Finding freedom in diapers, violence, and job applications.

When we were at PT last Friday, we saw a dog, much larger than Bandit - maybe about 60-80 pounds, and  thigh-high. Our PT asked the assistant if she felt comfortable expressing this new dog's bladder, a sign of his incontinence.

I watched as the assistant put a sling under the dog's back half, and hefted him up, so he could walk on his front paws, the back legs completely paralyzed. They were so heavy. They just hung, crossing towards each other. Dead weight. Just barely swaying into each other as his front half moved.

It was heartbreaking. It looked so hopeless.

It was a long moment before I remembered that my dog, who was currently happily inspecting the smell of the exercise balls near the treadmill, was like that dog. Was exactly like that dog. For almost two months.

It wasn't that long ago.

And then I remembered how they told me the biggest advantage Bandit had was his size. He would be able to stand, and move much more easily, because the paralyzed legs weighed so little.

I could see now what they meant.

I looked at Bandit there in the rehab room and asked him to send some love to that other dog. It has only been a week or so since discussions of amputation have moved off of our table. So I thought we could spare a few prayers.

***

I put fresh sheets on my bed last night. 

This morning, Bandit stood up in the bed and stretched before his morning walk, and despite his diaper, his full bladder poured out onto the clean sheets. I cancelled the bike ride I was supposed to go on momentarily, because I realized that by the time I cleaned up the sheets, and walked and cleaned him, I wouldn't have time to put air in my bike tires. I could only go if I left the mess. But urine scalds his skin, causing painful rashes. Throwing the sheets in the wash would only take a moment, but I knew the mattress would be wet too... and I wouldn't want to leave it...

So, I made my choice.

Sometimes in moments like that, I sigh, and I think about how hard it all is. I think about how much my life is burdened in a million small ways that add up into tremendous responsibility. I don't even schedule meetings before 10 AM anymore, because Bandit's morning routine takes so long.

But I wouldn't give it up. I wouldn't give up him welcoming me when I get home, or the moments when he gets onto the couch by himself and gets a treat at the top, or when he curls into me and sighs. And seeing that other dog reminded me of how far we have come. And we did all of it not knowing if Bandit would ever stand or walk or run or go without a diaper. All of that progress came on faith and persistence. Nearly five months of it, so far.

My life is different. My life is very different. And I'm still working to make peace with that in some moments.

But that is the work of our lives. Acceptance of what is. Pee-filled sheets and all.

***

A friend was telling me yesterday that it's lucky I'm in my twenties, because she didn't think she could keep up with the job market demands.

And I realized how, as grueling as applying for jobs was, I really wasn't anxious about it. One of the blessings of needing to wash my sheets at a pace that will surely destroy them  is that it grounds me. No matter how important a school seems, how urgent an application, my dog will need his diaper changed. And there isn't someone else to do it. The simplicity and urgency of his needs trump mine, most of the time. When he wakes up at 3 AM and demands to go outside, it doesn't matter what I have to do the next day, I have a wailing animal next to me. And no amount of ignoring him will replace the sleep I've lost. And this is frustrating and exhausting and difficult. But it grounds me. Wherever I am in a year, there is a good chance I will find an accidental Hershey kiss in my sheets from time to time. And whether Bandit needs just a morning walk, or a morning walk, bath and diaper change, the routine will still be a routine.

And as I write this, I'm watching his bad leg twitch in his sleep. And I am grateful.

All of this is beautifully grounding and I needed that after months of floating. And I am grateful, because the job market has given me structure, and a sense of competence. I have things that need to get done. And they are incessant. But as a woman who spent much of the year paralyzed in her own way, I am grateful that I have an application due tomorrow, and another the next day. I am grateful, because with each one that I complete, I see that I can do things again. It's this beautiful discovery: I can be competent.
 
Who cares where I am in a year? The job market is good. It is a wonderful exercise. And I am getting so much out of it. My effort to increase my acceptance of my new life with Bandit has rubbed off into these new things. Each application is like putting on one more diaper, not knowing if this will be the last diaper, or if there will be many more. Not knowing if an end is in sight. Not knowing if all of this effort will ultimately pay off in some dream job or the dream of continence. There is something nice in that not knowing. I can let it go. It is out of my hands. I don't have to worry about it.

