Challenging Belief - Essay

I was challenged today to write about an experience that had changed my way of thinking. I flipped through a few decades of memories. So many things to review. There was one experience, or I should say, a set of experiences that came to the fore. These experiences changed the way that I saw addiction within family life, within my nursing career and within my community. None are ‘most important’. But it was my experience as a nurse caring for a patient in the late 1980’s that really shifted my thinking.

I do not remember her name, but I do remember the situation. This tiny, frail woman with fine white hair was one hundred years old. She was one of the patient’s assigned to my care in a general hospital in Saskatchewan. She was psychotic, extremely agitated and so unmanageable she required physical restraints at her ankles and wrists. I’m certain I had taken care of patients in alcohol withdrawal before, but none as dramatic as this woman. 

I had recently been interested in alcoholism and it’s social and family effects, but had not seen such dramatic medical effects until looking after this frail elderly lady. She did not die, she did not get particularly ill. In fact within days was up and was discharged home to her sons. Her twin sons, both mentally challenged and in their 60's, were still in her care. Was there contact with social work? That I do not recall. The physician, Dr. Saul Cohen, a family practioner in Regina, had established a medical regime that treated the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. He also ran certain blood tests to confirm any medical issues resulting from alcohol abuse. Medically there was protocol and a quasi specialty. But for nursing, I realized there was no preplanned care plan providing specific care for the medical effects of active alcoholism - either withdrawal management or follow up discharge planning.

Although small bits of information had been coming to me about this condition, my thinking changed with this elderly woman and the wonderful physician who treated her. A workshop that he provided the staff opened my budding ideas even more. My own resistance to stigma so obvious at that time created the environment for me to continue in the field of addictions - specifically withdrawal management. I had seen, at the bedside, the neurological effects and the incredible changes wrought by alcohol.

“Do not think that what your thoughts dwell on 

does not matter. Your thoughts are making you.”

 ~ Bishop Steere (from Overcoming Addiction)

Author's note: Edited January 31, 2024

Characteristically Clothed

Characteristically Clothed

Sarah wore her age well. Just the right amount of lines. Not too, too many gray hairs. The contents of her closet showed it’s age more than she did. Sarah’s grand-daughter had just visited and made that pronouncement. ‘Grandma, your clothes are nice but they look like you’re old! And you’re not!’ Now, looking in her closet, Sarah burst into tears. She had to do something about her life.

Sarah wanted, more than anything, to stop crying all the time. Like everyone she was not perfect, but the crying had bothered her more each day. She cried at the drop of the hat! It could be tears of joy or tears of sadness. Movies were the worst for her, but it could be the sight of a child at play. Or the frustration of opening a stubborn jar! Always a crier since she was a child, she remembered her mother fussing at her. ‘You are just so sensitive! Do you have to cry at everthing?!’ 

How does one change a habit of a lifetime? She had been to many doctors about her ‘problem’. After all their poking and prodding, blood tests and even x-rays, they all had the same answer. ‘There’s nothing wrong, Mrs Albright. You are just very sensitive. Have you considered seeing a counselor or psychiatrist about learning how to cope with stressors?’ That suggestion just got Sarah’s back up and brought sudden tears to her eyes. It was the proverbial lightbulb moment.

Then she had an idea. An idea that seemed so simple that, after all these years, Sarah didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. When her tears flowed so quickly, she was angry. So angry she wanted to scream. As a child, she had been taught that anger was a bad thing. Without realizing it, that scream became silent tears. 

Sarah, unbeknownst to her doctor or to her children, did go to a counselor. The counselor was a bit taken aback that Sarah was asking for anger management for crying. Most people referred to her had a variety of violence issues, often sent by a court of law. But Sarah did present a challenge. After several sessions, Sarah began to recognize when she was becoming angry.

When Sarah returned home, she went to that closet of dated clothes. Her tears had been angry tears! Sarah’s solution? A shopping trip was in order with a huge donation of clothes to a thrift store.

“That’s the thing about lessons, you always learn them 

when you don’t expect them or want them.”

~ Ceclia Ahern, If You Could See Me Now

Still Talking to Myself

      Still Talking to Myself

“I’m too old to start again” 
The gremlins of my mind set up their chatter.

“Too old? What on earth do you mean?” The gremlins sat back looking astonished by my question.

