Tag Archives: Gratitude

Praise for Impact

Thanks to Lynne Melcombe for her wonderful review of Impact: Women Writing After Concussion.

I love that Melcombe highlighted Julia Nunes and her fine essay, “The Next Hit.” It’s a piece that goes through my mind a lot as I have my “if-it’s-not-one-thing-it’s-another” illness going on.

Although Impact is about concussion, it’s also about everything. It’s about the next hit and how we face it, how we will adapt, and how we will keep going in the face of it all. My gratitude again to Julia and everyone who contributed to the book. All of these women have been my guides these past years. I know I’m not alone.

Cover of Impact: Women Writing After Concussion

Feeling Human

Gratitude can live side by side with resentment. They are unhappy neighbours but learn to co-exist somehow.

Ask any chronically ill or disabled person. Or their care-givers and loved ones. We know the good and the bad live together.

We can still grow from what was. Like new trees from fallen giants. Growth can come from disaster.
A new tree growing from a giant tree stump.

We are only human after all with all kinds of feelings.

And feelings are better than no feelings.

From your immune-compromised friend

Thanks for inviting me. I really appreciate it, and I really want to do the thing you have invited me to do, but for my own peace of mind, I have to remind you that I’m immune-compromised before we finalize our plan.

I know that on some level you know this about me already, but you probably don’t fully appreciate what it means for me in my daily life. There are a lot of things that just aren’t safe for me anymore. I don’t get to travel much or go to concerts. I miss that. I live with windows open and HEPA filters on. I don’t entertain much anymore. How could I ask people to mask in my house? I never get to not think about Covid. It’s a bummer.

My doctors tell me to do everything I can to not get sick. They tell me to get every Covid vaccination as it becomes available and never to wait for something better. I also recently had to repeat all of my childhood vaccinations, pneumonia, shingles and anything else they could think of. A cold (that is, an actual cold not a “pretend it’s not Covid” cold) would be really bad for me. Covid could kill me, or worse (yes worse) make my health much worse. That’s a lot of “worse” in one sentence. I don’t want a much smaller life. I know what it is to be sick. And I love my life. I love my friends. I love living! I’ve fought hard to get to recover to where I am and I won’t go back.

So I mask. No exceptions. I have to protect my baseline, low though it may be now. Private home or public space. This makes a lot of people uncomfortable for some reason and it makes invitations difficult, especially if the invitation involves food or drink. Sometimes I don’t quite know what to do, so I decided to write this post, knowing I would occasionally send it to a friend who has invited me somewhere.

I would love to do this thing you have invited me to do, go to this place you would like to go, see this show, etc., but I will have to mask. It’s not about you. It’s about me. (And it’s about the venue, the amount of time, how many people, if the windows are open, if I can stand by a window, and so on). If there is eating or drinking, I’ll have to be outside. And not in a crowded place. Even outside, I am careful. Transmission, while less likely outside, is still possible. Like I said, I never get to not think about Covid.

So, as long as you are aware that I’ll be masking inside and eating and drinking outside, staying away from crowds and so on, I feel excited to say yes to your kind invitation. Maybe you could ask me again after you get this, and I’ll know we are on the same page and you are okay with it too.

Oh, and because nothing goes without saying, let me know if you are feeling under the weather. We’ll do it another time. And I will do the same for you.

 

An open letter to my health care providers: you are irreplaceable.

As you know, I’m in a health crisis. You are one of many professionals who are applying their skills, expertise, experience, and knowledge to helping me get through this. I appreciate you more than words can convey. Your care is the difference between life and death for me.
And I’m worried about you.
Many of you are not taking the pandemic seriously. You act like it is over and talk about it in the past tense. Covid, that is SARS-CoV-2, is a Level 3 biohazard, like tuberculosis. It is spread through the air like smoke. Once you get it, it often presents as a cold or flu, but it is so much more. It is a vascular disease. It potentially affects every part of your body, every organ (including your brain), your blood, and your immune system. It has long-lasting effects that we are only beginning to understand. There are a plethora of peer reviewed studies examining the harm that Covid can cause. For years now, some have suggested Long Covid could be a mass disabling event. It already is. Over three million Canadians have already experienced symptoms of Long Covid. Many people with Long Covid cannot work. The first major study of doctors with Long Covid in Britain reveals it has impacted the respondents’ ability to work and to carry out regular day-to-day activities. Almost one in five said they were no longer able to work because of their post-covid ill-health.
You are around sick people all the time. I urge you to wear a good mask, that is, a respirator. Yes, it would help me, but again, I am also worried about you. You are so important. So few people can do what you do. It takes years of training and practice and hard work. You studied for years to be able to do this. Your knowledge is so needed right now. And you are irreplaceable. Irreplaceable.
I have conversations with those of you who are obviously dedicated to protecting yourselves from Covid. You wear respirators and some of you wear face shields too. I appreciate the care you are taking. Some of you only work nights now or take only occasional shifts. Some of you have left full time employment. This is a huge loss for those of us who need you, but I understand. And I support you. It is safer. As one of you said, you have to protect yourself and your family.
Some of you wear the masks that your employer provides. They are better than nothing, and I appreciate the effort. But often they are not N95. They are not respirators. Maybe your employer, the health region, the hospital, the doctor’s practice, could provide better respirators.
Even though in my region, there is currently a mask mandate in all patient areas in hospitals, everyone behaves differently. Some of you introduce yourself and take a breath, peel off your mask for a second so I can see your face, and put your mask back on. I understand why you are doing that, but you don’t have to. I can see what’s going on in your eyes.
Some of you, particularly those at intake desks, still think being behind a clear plastic barrier is enough. It is not. Air travels over, under, and around these barriers and Covid travels in the air.
Some of you pull down your mask when we get into an important conversation, a life and death conversation, or when you are trying to make sure I understand you. Don’t worry: I can understand you through your mask.
Some of you wear masks in the hospital but not in your offices.
Some of you don’t wear them at all.
Masking is a vital part of infection control. It is a vital part of protecting yourself.
You are irreplaceable to me, as your patient, and to your other patients. There is no one else who knows what you know the way that you know it. No one else has your exact experience.
You are even more irreplaceable to your families and your loved ones. Irreplaceable.
I’m going to say something wild here: I love you. All of you. Even the bossy nurse whose poor mask wearing set the tone for the rest of the medical staff in that unit and left everyone less safe. Even you. You obviously have skills. You were the one who got everyone’s questions. You were the one who knew how everything worked. You are so important. We can’t lose you. Please, wear a mask. You are needed. You are irreplaceable. You are loved.
With gratitude and respect,
Your patient,
Jane

