True Survival Requires Flexibility

So two things really stood out for me with this prompt, probably because I am technically in “survival mode”, but it’s actually not that bad. Everyone keeps asking me how I’m doing and the truth is: I am doing just great. It totally helps that my dad is not unconscious or otherwise suffering from some sort of head injury that impairs him mentally. So he’s alert and talking and eating and is in great spirits. I’ve been just completely overcome for sure – with moments of emotion thinking about what he’s been through and what he still has to go through, how much it’s just not fair and he doesn’t deserve it, and at the same time – how lucky he is that in this freak accident he wasn’t hurt a whole fuck of a lot worse.

“True survival requires flexibility, improvisation, softening, shifting, and bending.”

I am extremely fucking flexible and very resourceful. I was chatting with a friend last night who pointed out how resourceful she thinks I am after she asked me what I was eating and I said, “Chicken and cous cous I made at home so I didn’t have to spend money on shitty hospital food and feel like crap afterwards.”

“Planning, yes, and then walking out the door and into the day, ready to meet whatever songs or storms it might bring.”

Your dad’s been in accident = this flood of thoughts. First it’s – oh fuck oh my god this is my worst nightmare fuck. And then it’s – ok, we’re driving to Utah, let’s grab all of the standard shit and get the hell out of here. It’s 2016 – anything we forget we can just buy, or have delivered via Amazon in two hours.

I need the same thing to be comfortable on a road trip as I need to be comfortable in my day to day life as I need to be comfortable on a trans atlantic flight as I need to be in a hospital room 10 hours a day.

It made me realize that my life is pretty compact. And that my needs, while very fucking specific, are quite simple.

Phones, tablets, laptops, headphones and chargers – check
My own pillow and white noise machine – check
Good water for hydration, kombucha for healthy bacteria, essential oils, homemade salves and elderberry syrup for immune support and personal comfort.
Many sets of underwear, stretchy pants, and oversized sweaters – check
preparation for snack attack central: kale chips, nuts, fresh fruit, smoothies in squeeze pouches, beef jerky, chocolate – check

Also. I just don’t give a fuck. Yoga on the floor in the middle of the waiting room? Yes, and stop staring. Waltzing through a peppermint misty spray? Yes, and stop staring.

And I am one thousand percent fine asking for help. Hi can you feed my chickens? can you clean my guest room for the Airbnb guests I forgot about? Can you pick up my bulk food order? Can you bring meals for my dad (and me) when he’s home? Will you send extra love and reiki and if you live in Phoenix come and give him massages or play games with us? Will you listen to me ramble and gasp at the crazy 3D xrays with me and marvel at how amazing modern medicine is in emergencies?

One last thing is: what gets me bent out of shape. Western medicine. In emergencies – it’s amazing, fuck yes sign me up. I’m not going to try to heal my broken bones with fucking homeopathic pellets. But the other stuff. The blood pressure, the blood sugar, the this and the that – just take a pill for it, they say. Nobody offers information, education, diet and exercise recommendations, and there is no acknowledgement of the fact that a pill addresses the symptom and not the root cause. And the root cause can be pretty fucking simple. But you can see it in their eyes – the mere mention of anything outside of medicine threatens everything that they stand for. It makes them feel vulnerable and defensive – the very thought of “another way”.

One last thing, part 2.

I’ll never break. I am so goddamn bendy it’s not even funny. I adapt like a ninja.


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