If no one hires me, just think how well-prepared I will be for the next year. And things under review will surely be published, and I will be a stronger candidate. Even the worst is not so bad. And anyway, sometimes the worst things are the best. Sometimes they are exactly what we need. Sometimes I wonder if I would have remained paralyzed indefinitely if I hadn't been suddenly faced with a paralyzed animal. One of us had to move. And so I did. And now we both do.

When even the worst things bring blessings, it becomes less scary to just go with it. Somehow it seems worth it to just see how it plays out. Sometimes we don't know what is the good news and what is the bad news. And maybe we don't need to. Maybe that's better. Maybe most things are both, anyway, depending on how you look at it.

***

The truth is that my brain is still not completely what it once was. I forget my train of thought much more easily. I can't concentrate as well as I used to. I am much more vulnerable to stress than before. I require a great deal more alone time and self-care. And after all this time, I remain shaken by the violence of my brother's passing. Shaken. Disturbed. Unable to believe, even now, that it is even possible. I wonder if I will ever be able to wrap my head around what happened in that split second.

I think about how in movies, people like Quentin Tarantino are idolized. I think about how desensitized we have become to violence. So extremely cavalier. And we mock people who think something is too gory. They don't understand the art of it, we say.

Maybe.

Maybe it's just another way we escape. Maybe those fantasies of horror help us to avoid coping with the actual horror around us.

Isn't there enough ugliness for us to be satisfied for a lifetime? But we move into neighborhoods where we can avoid seeing poverty. We put the elderly in separate spaces, so we can avoid watching death overtake us. We cheer on a team at each SuperBowl, and either fail to notice or comprehend that our participation helps support the largest human trafficking event of the year. It's all a series of collective smoke and mirrors. Not to mention: it's all a lot of work, all of this looking the other way. And I'm not sure it gets us what we want anyway. There is no lasting happiness in it.

We are not brave for watching scary movies. We are not brave for each moment we hide.

Bravery would be facing the violence and death and suffering around us.

Bravery is beginning with our own suffering. Because our refusal to do so only creates more around us.

Surely there is plenty to work with in all of our lives. For me it is talking to my grieving parents. It is the horror of violence that haunts me. It is changing my sheets, and getting up at 3AM for Bandit, and working on applications when I just want to eat a donut and cry. It is every dead animal in the road. It is seeing another dog, carried outside in a sling. It is everything uncomfortable, every moment of anxiety, everything that shatters something in me.

You have your own work to do too. Surely there was a moment you can think of in your last week that was the most uncomfortable, or most painful or most filled with strong emotion: anxiety, fear, loneliness.

I can think of my own most uncomfortable moment. It can be hard to want to sit with that.

But the rewards are so priceless. Peace with what is can be carried everywhere. No one and nothing else can take it away. Equanimity makes us invincible in some sense. Because whatever happens, we remain ourselves, and in our bodies, and able to do and be whatever we choose. Emotions still happen, but they do not drive our actions. Anxiety does not lead to a freak out. It's just anxiety. We can know it, become friends with it, accept it in our lives. And it loses power over us.

A job application becomes just a job application. And a diaper becomes just a diaper. And there is space to be content with both. Because they are a part of a full life. Or, in my favorite expression, they are just socks on the floor.

Nothing to get worked up about. Not something to end a marriage over. Just socks on the floor. We might even look at them with affection.

And then there is so much space. For so much to open up. We aren't consumed.

That is freedom.

Then we can have the things we really want. Most of us want to be happy.

To get there, first we have to get unstuck.

The more we practice, the more we shake up, and the more settled we become. And it's all pretty simple. The next time you feel yourself looking away, avoiding, stepping back, just notice what you're doing. Even for a moment. "Ah, I see you avoidance. Procrastination. Distraction." And maybe the next time, you notice it more quickly, or you can stay with it for a few seconds longer. Maybe you can see not only the stepping back, but begin to get to the part that made you step away in the first place. Each time, it adds up.

As Pema Chodron says: this is the path of the warrior. 

And then it doesn't matter if you're talking about diapers or guns or applications, you can see how they are all kind of the same. These examples all come within a single weekend of my life. They are places to get stuck.

But they don't have to be.

This is where I find my freedom. Because in twenty years, or even five, I hope I will not be repeating my same hang ups. Instead I'll have new ones!

If you want more resources, consider starting with these:
The Art of Happiness - With the Dalai Lama
When Things Fall Apart - Pema Chodron
Peace Is Every Step - Thich Nhat Hanh

Namaste.