Patterson House a Calgary Bestseller

Thanks so much to the Calgary writing community and readers for making Patterson House a bestseller two weeks in a row and for pushing it to the #1 spot this week.

I started Patterson House in Calgary. Both me and the book were nurtured by a whole bunch of writing classes and teachers. I took classes through Continuing Ed at the University. I went to a women’s writing week at U of A too which was excellent. Inge Trueman’s writing group and several writing retreats at Strawberry Creek (thanks Brenda, Tena and Rudy Weibe, and Astrid Blodgett and the Alberta Writers’ Guild) helped me too. And I had a really good week at Banff with Joan Clark as my mentor. There are many other Alberta-centric writing experiences too! I got to try sections out because Rona Altrows and others hosted ”Writing in the Works,” which allowed writers like me to read in public, and test the reception of work in progress. Such a gift!

Thank you Calgary!

 

Gratitude in 2020

Gratitude? In 2020? This year of disruption and staggering losses? Yes.

The Humber River, Toronto, a view from one of my regular walks that inspires gratitude.

I’m grateful:

1. For Clarity. My vision is 20/20. I know what matters. People. Community. Love. And the earth which supports it all. And I know what doesn’t matter. Whether my hair is cut. Things. Productivity and other cudgels of capitalism. Just as I was wondering if humanity is doomed, I got to witness how we can change our collective priorities quickly.

2. For People. I am grateful for family, thick and thin friends, the kindness of strangers, neighbours, delivery people, doctors, nurses, teachers…everyone. I am grateful for the enthusiasms of my community and the skills and talents they have shared throughout the year.

3. For Slowness. I have a brain injury, and I have required a slower pace since 2016. In the before-time, I fought this need. I thought it was something I had to change. I thought that regaining my old pace was a goal and would be a mark of my recovery. Not anymore. I have learned to embrace my slow pace. It’s a relief. In part, I have been able to do this because everyone else had to slow down too.

4. For Solitude. I miss my people. (See 2.) But. (See 3.) I can do things AND be alone. While others complain about life on Zoom, for me (and many other people with disabilities) Zoom means accessibility. I can participate while not having to negotiate so many other things. I can lower the volume, focus on a single speaker, dim the brightness. Sure, real life is better. But having something is better than nothing, and I am grateful for everything I have been able to participate in because of Zoom. I can only hope that when this is over, the avenues of access that have opened so the able-bodied and neurotypical can carry on will remain open for the rest of us. Will every literary festival make on-line access possible? Will readings still be on line? Will I be able to listen to a concert on line or see a show? I hope so.

5. For Breath. Breath is life. The virus makes breathing a struggle and even takes it away. There has been so much death. I have struggled for breath before. I don’t take it for granted. A quarter century of meditation practice has blossomed in this time. Whatever is happening in me and around me, I am here, breathing. When anxiety or worry threaten to overwhelm, I know that some seed of me, some essence of me, is fine. I am breathing. I am fine. 

6. For Conservation. Or whatever the opposite of consumerism is. I am grateful for getting by with what I have. For making do. For repairing things. It is a better way to live. I will never go back. 

7. For Health. This is more than being grateful I have been spared this terrible virus to date. With life so much smaller, I have tended to my health, my total health, in a more focussed way. I have established a new fitness routine. I walk more. I pay attention to what my body and mind need. I am more focussed on health and wellness than ever before.

8. For Support. Whether you call it cooperation, mutual aid, friendship, or neighbourliness, I have been nourished by it this year.

9. For Gratitude. Yes, I am grateful for gratitude. When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I reach for it. It brings me into the present and changes my perspective.

Like you, I’m hoping 2021 is better. But 2020 taught me important lessons. I don’t want to forget them.