“How many decades have you been on this earth? Don’t you know that the older you get the less you should be doing?” The gremlins of my mind spoke in the voices of other generations.

“Decade schemade! What does that have to do with anything?” The gremlins were not to be deterred.

“Your skin is wrinkled, your joints are sore, your muscles are weak - and you want to start again?” The gremlins of my mind were trying hard to divert my new direction.

“Yes, my dears, but my ideas and excitement show no wrinkles. New ideas may need some work but that only means I am excited to continue to learn." The gremlins of my mind began to fade into dark corners muttering all the way.

“We will get the last word you know and it will be ‘we told you so’ but now we’ll go to bed.” The gremlins of my mind slid away with their ominous chattering.

“I’m never too old to start - so today I can choose to begin anew - never a completely new start.” There was quiet in my mind.

“Can you remember who you were, 

before the world told you who you should be?”

~ Charles Bukowski, Post Office

Author's Note: Edited January 31, 2024

To Build a Better Home

To Build a Better Home

Birthdays are a time to put the star on the tree, as it were. Jordan had planned the tiniest of details of his party, pushing all of his staff to get everything perfect. His birthday was to celebrate his 55^th birthday and to celebrate the opening of his 10^th business. All of his businesses had been absolute successes. The only thorn in all of his plans was his nephew, Stanley. Jordan had been named Stanley’s guardian when Jordan’s brother and his wife had died tragically in a car accident when Stanley was three years old. For many years, their relationship had been magical. So while Stanley was his nephew, after all these years, their relationship was as father and son. But…..Stanley wanted more and more every day. Jordan did wonder sometimes if it was because he had given him too much as a child and a young man. He had never pushed him to be or do anything more than he wanted to. Now in his late twenties, Stanley was still needy and selfish.

Jordan’s new business was completely different. Jordan was known in his business community as a man who made money. Consumer businesses - electronics, furniture and anything else for the wannabe customers in the region. But tonight’s party was to announce the opening of a new Social Housing enterprise on the old Moorhead Estate. He had purchased the estate the year before with the original intent to create a grand new home for himself. But, his nephew Stanley had other ideas. He had been active in the Commuity Homeless Coalition for several years and had approached his uncle about developing social housing to house 20 to 25 families, including some units for single individuals. Selfish young man. Why should Jordan spend his money on people he didn’t even know? After much arm twisting, Jordan had acquiesced to his nephew’s constant pleas. Jordan thought the deal was complete. He could go ahead and have his architects and builders restructure Moorhead Arms into separate suites and apartments. But Stanley wanted to be in on all the details.  

Well, ultimately Jordan and Stanley would butt heads about these details. Stanley was not backing down and neither was his uncle. Jordan lived in a world of convenience and abundance. Those people that were homeless did not have even have the conveniences of showers, refrigerators or the security of a key in their front door. When Jordan was concerned about fancy light fixtures and plush carpeting, Stanley was concerned about building security and plumbing. 

One day there was a shouting match to end all shouting matches. Both were committed to going forward with the Social Housing enterprise. Jordan, because he found it was giving him a glowing community personna. Stanley because he had invested his life in providing for a very marginalized population. He had been aware for many years that he had been very, very fortunate to have been raised by his uncle, when foster homes could have been his lot. As evening gathered around their dissent, Jordan and Stanley realized they were getting nowhere. Sudden silence stretched the incredible tension. Continuing their fight could just erase any potential for success. They were more alike than they wanted to admit. 

Stanley was the first to speak. ‘Uncle Jordan. You are stubborn, arrogant and I love you. What can I do to make this work?’

