Beggy Prayers

My Facebook Post Dated November 30, 2015 : 

 4:00 am and the loneliness broke down her door and threatened to make her believe all the secrets swirling in her mind about worthiness, lovability, failure, and why she was still here. What was her purpose at this juncture of her life? Her mind was a bad neighborhood to be in, especially at night. She tried to wrap herself up in a heavy coat of faith, scrunching her eyes shut reciting Beggy Prayers for peace and direction, or even a small sign but the fear blew right through her coat, and the world was so silent she couldn't even hear God breathe.

I've had these unexpected, debilitating, bone and joint  issues the last few years. I feel like I took pretty good care of my bones, with supplements and lifting weights, but in hindsight, if stress plays a role in health, that explains it perfectly.  It appears I am crumbling- or melting - like the wicked witch of the East.  Only, I’ve been good, and I no longer believe what happens to me is some karmic unpaid debt, or based on stellar behavior.  I’ve had bad things happen to me, when I’ve toed the line of kindness and integrity  and blessings showered on me when I didn’t deserve them.   I’m relatively adept at finding the humor in the midst of most of my problems, even joints that aren’t holding up, or more recently a spine that is dangerously collapsing.  The embellished fantasy I’m sticking to about these disintegrating bones goes like this:  

He’s got the whole world... in His hands.  

He’s got the whole world... in His hands. 

He’s got the whole world ... in His hands. 

On the seventh day He rested... and placed it in mine

Spoken like a true co-dependent. My arrogant interpretation of what happens to good joints when you carry the weight of the world, even if only for one day of the week.  It’s a good pity party and sometimes you just gotta attend to get it out of your system.  I set a timer dictating how long I'm going to party-on. The rest of my energy is being used to stay positive and maintain my sense of humor  as I prepare to go under the knife and get my throat slit to repair collapsed vertebrae that are bruising and damaging my spinal column. Three surgeries in three years.  I've said it before, third time is a charm.

Everyone has something going on in their life.  Maybe they are better able to handle things than I am.  Maybe they’re on good drugs.  Or, maybe they don’t handle things any better than I do and suffer in silence.  I was a child protege in the field of suffering in silence and earned my  PhD early on.  In middle-age I burned that advanced degree with the help of others who taught me that secrets would continue to make me even sicker and then introduced me to a twelve step plan for a healthier way of life. I also learned I am only responsible for the square footage around my own little body, not the whole world.  Learning and understanding all of these things,  it seems God opened that place where all my hurt, pain, and isolation was stuffed.  It was like Hoover Dam had sprung a big leak, and I shared, and I shared and I shared.  I promised never to shove that much fear, anger, and silent suffering down like that again.  Most  of the time I’m pretty good about  dealing with things as they arise rather than ignoring it, pushing it way, or medicating in some way. I'm still working on stuffing my feelings down along with a pound or two of good cheese. While blissful in the moment, it extracts too big a price on my digestive system and thighs. I've acquired some good anti-stuffing tools and I know what I need to do.  Call a friend.  Meditate and sit in stillness for awhile. Go for a walk.  Get out and be among people. Help someone else.   If none of those things work, and the feelings overwhelm me, say, in the middle of the night, where I am most vulnerable, I call on my Beggy Prayers.  

I once heard Iyanla VanZant, author and self-help guru chastise those kinds of prayers.  You know the ones that are punctuated with the word please in between every other word. Oh, please.  Please God. Pretty please.  Those were my childhood prayers back when I thought God and Santa Claus were brothers and her comment made me feel childish.  Her claim is God hears us the first time and it’s not necessary to repeat it over and over again.   I believe that He does too, in fact I think He knows our heart and needs even before we do.  But there is something about  Beggy Prayers that humbles me so much and I feel like an innocent child again, in a sweet way,  standing at the feet of a powerful, loving Father who soothes me.  I may not have to say please two hundred times in order for help to arrive or my wish to be granted, but it puts me in communion and that’s all that matters.  In times  when I am most powerless, that might be the best it gets, and its always felt good enough.  

When I pull out those Beggy Prayers, I am at my most vulnerable.  My innocent, moldable, receptive self.  Like a mediation mantra, (maybe even Om Please) its a focal point to quiet the mind and tune into the silence and make some room for a connection to take place.  Beggy Prayers are the big guns for me.  Oh, please (take this cup from me).  Oh, please (if I must drink from this cup, hold my hand).  Oh, please (teach me how to trust you explicitly in all things).  

