyone.  So I put together a basket of foolish things, including a pretty little book of haiku with paintings that even a very sick person could lift.  And a rather fun card that didn't say "Get well" or any sentimentalism.  Tina is not a sentimental person.

I have had the unwelcome privilege of countless hospitalizations these last years.  I probably could count them if I sat down with Tom and tried, but who cares.  Here's what I learned from a patient's point of view.

1.  Please don't expect me to entertain you.  Don't sit down in silence in my room looking tired and bored. I can't rest while people are doing that.
2.  Don't come empty-handed.  A good thing to bring is something light to read, a tabloid, a Reader's Digest, I don't care.  Maybe I don't have the daily newspaper.  It doesn't matter if you bring the right thing; it's the thought that counts.
3.  Don't worry about my diet.  The hospital is already imposing grim dietary regulations on me.  Bring me chocolate.  Fritos would be acceptable too.
4.  Or bring a flower, best if it's from your garden, in a little throwaway vase. Or a little cucumber facial cream.
5.  Stand by the bed where I can see you without effort and entertain me with light anecdotes about the news, what the kids did, whatever you and I talk about, thrift-store sales, whatever.
6.  Ten to fifteen minutes of this is probably enough.  But maybe I'm animated and want to talk a lot, or have you walk me in the halls, be willing to do that.  It is rather insulting to be visited briskly by someone who has an appointment for cocktails at six and is just crossing you off their list.
7.  Feel free to lightly hold my feet or massage them.  I mean, if I know you that well.  If I know you that well you could bring a little fleece throw or something for a gift.  Hospitals are always cold.
8.  If I am conscious, talk to me, not my spouse, friend, whoever else is there.  At least in part.

So, the idea is, just pay attention to the fact that I'm sick and probably tired and scared. It is wonderful that you visited at all.  All you have to do is the three things that characterize Zen:
Attention
Attention
Attention

And while you're paying attention, notice if I say the TV remote doesn't work, or the nurses never answer the call (does it work?) or I can't get another pillow.  Maybe there's a little something you could do.

You will, of course, feel obliged to ask me how I am doing.  I may very well not have much of an answer besides, "I'm bored, they won't let me sleep, I hope to go home."  Or I might want to ramble on about my MRI.  In general, it really is the thought that counts.  When people visit, it makes us feel like we still have a place in the world, like maybe when we die it will matter.  And as to your own anxiety making a visit like this, well, there must be people who are so used to it (ministers, maybe) that they don't get a little chill when something reminds them of mortality.  As the guys say, suck it up.

And that takes me back to the Victor Hugo poem Karen mentioned. Here is a link to it in French, with English translation between the lines.  It is a very beautiful summation of this crazy life, and the final peace of death. Which may not necessarily be the dark.

Beyond 'roid rage

I was twelve when I first read about this strange Eastern religion in which people cultivated detachment.  I didn't like the sound of that - cold, not human. Having emotions seemed to me the essence of personhood.  I came to know people, though, who were firmly attached to their anger, who defined themselves by their resentments.  How tiresome that is, how stuck.

And, in the wake of the massive doses of steroids I was given two months ago for my kidney transplant, I am keenly aware of how fast destructive emotion can arise out of the body's chemical uproar, and how hard it is to keep from venting it and letting it increase.  Insofar as I can do this, I owe it to years of meditation.  Sometimes people say meditation is useless, totally useless.  I can't agree.

Below, from Tricycle. The image is the Stroop test, explained in the article, where the speakers are also identified.

 Bennett Shapiro: Could attention training also help in dealing with destructive emotions?
Matthieu Ricard: Yes. In the same way we can learn to see only the colors of words and not their meanings, cultivating focused attention can help us become much quicker at recognizing what type of emotion is arising without being distracted by context or story line.
B. Alan Wallace: If, when anger or another afflictive emotion arises, you can say to yourself, “Never mind the object of my anger and the context; isn’t this interesting?” and investigate your own emotional state instead of merely reacting, you can also cultivate greater emotional balance and mental health.

Morning coffee with good friends

Years ago I wrote a soul-searching fantasy of my life as I wished it could be. Much of it has come true, though I am not in Bali, but in Ohio. One thing I wanted was to be nested in a community of like-minded friends. I am now, and that community fans out to include the internet sangha. The world-wide web, which has given me this morning a talk about bare perception in meditation.

I love this connectedness. Still, I am sitting alone in my sudy with my morning coffee, not able to wander out to an outdoor cafe where people I know might stop by to say hello. I would take a sketch pad a sketchbook and charcoal if I were going out there today, not my little notebook, maybe draw some quick portraits, maybe a banana leaf. People would come by.

Hello. I am fine. How are you?

These would be intimate friends, so we might talk about our response to what's happened in Haiti, the sudden massive earthquake, all the death and suffering, and not just murmur cliches, but talk about its intimacy and immediacy. We are Buddhists, our practice leads us to respond to suffering in a certain way.

This way is with something like equanimity. I would share with my friend that I cry every night, watching the news. But I don't get carried away into despair. I come back to my normal, like one of those inflatable clowns with sand in its bottom.

This way is with something like detachment. That doesn't mean being without compassion. It means understanding the constant presence of death all over the planet, the rolling and turning over of organic life in the universe, the widespread suffering, even in our privileged little community, our inability to create perfect societies. It means accepting my place as a tiny little bodhissatva who can dispense a teaspoon of water here and there. I say I think it's Bernie Glassman who puts it that way. My friend nods Yes.

We would acknowledge that this has touched our own sense of vulnerability and disturbed our dreams. We are not friends in order to hide from the truth with small talk and partying. In this quiet morning coffee of my dreams, we are just real with one another. No need to talk a lot. It's nice to connect.

Anyway, how are you?