‘Stanley, please just forgive me. I plow through things without thinking about anyone else. Just that I know best and believe I do know best. Take me to meet some of the people that live in these homes. I need to hear what they need, what they want. I don’t know that world and I want to know it.’

~~~~~

Moorhead Social Housing Estates opened successfully within the year as planned. There were still a few arguments, but they were much more quietly resolved. Jordan and Stanley listened to each other. Jordan still didn’t really understand the reasons for homelessness. Stanley still didn’t understand his uncles attitudes. Nevertheless, the business man and the social activitist were able to find a very workable and respectful common ground.

“We’re a team. It’s part of our job to help each other out, and to forgive each other quickly. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.”

~ Jeremy Kraatz, Villains Rising

Author's note: edited January 31, 2024

Curb Appeal

          Curb Appeal

“When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises.”

What kind of a writing prompt is that? Melanie really had no ideas about this one. There was no fun in that sentence. She only want to hear something funny, see sunshine, feel joy. She just knew that her teacher obviously didn’t care about how she felt. Letting out a big sigh, she got out her pen and notebook and began to write………

…….When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises. One swollen eye and tiny cuts seeping blood. His glasses were gone! His wonderful handsome face so broken. Instantly, Lissa felt guilty that her first thought hadn’t been what his pain must be!

Lissa had gotten all dressed up for the prom and her date with Tad, the most popular boy in school. A new dress, a new pair of shoes and even a trip to the beauty salon. Ready to be whisked away, she had been ready right on time. Ten minutes past the tick of the clock she began to tap her feet. She began to shrivel up inside, sure he had decided to stand her up. Just as she giving up, her mother asked her the impossible. ‘Throw your coat on and run down to the corner store for some butter, dear. If Tad gets here before you get back, I’ll visit with him.’

She really, really was p.o.’d but whether at her mother or Tad she couldn’t tell and it just flippin’ didn’t matter. Grabbing her coat, Lissa slammed out the door. What was that on the sidewalk? Somebody throwing out good clothes? Lissa sniffed at the way people just left things lying around. Then she saw movement. It was a man! Lying on the sidewalk! Was he drunk? What was he doing there?!  One more thing to ruin her evening. First Tad, then her mother and now this!

‘Help me, Lissa!’

‘Tad? OMG! Tad!  What happened?’

When he lifted his head, she barely recognized him for the bruises. One swollen eye and tiny cuts seeping blood. His glasses were gone! His wonderful handsome face so broken. Instantly, Lissa felt guilty that her first thought hadn’t been what his pain must be!

“I tripped on the stupid curb and did a royal face plant on the cement! I was trying so hard to be on time. Your flowers! Where are they?”

Then they both began to laugh, all their nervousness and teenage angst gone. Lissa wiped Tad’s face with the sash from her new dress. She cleaned his glasses with her sweater - actually kind of smeared them and put them on his beat up face.

“I guess we’ll be late for the prom. Come on in the house and we’ll get cleaned up.”

“It is not so much what happens to you 

as how you think about what happens.”

~ Epictetus

The Crooked Castle

There once was a Crooked Castle in the midst of a crooked land of hills and dales. The only way to get to the Crooked Castle was to follow a crooked road full of potholes and boulders. At least that was the story. Mikkeljohn’s road had been long and he was tired. He had heard stories about staying away from the Crooked Castle. Stories that told of many evil people that could not be trusted because of their crooked ways. Stories that told of bodies bent and broken. People that could not and would not work.

But Mikkeljohn was tired. He could get food and water for himself and his mule at the Crooked Castle. He knew of no other place that was closer. He had no friend with him to visit with or to help finding a place to sleep. Only his faithful mule who trusted him for food and for water. So Mikkeljohn took a deep breath and, taking his mule by the rope halter. he set off.

Along the way he met many people. Farmers and ferriers. Housewives and homemakers. Some knew of the Crooked Castle but had never been because it was so far. From those that he met, Mikkeljohn heard many ideas about the truth of the stories. So he really didn’t learn much from them. Only to be cautious.

When Mikkeljohn arrived at the castle gate, he found that the castle wasn’t really all that crooked. He couldn't be in the right place! Actually it didn’t really look like a castle at all! It was a little stone cottage with a crooked chimney, a thatched roof and a porch with flowers in the window. A beautiful dog with long golden hair trotted out to meet Mikkeljohn and his mule. A young lady stopped picking beans from her abundant vegetable garden to turn and call out ‘Welcome to my little castle’. There, hanging from the thatched porch roof, was a hand carved sign: ‘The Crooked Castle’.

Mikkeljohn smiled.

“Great is the power of steady misrepresentation.”

~ Charles Darwin

Juxtaposition

Bright green foliage

Grasses bent in steady rain

Drops glisten on fences and trees

Dirty puddles shine on sidewalks

Golden soggy leaves line streets and gutters

Old hockey skates coloured by moss drip silently

An unusual idea of snow and ice in this western ‘Hawaii’

“Eschew the ordinary, disdain the commonplace. 

If you have a single-minded need for something, 

let it be the unusual, the esteric, the bizarre, the unexpected.”

~ Chuck Jones