Survival

Ms Ché and I are well into our seventies. Neither of us really thought we'd be around this long, especially given our wild youth. But her mother lived to be 89, and she would have lived longer if she'd been diagnosed and treated correctly for a couple of serious ailments that somehow the doctors missed -- over and over. Makes you wonder, I guess... Her father died when he was 84, I believe, in a board and care home where he was not well looked-after, but that's how that goes, isn't it? There are so many horror stories of what happens to the elderly in our society. I think he was an early victim of the System. Nevertheless, after his stroke, he held on for quite a while despite the deplorable conditions of the care home. 

I'm now and then in cahoots with the Winter Practice sangha, a Buddhist practice community of several hundred participants around the world who come together mostly online to share experience and insight and just be together for a period of sitting and study. Many -- most by far -- of the participants are elderly women, some of whom are not in the best of health, some bed-bound, a few alone. Maybe more than a few. And my heart goes out to them. They know how easy it is for things to fall to pieces when your health gives out and you're by yourself and you can't take care of any more than the simplest of things. You know how easy it is for small failings to pile up and multiply like locusts and to bury you in their debris. This is how most of the elderly single women on the "Hoarders" TV program wind up in that condition. Their health goes haywire and they can't physically or sometimes mentally take care of their residence anymore. The debris of living piles up and they can't get rid of it. They don't have the kind of help they need -- and sometimes they reject it if offered -- and eventually they give up trying. There's no point, right?

No point. Well, no, there is "no point," but that doesn't mean that your life or mine has no meaning, usefulness, or direction. You may take a Bodhisattva Vow and your life becomes dedicated to service.That can take many forms whether publicly and prominently or on a modest personal level. Many of the elders in the sangha have lived a Bodhisattva life but now near the end of it, they are set adrift. So many things that they want to do and feel they need to do both for themselves and for others they can't do without help or at all, and they're left feeling they've failed. A feeling that compounds. So the sangha serves to relieve some of that feeling, for in community, we're not alone. 

But still, it must be tough for those who can't get around very well, or in some cases at all. Doing takes mobility. Other problems include chronic pain. Our practice and training says "Lean into the pain." Welcome it, even learn to enjoy it., Well, maybe that's too strong a term, but the upshot is to use the power of your mind to overcome the pain or at least to control it. This works for some people, not for everyone. Pain manifests differently in different people and it may be controlled or overcome by different means depending on the individual. I've had to deal with so much pain over the years. "Making it go away" by mind power alone doesn't work for me, but it may work for others. Certainly worth giving it a try.

What surprises both Ms Ché and me about still being around at our now-advanced age is that we don't feel "old" -- except when physical limitations intervene, and we can't do what we used to or think we should be able to. Physically our age has begun to catch up with us. There are times when we just can't "do." And it's frustrating. 

For me of course, I was caught unaware by the growing infection in my spine, and I was initially undiagnosed and misdiagnosed when I sought medical care. So the infection had at least another month to develop. 

For a time in the hospital, I couldn't sit up, stand or walk. Pain was so great I was in agony. I lost control of my bowels and bladder. I was a wreck. Useless, right? Well, no. For half the time I was hospitalized, I had a roommate whose condition was considerably worse than mine. He'd had surgery for a blown-out knee, and something had clearly not gone right. He was in extreme pain, could not stand or walk, and not even morphine made his condition tolerable. I had my own problems, but I offered what I could -- mainly friendly listening and modest advice -- to help him feel a little better. Encourage him not to give up. Give him some psychological tools to cope with the pain if not overcome it. And so on. I don't feel I did much, but he sure thought so.

Ms Ché visited every day and she did what she could, too. Between us, we were tag-teaming help for Mike, letting him know we were there and cared and would help.

Bodhisattvas? Sure, why not? It was little enough, but it was something. When called, we don't say no.

I'm so glad to be home, but since I've been home, it's been quite a struggle. A month of physical therapy got me up off my back and moving, but once I finished the 12 week antibiotic treatment pain returned, initially just like the pain I felt prior to being correctly diagnosed and hospitalized. Sometimes the pain has been severe. I need to adjust my meds, but from experimenting, I've been able to mostly control the pain, but the downside is I have very limited mobility because of the numbness in my left leg and foot. As Ms Ché pointed out yesterday, "You can barely get around in the house; you're not going out on your own." I was planning on going to the grocery store to save her a trip, and she said "no." And she went on her own so cheerfully!

We've come this far. There's no telling when our time will be up, and it's really not an issue. We carry on. 

Survival is a strange thing. That we're still around is allowing us time for more service. As little as it might be.