Reciting those Beggy Prayers long enough in my dark night of the soul back in November, I did eventually feel God’s breath on my cheek and comfort in my heart.

That won’t be the last time I use my Beggy Prayers regardless what any self-help guru says. They may seem childlike.  They may seem unnecessary; however, for every Beggy Word that I speak, it is communion with the Most High, who understands I am most human.   

Just a little heads up God.  You will hear my Beggy Prayers again, right before the twilight of anesthesia slips in and takes me into the land of dreamless sleep next week. Oh, please, (be with me always).

Oh, please (let this be my last surgery for awhile).   

New Hip. Hooray!

(By request this blog post from my now defunct blog - Mostly Zen- is being re-run)

I’m a bionic woman!  2015 opened the door to some really big changes in my life. My research, diligence, and prayers  to find funding, health insurance, and a quality physician throughout the Fall and Winter of 2014, paid off.  The clouds parted, the angels sang and in May of this year I acquired a shiny metal hip joint.  Yay!  While this past five week recovery process has been a physical (and dear Lord) emotional roller coaster ride, it’s also hauled in a few more lessons I apparently needed to know in order to earn extra credits towards my Mostly Zen status. Even writing this, I feel my heart flutter with a tinge of excitement at a pain-free and bright future of new paths and exploration on my sexy new metal leg. 

My leg issues were undiagnosed for the longest time because I rarely go to a doctor for anything other than extreme emergencies. Examples of extreme emergency: A burst fallopian tube or a face full of shingles.  A few years ago, I attributed the increasing ache in my right buttock and an inability to stand up without pain, as just part of this aging process, too many Spin classes, and carrying the weight of the world on my solitary shoulders for way too many years. In March of 2014 a rogue gallbladder needed to be removed and the delusional optimist in me thought maybe the pain in my diseased organ and the pain in my butt were somehow related.  After all, from a spiritual, holistic perspective, isn't it all  connected?  That line of thinking was hopeful but I now know it was the direct result of some pretty awesome pain medication post gall bladder surgery.  Nothing hurt. For about six weeks.  

The awareness I needed to see a neurologist or an orthopedic doctor came when I stepped out of my car, balancing a brand new oversize George Foreman Grill from my cousin; it was her contribution to my eat healthy plan to help stop the rapidly increasing number on the scales. Not only did I have this horrific pain, I had packed away two clothing sizes (I couldn't bear to get rid of them)  as I packed on enough pounds to drive me into a serious depression. By now, my Planet Fitness usage was merely a pipe dream and a drain on my checking account. A doctor wrote me a prescription to halt my membership for six months without monetary penalties.   Giving up my beloved exercise and gym was not an effective cure. My mind and my body slid into a lethargic spiral.   I was convinced, as a result of my daily incessant Web MD, and Internet diagnostician practice, that I had Multiple Sclerosis. So, naturally,  I started with a neurologist, who upon trying to bend my leg like a chicken wing brought forth animal sounds that I didn't know could come from a human being.  Puzzled, he  X-rayed my right hip.  An immediate review and his proclamation of advanced, bone on bone hip arthritis, as well as a referral to someone who might be able to really help me, sparked a small hope for relief. The sports medicine doctor while witty, compassionate, and wise didn't really tell me what I wanted to hear. As with most things in my life, I was in search of the quick, easy, fix. It wasn't that simple.  It wouldn't reverse itself.  Any treatment would be palliative at best. Total hip replacement was the only cure. I wasn't ready.  Nor was my pocketbook.   A temporary fix in the form of a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication and a nightly dose of Tramadol helped me pretend it might go away.  And, I prayed.  The effectiveness of the prescriptions lasted about as long as the blush of a new relationship. I was ready for a new lover within months  and  I'd heard cortisone shots were the answer.  The injection hurt so good - within minutes I could feel relief settling into my arthritic joint. This love affair lasted just long enough for me to mop floors and clean tubs that I couldn't move to do on my own for a few months.  I socialized, went to basketball games, drove all over town, pain free.  For 3 1/2 weeks. 

Life and mobility spiraled down from there.  Work was impossible, driving was dangerous and difficult and I was sending stock prices soaring on over the counter pain relievers. I had a dilemma.  I needed surgery and I had no job and no insurance.  With no income, I qualified for Medicaid, if, I would allow the government to take any assets that I had worked for years to accumulate.  I couldn't buy insurance through the Marketplace because I had no income.  Caught, clearly between the rock and hard place of need and bureaucracy,  I meditated, I researched, and I prayed for answers. Friends prayed for healing for me.  One insightful friend said she prayed for complete healing for me, however, she didn't define how that should happen. She let that be up to God how it would play out in my life. I thought to myself, that really was letting go.  I stopped praying for money, insurance, Prince Charming, a new hip, and humbly asked that He heal my life so that I may do His will. Sometimes we need to just get quiet enough to hear the stirring of divine direction and trust what we are asked to do.  Lying in bed one morning, something drove me to the social security website. Disappointed, I read that I was still too young to take early retirement. Something guided me to call their offices and talk to a representative.  The voice on the other end was empathetic and helpful.  Her first questions to me were, "Are you a widow and have you ever remarried?"  Two weeks later, my first survivor's benefit check was deposited in my checking account.   Heaven joined forces to continue to take care of me - God and my husband.  Oh, me of little faith.   I was able to purchase insurance off of the Marketplace because I now had an income.  

An early orange sunrise, warmed the May morning and portended a bright outcome as my daughter drove me to the hospital.  Any nervousness was at a minimum. Surgery felt like the reward at the end of long, solitary, trek through the wilds, complete with bruises and banged up knees from navigating so many obstacles and a feeble leg which collapsed on occassion.  I was exhilarated, but exhausted as a few hours later I went under the scalpel, hammer and saw.  I knew the tools of the trade because the Internet surgeon in me unabashedly watched an entire hip replacement a few weeks before.   I went into the operating room at 8:00 in the morning and was finished by 9:00.  At 10:30 a.m. I was in a room, and up and walking with a walker by afternoon.  By 8:00 that evening, I was on my way home to my own bed.  I fondly refer to my surgery as my drive-through hip replacement.  I knew when I stepped onto my surgical leg hours later, that very same day, all arthritis pain gone, no matter what I had to do to restore my strength and heal completely, I was willing to do it.  I was getting my life back and it was all wrapped up in a big red ribbon, bought with the prayers of friends and family, and the love of a heavenly Father and deceased husband. 

It's easy to be so flip and positive five weeks out as a big part of the healing has taken place. However, it's been, as most major life events are, enlightening. It's been the long haul.  I've learned so much about myself and surprisingly others. Trying times tend to strip away pretense and reveal people's true nature. Including our own.  What's left is honesty and essence of who we are; our values, character, and even our weaknesses -  stripped of fancy words and little white lies.  You find out who your true friends are and where your treasures lie in the isolation, fear and loneliness of a long recovery process.   Being incapacitated and alone, not being able to check your own mail, put out your trash, bend to pick something up, cut your own toenails, or drive for so many weeks snatches away your independence and makes you very vulnerable.  For self-sufficient warriors like me, that's difficult.  It takes a lot of courage to ask. And, it takes even more courage, when you do ask, and you are rejected to not take it personally. The old tapes of abandonment started playing loudly in the stillness of my solitude.  

However, I found in the solitude, stripped of everything, it was up to me to turn down that volume and lean into the faith that I had everything I needed for the care and nurturing of me.  I have learned how to navigate boredom and loneliness.  I understand the true meaning of self-care, and slathered on healthy doses of self-love.  Surprisingly, this time, I really didn't forget the one constant Source of help and support is right beside me - as close as my breath, just one prayer away.  That's the best it gets when push comes to shove. That's all we got and all we can ever count fully on - ourselves and God.  My strong new hip and even stronger faith, will carry me down my yellow brick road, no ruby slippers needed. I had the power all along.  Some blessings come disguised as challenges.  No experience is wasted.  I will always, on my very best and wisest day be the student and just Mostly Zen. Partially  there, hoping to arrive someday, yet content in knowing, I am at least on the path.   I am well on my way to 2015's intention - RENEW.  

Charge!  And, even that's now possible - on my brand new leg.